Page 34 of Tight Spaces

Danusia lay on the bed and flipped through the complimentary newspaper in their hotel suite an hour later while Max made phone calls in the other room. He’d insisted it wasn’t safe to stay in her apartment and she hadn’t argued. She’d left their accommodations up to him and wasn’t surprised to find herself in a suite at the end of the hall on the seventh floor of a hotel with both a doorman and twenty-four-hour reception desk.

She expected other men like Roman and Max to show up any minute and set up some kind of security plan for her. If it were her family doing this, she knew she’d feel stifled and like somehow, she was inconveniencing them. Even if they would deny it. But with Max? She felt protected. Almost cherished.

It was crazy, considering how he insisted they didn’t have a future, but the man was way too worried about her feelings and safety for a casual lay.

She idly flipped to the Metro section to see what was going on around the city when a small article on the lower left corner caught her eye. The picture was one of those awful ones used for drivers licenses and employee identifications. It was of the woman who had given Danusia the data for her thesis at Luminescent Pharmaceuticals.

And she was dead.

She’d been involved in a single car accident at freeway speeds late at night. No witnesses. The article said the roads had been slick with an unexpected summer rain and it was unclear whether she’d fallen asleep at the wheel or simply lost control of her vehicle.

What were the chances?

Danusia grabbed the Metro section and rushed into the sitting room. "Max."

"Hold on," he said into the phone and looked at her. "What’s up, professor?"

She handed him the paper. "That woman, down at the bottom of the page? She’s the one that gave me the data at Luminescent."

Max’s eyes narrowed and he read the brief article lead before swearing. "Our timeline just amped up," he barked into the phone. "They’re not just trying to get the data back. They’re eliminating loose ends."

Danusia couldn’t hear what the person on the other end of the call said and wouldn’t have understood if she had. Her brain was going into meltdown. She was so not superspy material like her sister.

The thought of someone wanting her dead scared the pee out of her. Well, not literally. But it was close.

Oh, man. She was babbling, even in her head.

Strong arms wrapped around her and Max’s body heat broke the chill of terror trying to take hold. "It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I’m not going to let anything happen to you."

She clutched at him. "I’m scared. I shouldn’t be scared."

"Who says? This is scary shit."

She almost laughed. "You’re not scared."

"You’re wrong."

She reared back so she could see the truth in his face and sure enough there was a shadow of worry in his eyes, which was probably as close to really frightened this man got. "I don’t understand."

"I’m damn good at my job. Both of them. Killing and protecting."

"So?"

"So, I’ve never been personally invested in keeping my client alive."

"I’m not your client. I’m your lover." He’d said it first. He could deal with it.

His head dropped to rest against hers. "I know."

"I think that scares you more than the thought of the bad guys getting past you." She’d meant it as a tease.

But his fierce frown said he didn’t get the joke. "Not even close."

"Okay."

"But I’ve never had one," he said.

"A lover?"