11. Killian #3
"I mean it, Killian. I'm not some helpless damsel who needs to be locked away for protection. I know how to handle a firearm, and I've been through crisis response training. Let me help."
"Limited involvement," I concede finally. "From a defensible position, with proper protection. I can't focus if I'm worrying about you being in the line of fire."
She gives a slow nod, victorious but focused. "Deal."
Even as I say it, my mind races. If Ross is sending a Cell 7 team, they’ll come in force. A minimum of four operators, a maximum of eight. Jackson and Gabe are solid, but against trained Order enforcers, the odds aren’t in our favor.
Running isn’t an option. Julian has resources everywhere, and we’d just be sitting ducks on the road. At least here we control the terrain. Better to make our stand on ground we choose. I know her well enough to recognize that keeping her locked away will only make her reckless.
Neither of us speaks as we dress. The only sound is the rustle of fabric and the reality of the countdown ticking away in the back of my mind.
Ellie reaches for my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine.
"Stay with me tonight," she says, her voice low. Not a command, but a need I can't walk away from. "In my room."
She's seeking comfort in the arms of her father's killer, and I'm selfish enough to give it to her. Gregory Hart would put a bullet in my brain if he could see his daughter finding solace in my arms.
Refusing isn’t an option. With Gabe downstairs planning and Jackson on his way, I’m taking these hours while I still can. I’m greedy enough to want more than the smart choice.
"Are you sure?" I ask, studying her face for any hint of hesitation.
"I'm sure." Her fingers tighten around mine. "I don't want to be alone."
We slip through the house hand in hand. Gabriel’s in the kitchen, bent over surveillance feeds. He looks up when we pass but doesn’t say anything. He just watches us go with an expression I can’t quite read. Something’s shifted between Ellie and me. I can feel it.
Ellie leads me upstairs, through the hallway I've watched on the camera feeds but never walked, to the master bedroom at the end. Her sanctuary.
The room matches the floor plans I studied. Spacious, quiet, dominated by a super-king bed with crisp white linens. French doors lead to a private balcony overlooking the dark garden.
"Shower first?"
I follow her into the ensuite. Water hammers my shoulders, scalding enough to turn the air into a heavy white mist. We wash each other slowly, a stark contrast to the urgency from ten minutes ago. Her fingers find the old scar along my ribs, and then the puckered entry of the gunshot wound.
She has questions. I see them in her eyes, but she doesn't ask. Smart woman. The answers would break the peace we’ve found in the steam and silence.
I trace the curve of her spine, counting the vertebrae as she leans into my touch. I’m hoarding these memories before the morning comes and the world outside catches up.
You’re the only vulnerability I have left in this world, Dr. Hart. My every instinct tells me to destroy the threat before it destroys me. But for you, Ellie, I’ll be the trigger, the bullet, and the target all at once. I’ll put the gun in your hand myself.
The hot water washes away the sweat and sex, but the lie remains. I’m sinking deeper into her, making the inevitable fallout that much worse. Another reason for her to hate me when things finally go to shit.
Clean and warm, we dry each other before she leads me to her bed. We slide between cool sheets, and she curls into my side, her head resting on my shoulder as if we've slept this way a thousand times before.
"I should be terrified," she murmurs against my skin. "Of the Order. Of what's happening between us."
"But you're not?"
"No." She presses a kiss to my chest, directly over my heart. "Not when I'm with you."
Eventually, her breathing slows, her body relaxing into mine. I stay awake, one hand stroking her arm, the other tucked under my head as I listen to the house, watching the moon crawl across the floor. I’m stealing these final hours of silence before the debt I owe her finally comes due.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I reach for it carefully.
Gabe: Jackson ETA 0600. Two vehicles circled the property three times tonight. Different plates, same make/model.
They’re mapping the property. Looking for a way in.
Motherfuckers.
I set the phone down and pull Ellie closer, my hand moving to the Glock tucked under my pillow.
The next few days are going to be a bloodbath. Revelations, violence, and the fallout of the lies I’ve told her. But for now, she’s warm. She’s trusting. And the only thing standing between her and Ross is me.
I press a kiss to her forehead.
“I’ve got you.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Sleep is a tactical rest, the kind where part of my brain never fully shuts down. Always listening. Always poised.
In the gray space before dawn, I think about whether I’ll live long enough for the truth to destroy us, or whether Ross will do it first.
I’m living on borrowed time. And when the bill comes due, it’s going to cost us both everything.