Epilogue
NAIROBI CRAWFORD
Hana had been true to her word. It only took her a few days to find Parker. She’d left Atlanta after our run in at the aquarium a few months ago. She moved to a quiet gated community outside of Charlotte—a cookie-cutter home with a doorbell camera and a stupid welcome mat that said Home Sweet Home.
Parker really should’ve known better. The Agency may have put her up in a suburban oasis, but you didn’t just disappear by moving two states over and buying new throw pillows.
Fontaine had handled the cameras on the streets and stoplights in a five-mile radius.
He disabled her alarm system from the car, his fingers moving across his laptop with a laser focus I’d always found sexy.
He’d killed the alarm system in under four minutes and looked up at me after like he was waiting for a grade.
“Go handle your business,” he said.
I gave him a quick peck after I checked my piece and slipped out of the car.
The neighborhood was still. It was a little past eleven at night, and there were a few houses with lights still on, but I wasn’t worried about being seen.
I went around the back of the house. The sliding door was the easiest point of entry, and this bitch had gotten comfortable and tried to upgrade the lock. It gave without much effort.
The inside smelled like Bath & Body Works candles and fabric softener. All of the furniture looked like it’d been left from whoever had staged this place.
I steadied my breathing, despite my pulse roaring in my ears, and moved through the house the way Sterling had taught me. I’d surveyed the house a few days earlier, and the stairs were carpeted so there was no worry of it creaking as I crept upstairs.
The master bedroom was at the end of the hall.
My eyes adjusted to the dark as I slowly pushed the door open. Parker was asleep on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow with her bonnet on. She looked so peaceful and clearly had no idea what she was about to wake up to.
Parker had been my handler for three years.
She’d known who I was, who Fontaine was to me, and what we’d been to each other.
Every job I’d taken, every client, had gone through her first. She had access to my life—my movements, my history, my connections—and used it to slide into his bed the moment I was gone.
Just because she could.
I crossed the room and pressed the silencer against her temple.
“Wha—” Her eyes flew open and landed on me. There was a split second of confusion before recognition set in.
She knocked the gun sideways with her forearm and came off the bed swinging.
I’ll give her that—she wasn’t going to die without a fight.
We hit the floor together, the gun falling out of my hand, her on top of me, throwing blows to my face.
I got my hands up to block and bucked my hips hard enough to get her off me.
“You thought I forgot?” I asked, sucking in a breath as I scrambled to my feet.
“Thought you’d at least have the manners to give me a time and place,” she spat, dropping into a crouch, ready to pounce again.
I caught the gun in my periphery and we lunged for it at the same time. I landed a kick into her ribs and grabbed it. Parker hit the floor holding her side, bonnet gone, her hair a mess of curls all over her face.
“All this over a nigga, Nairobi? Really?” she wheezed.
I fired two shots to her head.
“It’s the fucking principle, you trifling bitch.”
My man had kept his word about the yacht. We’d flown to St. Barts after dealing with Parker.
The water was so blue and clear, you could see schools of fish swimming alongside the boat.
He wanted this before I left for my job. I tried to convince him to wait until I got back, but he said this was how he wanted to see me off. Plus, things with Messiah were starting to be put into play, so who knew when the next time we'd have an opportunity for vacation.
So here I was, in a tiny white string bikini that he’d bought me, tanning on the deck of a boat that could easily host ten people, but it was just the two of us. Five days of sailing around the Caribbean.
“What you over there thinking about?” Fontaine asked as he handed me a fresh glass of champagne.
“How I can’t believe you got this big ass boat for just the two of us,” I replied, taking a sip of the Krug Grand Cuvée.
He screwed up his face. “You thought we were about to be on a catamaran or some shit?”
“And you say I’m bougie.” I laughed and rolled my eyes.
He dropped down into the lounge chair beside me.
“C’mere,” he said, setting his drink down and patting his lap.
I took another sip and obliged.
“What I say I was gon’ do to you when we got here?” he asked huskily as he kissed my neck.
I shivered, feeling my nipples harden at his touch.
“We can’t—” I started but my breath caught when he bit down on my shoulder.
“Why can’t we?” His hands made their way up my back and undid the strings of my top. It fell away, exposing me to the open air and his eyes.
“Have I ever told you how much I love your titties?” he said before taking one into his mouth.
My hips rocked against his growing hardness, hands wrapping around his neck.
“Let’s go into the room,” I breathed.
“Fuck no,” he gritted, palming my ass now. “You know how much I paid for this shit? I’ma have my woman however and wherever I want.” His teeth grazed my nipple. “Plus, I told them not to disturb us for like an hour.”
“Mm,” I moaned and grabbed his chin to kiss him.
Sometimes I wondered how I got so lucky to get a man who never gave up on me, even after I ran from him again and again. Who still loved me despite the cracked bits that I was trying to repair.
I’d spent my whole life thinking love was a liability. Something conditional, something to be managed and kept at a safe distance. My father had built me into something sharp and untouchable, until now I’d thought that was enough.
Then he died and forced me back to the place I’d run from. Back to Atlanta. To my friends. To Fontaine. Back to everything I swore I didn’t need.
Funny how that worked.
Passion ruled everything in the end—not the grand kind. This passion was the stubborn kind that waited you out until you couldn’t run anymore and you let it catch you.
“Hey.” Fontaine’s voice was gentle. His hand found my jaw and turned my face toward his. “Come back to me.”
I looked at him—his skin already bronze from the sun, his green eyes searching my face, knowing I’d disappeared inside my head.
I smiled. “I’m right here.”