8. Nairobi Crawford #3
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And about that little threat?” she added, tone shifting to something colder. “If it’s really up, let me know. Because if you touch me, make sure you kill me. I may not be out in the field like you, but I know how to handle myself.”
Two beeps and the line went dead.
A sharp knock came at the door before I had a chance to collect my thoughts. That couldn’t be Fontaine—he would’ve let himself in.
I slid off the bed, padded to the front door, and checked the peephole—nothing.
I cracked the door and looked down the empty hallway.
There was no evidence anyone had been here—no ding from the elevator, no sound from the door that led to the stairwell.
But on the floor was a cream envelope with my name written in looping calligraphy.
I bent down and picked it up slowly, flipping it over. No return address, just a black wax seal with a flower that looked like an oleander.
I ripped it open, kicking the door closed behind me. Inside was a card with nothing but an address, a time, and a single word:
SANCTUM
“What’s that?”
I looked up to see Fontaine walking in. I hadn’t even heard the door open.
I handed him the card and headed for the living room.
He followed, shrugging off his coat.
“This from who I think it’s from?”
“Yep. Showed up right after your girl Parker hung up on me.”
He let out a low breath and looked at the card again. “I’m guessing that didn’t go well.”
“She said what she said, and I said what I said.” I waved a hand and sank onto the couch. “But she warned me to be careful. I guess doing her due diligence as my handler.”
“Hm.” He dropped down beside me. “You going?”
I nodded.
“You could let me dig a little more. Give it another twenty-four hours.”
“There’s no time. I can’t keep people like this waiting—you gotta move when they’re ready.”
His jaw ticked. “And you’re planning to just walk in there alone?”
“You worried about me?” I teased.
He huffed out a breath and pushed up his glasses. “It just seems reckless.”
I reached for him, brushing my fingers through his beard. “This is what I do. You know I’m not sloppy. Plus, I’m not stupid—I know you’ve been tracking both my phones since I got back. You’ll know where I’m at.”
“Still don’t like it. Something in the milk ain’t clean,” he grumbled.
“Don’t do that,” I murmured, climbing into his lap.
I rested my head against his chest and inhaled deeply, letting the scent of him anchor me.
Rich leather and spice from the Tom Ford cologne that he always wore, layered over something clean, like he’d just taken a shower.
The memories rushed back—us in bed, the way I felt safest when he wrapped himself around me.
All things I’d buried the minute I left him in New York.
“When you start wearing these all the time?” I asked, slipping off his glasses and placing them on the table beside us.
“Sitting in front of a screen finally caught up to me,” he replied as his arms settled around my waist.
I wondered what else I’d missed in the time I’d been gone. What else had changed in his life while I was out in the world trying to forget him?
“When you gon’ let me help you?” he mused, fingers tracing along my spine. “You don’t have to carry all this alone.”
“I know. But it’s my default setting—Sterling made me this way. My head’s so fucked up, I don’t know what it looks like to have help. I’ve been broken for so long, that this is my version of being whole. It never was a problem ‘til you came along.”
He let out a slow breath as he pressed his lips to my collarbone. “You’re not broken, Nai.”
I buried my face in his neck and closed my eyes, trying to push down the lump in my throat.
He didn’t know how badly I wanted to believe him.
From the jump, Fontaine had always seen right past my impenetrable armor.
How pathetic was it that I was thirty-eight and never been in anything that resembled a real relationship?
Men were useful and temporary—Fontaine was neither of those things.
His hands moved over my skin. “You ever gonna let me in, Kitten?” His voice was smooth like cognac. “Ain’t nothing about you too much for me. You got me. Shit, you been had me.”
But Sterling’s voice came creeping back—Don’t depend on anybody. Your instinct is what’ll keep you alive.
And right now, it was screaming that letting Fontaine in would break me down in ways I wouldn’t come back from.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I said finally, meeting his gaze. “This wasn’t in my plans.”
Something flickered across his face as his green eyes bore into mine. Something between hurt and resignation.
I cleared my throat. “Sanctum—you think it’s a password?”
His mouth tightened at the deflection, but he didn’t press. He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head, creating space between us again.
“Probably,” he said flatly, shifting enough for me to slide off his lap.
I went back to my side of the couch and adjusted a strap on my bodysuit. I already missed his warmth.
“Guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”