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Sarah wanted to weep with gratitude.

Harvard wasn’t so thrilled. “You can’t just walk out on Ryan, honey,” he said gently. “And the cops might have a few more questions. Don’t you think it would be better to hang around for a few days?”

Before she could reply, Rachel spoke, “She said no, Michael. We respect the no.”

Harvard stood, clasped the back of Rachel’s neck, and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “Yeah, we do,” he rumbled. “What will I tell the crew?”

“Tell them the truth.” Rachel slung her handbag over the crook of her arm. “I’m smuggling Sarah back into the UK, and I’ll send the plane for them later.”

“Got it.” He nodded, and then to Sarah’s surprise, enfolded her in a careful hug. “You’re in good hands, honey. Rachel will get you home safe, and if you need anything, just call us, okay?”

“When I get another phone,” she said, feeling suddenly weepy.

“Oh, for the love of Prada, you don’t have a phone? How have you been managing?” Rachel waved her iPhone to emphasize her point. “We’ll pick up one on the way.”

And then she strode out of the door, expecting Sarah to follow. Before she did exactly that, she reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out the letter she’d written for Ryan.

“Will you make sure he gets this?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” Harvard took it from her.

And then Sarah hurried after his wife.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Three weeks later

Benson Security Office

London

* * *

Ryan had been running on fury, frustration, and fear for the past three weeks. And all of it was because of Sarah. She’d left him in Paris without saying goodbye, instead writing him a crappy Dear John letter that reeked of martyrdom. She couldn’t ask him to choose between her and his job…bullshit!

Like he hadn’t known from the minute he’d met her—the second time—that she wasn’t cut out to be an army, or police, or even private security “widow.” Some women could take having their men walk out of the door and straight into trouble. Sarah couldn’t. And there was nothing wrong with that.

Except in her head.

He huffed in exasperation. What was it with intelligent women and their need to overthink everything? Sometimes you just had to go with your gut. Or in this case, your heart.

Yeah, he was seriously pissed.

But first, he had a team meeting to deal with.

Rachel smacked her handbag onto the boardroom table and glared at Ryan. “I hope you didn’t drag me all the way over here for a briefing on the psycho killer.”

“Qu'est-ce que c'est,” Elle said grinning.

Ryan couldn’t help laughing, while Rachel scowled.

“At least she didn’t sing it,” he said.

“Why are you calling meetings anyway?” Rachel pulled out a chair and graced it with the presence of her backside. “Are the people at the bottom of the totem allowed to call meetings?”

“Give it a rest, Rachel,” Callum barked from his usual spot at the front of the room. “The boy has something to say.”

“The boy is the same age as I am,” Rachel pointed out.