Chapter 6
Six
This felt too familiar.
In a dangerous, what-had-she-gotten-herself-into sort of way.
And sure, she’d secured safe houses in war zones and fortified apartments under siege, but standing in the kitchen of a retirement community rental at six p.m. on a Friday night, waiting for Asher to return with pizza, felt exactly like waiting for her father to come home from his shift.
Exciting. Anticipatory. Safe.
Oh, wow. Where had that come from?
Daphne turned away from the window and focused on the security hub she’d just installed on the kitchen counter. The small monitor showed feeds from four cameras. Motion sensors active on every window. Perimeter alerts armed. The house was locked down tighter than most federal facilities.
That was better. Security, she could control.
Feelings, she couldn’t.
From the living room, Destiny’s voice rang out. “What is the Magna Carta!”
Correct answer. The Jeopardy! theme music played.
Daphne moved to check the living room. Destiny sat on the sectional, elegant even in casual mode, eyes fixed on the television. Cashmere sweater still perfect despite the long day. Answering questions on the screen.
“You’re good at this,” Daphne said.
Destiny glanced at her. “I was on the show once. Years ago. Won forty-two thousand dollars.” Slight smile. “Ralph was furious. Said I was showing off.”
The smile faded.
Ralph. Dead now. The man who’d built a criminal empire and dragged his family into witness protection.
“Dinner should be here soon,” Daphne said.
“I don’t eat pizza.”
“I know. Asher’s picking up other options.”
“He seems capable. For someone so young.”
Young? Asher was thirty-two. Hardly young. But to seventy-something Destiny, maybe everyone looked young.
“He is capable,” Daphne said.
“Do you trust him?”
Daphne frowned. “Of course.”
Destiny studied her with sharp eyes that missed nothing. “Fifteen years in high society teaches you to read people. Your husband makes you nervous.”
“He’s not actually my husband.”
“I know that. But you’re nervous around him anyway.” Destiny turned back to the television.
Oh. She was? Maybe.
Daphne moved to check on Roger. Found him in the second bedroom, lying on the bed, hand on his side, scowling at his phone—the burner phone she’d given him with exactly three contacts programmed in.
“This phone is terrible,” he said without looking up.
“This phone is secure.”
“I can’t access anything. No apps. No internet. Nothing.”
“That’s the point. Draven Frost is looking for you. Every digital footprint is a trail leading straight to this house.”
“I’m bored.”
“You’re alive. Pick one.”
Roger’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t argue. Just turned back to the useless phone with nothing to do.
Daphne left him there and climbed the stairs to the bonus room. The pullout sofa was still folded up. Two duffel bags—hers and Asher’s—sat on opposite ends. She’d need to make the bed later. Need to figure out sleeping arrangements that maintained some semblance of boundaries.
Twenty-seven days of sharing this space with a man who either was exactly what he claimed or was the best liar she’d ever met.
She moved to the window. The distant peaks caught the last light. The streetlights had come on, houses warm with interior lights.
A normal community.
Except nothing about this was normal, was it?
Her phone buzzed. Text from Asher.
Asher
Five minutes out. Got extra supplies.
Something in her chest loosened. He was fine. No incident. No syndicate surveillance. No problems.
Just pizza and supplies.
And there was that feeling again. That stupid domestic feeling, like waiting for someone to come home meant something.
Stop it.
Daphne went back downstairs and did another security check. Cameras functioning. Sensors armed. Perimeter clear. Everything exactly as it should be.
The garage door opened.
Her heart rate picked up slightly.
For the love.
Asher walked in carrying three pizza boxes stacked in one hand and two grocery bags in the other. Dark jeans, gray Henley, jacket over his shoulder. Hair slightly windswept.
He looked…good.
Really good. She hadn’t realized how handsome he really was.
Okay, maybe she had. But this was the first time she’d taken a full breath and let it sit inside her.
Whatever.
“Hey,” he said, setting the boxes on the counter. “Got pepperoni, supreme, and veggie. Wasn’t sure what everyone wanted.”
“Veggie?” Daphne moved to help with the bags.
“For Destiny. Figured she’d complain less if there were options.” He started unpacking. “Also got coffee, cream, some fruit, chocolate, some sparkling cider, and”—he pulled out a bag of ground beef—“ingredients for actual meals. Can’t live on pizza for a month.”
Daphne stared at the counter. “Thank you,” she said. Meaning it.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Seemed practical.”
But it wasn’t just practical. It was thoughtful. Considerate. The kind of thing someone did when they were paying attention.
“I set up the security system,” she said. “Cameras on all four corners. Motion sensors on every window. Hub’s here.” She gestured to the monitor. “We can pull up feeds on our phones too.”
