Page 60 of Sinner’s Game

We plan for the worst.

I’d heard those words at the beginning of this meeting, and I’d cringed. As if there was something unusual about them. Some portent of doom.

As if every single day, almost every person on the planet doesn’t do exactly the same thing. Fastening a seat belt. Locking a car door. Putting on sunscreen. The revolutionary act of simply owning a first aid kit. Plan for the worst, after all.

And isn’t that also exactly what I’ve been doing for years in the dating world? Holding back emotionally and sexually because I fear that the worst will happen? That every guy is a Walt who’ll take advantage of me or a jerk who’ll tell me to get lost if I don’t want to put out on day one. Or day fifteen.

I can see how planning for the worst is a solid approach if you’re expecting to encounter a paid assassin. But is it really the best approach for going through life? Have I been too caught up in protecting myself that I’m not actually being myself?

Which, of course, raises the question of who am I, really?

And the answer is that I don’t know.

Brandy Bradshaw, fashion entrepreneur is easy. But the other me? The one that craves someone to love but is scared to give her heart?

I’m not sure I really know her at all.

I hug myself, and Tamra must think I’m cold because she hurries to my side and drapes a sweater over my shoulders.

It’s such a kind and simple gesture that I reach back and grab her hand. This is family, I think. These people I’ve come to love.

I think about how little my own parents did. Running away after a rape turned into a pregnancy. Acting like I was an embarrassment they had to hide, then not even giving me the grace to spend a moment with my own child before handing her over to the adoption liaison.

That bastard Walt had violated me, but I’d been the one who was punished. Not by society, but by my family.

I love my parents—I do. But I no longer have illusions about who my family really is. That’s Ellie and Lamar. Devlin and Tamra and Reggie.

And Ronan. Always Ronan. He knows it, too. I’m sure of it. But what he doesn’t know is the depth of my feeling. Because I’ve moved way beyond physical attraction and friendship, and I haven’t a clue what to do about that other than hope that he feels the same way, too. That there’s more between us than just one night of incredibly awesome sex.

I’ve opened my heart to him, but I’m not sure if he understands how much. More than that, I’m not sure if he wants me like that. Someone to love, not just someone to fuck.

Considering all he’s told me, I doubt it. Which means that once all of this is over, he and I will be over, too.

The thought hangs over me, black and dark.

“So how is this going to go down?” Shane asks, the question tugging my attention back to the meeting. “I understand we’re not acting unless there’s a threat, but what’s the endgame? Just to make sure Ms. Bradshaw’s safe during the meet? Or are we bringing him in?”

“As soon as Brandy’s conversation with Mr. White confirms that he’s truly not hiring Brandy Bradshaw to make custom bags, we’ll move in. We’ll detain him, and we’ll question him.”

“Detain him?” I ask. “You can just do that? And where? Here?”

“Here? Goodness no,” Tamra says, as if I suggested desecrating a church. “We keep the foundation out of the SA activities as much as possible. Minimal co-mingling. A meeting like this on occasion? That’s fine. Interrogating a reluctant source? Not so much.”

“Which is Tamra’s way of saying we have a place,” Nova says. “A few miles from here. As for whether or not we can do that … well, you know…”

She trails off, obviously not understanding that, no, I don’t know.

“Can is one of those words that can be interpreted any number of ways,” Ronan says. “But the bottom line is that if we can get him in an interrogation room, we can be assured of getting answers. Assuming this isn’t all about purses after all.”

“No,” I say. “The email talked about a job in Riverside County. I don’t know what that could have to do with my bags. Besides, there’s something off about him. That stuff with gun-fingers in the street? That wasn’t normal.” I twist in my seat to look at Tamra and am relieved to see her nod in agreement.

“All right, then,” Ronan says. “You heard the lady. Expect quick confirmation that Mr. White is in the market to hire an assassin. We’ll grab and bag, then take him to the shed for interrogation.”

“The shed?”

“Think of it as a code name.”

I nod. I consider protesting that I don’t want this entire decision on me, but I stay silent. After all, it’s not. Ronan would never go against his own instincts. And by labeling this as my call, he’s drawing me into the circle of this team.