Asher looked at the setup. Something flickered in his expression. “You’ve been busy.”
“So have you.”
“Guess we’re both overachievers.” His mouth quirked slightly. Almost a smile. And Daphne felt something shift in her chest.
Dangerous.
“I also stashed weapons,” she said. Keeping it professional. “Two in the kitchen. One upstairs. One in the master bath. Just in case.”
“Where in the kitchen?”
“Under the sink, behind the cleaning supplies.”
“That’s—” He paused. “Actually, that’s brilliant.”
“I’ve done this before.”
“Clearly.” He pulled plates from the cabinet. “Let’s feed the witnesses, and then we talk. Fix the cover story before we make more mistakes.”
“Agreed.”
Daphne called Destiny and Roger. They came in from the living room, reluctant as teenagers summoned for dinner.
“Pizza,” Roger said flatly.
“And veggies,” Asher said, handing Destiny a plate with two slices of vegetable pizza and a small salad he’d apparently also picked up. “Figured you’d prefer this.”
Destiny looked at the plate. Then at Asher, something softening in her expression. “Thank you. That was sweet.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
But his tone was light. Almost teasing.
Destiny’s mouth twitched. “You have a sense of humor. Good. You’ll need it, living with her for a month.” She nodded toward Daphne.
“Hey,” Daphne protested.
“I’m just saying. You’re very…intense.”
“Intense keeps people alive.”
“So does knowing when to relax.”
Asher handed Roger a plate with three slices of pepperoni. Roger took the plate and headed back to his room.
Destiny called over her shoulder. “I’m eating out here. Jeopardy! is on.”
The door closed.
Silence.
Daphne looked at Asher. “Did we just get dismissed by our fake family?”
“Apparently.” He grabbed two slices of supreme and put them on a plate. Handed it to her.
Daphne took the pizza and moved to the small dining table. Asher joined her with his own plate—pepperoni, four slices.
They sat across from each other.
The house quieted except for the muffled television and the hum of the refrigerator.
November evening darkening outside. Curtains open. Mountains visible.
Asher got up and closed the curtains.
They ate in silence for a moment. The pizza was good—local place, actual ingredients, not a chain restaurant. Daphne realized she was starving.
“Okay,” Asher said finally. “Let’s fix this. What do you want to know?”
Daphne set down her pizza. “Everything. Real details. Not just cover-story facts. I need to know who you actually are so I can make up a convincing version of why I fell in love with you.”
“That’s—” He paused. “Fair. Where do you want to start?”
“Where are you from?”
“Denver. Born and raised. Parents divorced when I was ten. Dad left. Mom struggled. I got out as soon as I could.”
“Siblings?”
His expression shifted. Something darker. “Had a sister. Younger. She was killed seven years ago. Gang violence. Wrong place, wrong time.”
The bluntness of it hit her, took her breath. “Oh, Asher. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He took another bite of pizza. Chased it with a pop. “That’s what got me into police work. Wanted to stop people like the ones who killed her.”
“Did you?”
“Stop them?” His smile was dark. Humorless. “Some of them. Not enough.”
Interesting.
“Your turn,” Asher said. “Where are you from?”
“Here. Renegade. Born and raised.” She picked at her pizza crust. “My father was a cop. A good cop. A hero. He was killed in the line of duty when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” She echoed his word. “It was…it was rough. My mom was devastated—we both were. She packed me up three days after the funeral, and we went to live with my grandparents in Seattle. Never came back.”
He frowned at that. “So this is…”
“My first time back, yeah. Anyway, my dad’s legacy is what got me into law enforcement too. Wanted to be like him. Wanted to stop the bad guys.”
“Did you?”
“Some of them.” She met his eyes. “Not enough.”
He held her gaze across the table. Then sighed. “Okay then. So we both became cops because we lost someone,” Asher said. “That’s actually a good foundation for our cover story. Shared experience. Shared values.”
“Shared trauma?”
“That too.” His mouth quirked again. That almost smile that softened the hard edges. “Nothing says ‘true love’ like bonding over dead family members.”
Daphne snorted despite herself. Dark humor. The kind you only got from people who’d seen too much. “You’re terrible.”
“You laughed.”
“I have a warped sense of humor.”
“Good. Me too.” He leaned back. “So. US Marshals. When did you leave?”
Hmm. So many layers to that question. “Three years ago,” she said. “A case went wrong, and we lost a witness.” She met his eyes. “I had to walk away.”
“And you went private.”
“And I went private.” She looked at him. “Your turn. FBI. Why?”