Chapter 36 Ben #2
I do and it’s stuffed with bags of M&M’s. I swing a look at her. “Did you eat the chocolate cake in Italy?”
She shrugs. “You said you didn’t want it.”
“You said you didn’t like chocolate.”
She turns, a slow smile forming. “And you believed me. That’s on you, Miller.”
“And the cat you risked your life trying to rescue in Lagoverde?”
She shrugs, not even bothering to look apologetic.
“Unbelievable.” I sit back in my seat. “It was you in the museum that night, wasn’t it?”
“You saw me, didn’t you?”
“I mean, upstairs. Trying to break in. You were the one in black.”
“If you’re asking if I was the one who gave you the slip”—her lips tip up—“then yes, that was me.”
“I think I remember you not getting inside,” I say smugly, but then I sit up. “Wait, was the bike crash on purpose? Were you
following me?”
“It was not on purpose.”
“Remind me to reach out to our international operations division and pull a video of that moment,” I say teasingly. “Might
be my favorite memory.”
“Mine was the wolf with the hunky six-pack,” Cybil says with a sigh, and jealousy flares in my chest.
“Was it boredom?” I ask, wanting to forget that particular moment in Italy. “Or some deep-seated desire to tangle with arms
dealers and egomaniacs?”
“What?”
“The reason you work for SNAP.”
She smiles, barely. “It’s the money.”
I wait.
“And the whole justice thing,” she adds after a beat. “But yeah. The money doesn’t hurt when you have a mountain of student
loans and a mom with ADHD who treats impulse shopping like a coping mechanism. One bad day and suddenly we owned six Himalayan
salt lamps and a Texas-shaped waffle maker.”
I laugh. I shouldn’t. But it’s her delivery. Dry. Perfect.
She sighs and finally looks at me. “When I left for college, my mom spiraled. I think she relied on me to keep her life on
track—bills, work, all of it. Without me, things slipped. I used my student loans to cover her bills, worked two jobs just
to stay afloat, and by the time I graduated, the debt was unmanageable. I mean, canned soup by candlelight wasn’t exactly
the goal I had for myself.”
I know that. Cybil was going places, and it crushes me to hear how much she’s struggled.
“I needed a job that paid the bills, allowed me to heat my soup.” She smiles. “SNAP offered to pay me well and I get to help
take down bad people.”
“And it doesn’t bother you? Lying to people?”
“Does it bother you?”
I take a slow breath because she has me there. But . . . “I’m trained.”
“To lie?”
“To do what’s necessary to take down the bad guy. I know the risk going up against criminals like Lorenzo Ramirez. Did you?”
Her silence is my answer, and my earlier concern comes roaring back.
“Cybil, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” she says. “Ever since my dad’s settlement was stolen, I’ve felt helpless.
It’s a horrible feeling. SNAP has given me two things I’ve never had: control and stability.
I grew up waiting for the next eviction notice or to see if my mom remembered to buy groceries.
But this? I get to lie to bad people for a living.
I no longer feel helpless. I feel like I can do something to help protect others from becoming a victim like my mom and I were. ”
It’s probably a good thing Cybil’s driving, because if she weren’t, I’d be unable to resist pulling her into my arms and doing
something reckless. Like tell her I haven’t stopped loving her since the day she shoved me into cow manure. Or that I’ve wanted
to kiss her ever since she busted my lip with a bag of flour.
The car rolls to a stop in front of her uncle’s ranch house, dust pluming across the front porch. Birds are chirping like
nothing’s wrong in the world, like we didn’t just get handed a mission that could end badly in more ways than I can count.
Cybil kills the engine and rests her hands on the wheel. I know she doesn’t want to leave, and I hate that she has to.
“Hey,” I say, voice low. “I’m sorry.”
She glances at me, brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For lying to you. For not figuring out a way to protect you from Ramirez. I never wanted you to get caught up in this.”
She huffs, a dry laugh escaping as she settles her hand on the steering wheel. “I chose this mess. It pays well. And supports
my chocolate addiction, which, frankly, is more committed to me than most men.”
I shake my head, lips twitching. “So my competition is chocolate. That’s tough.”
She grins, the kind that’s quick and sharp and completely unfair to my ability to think straight. “You’re not responsible
for me, Ben.”
I lean back against the seat, watching her profile in the afternoon sun. “Well, I can’t rely on Craig Miller, can I? Dude’s
such a loser.”
“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “He’s kind of endeared himself to me.”
That gets me. Right in the chest. I turn to look at her fully, but she’s already halfway smirking, not giving me an inch.
Then her gaze drops to my still-swollen lip, and she clicks her tongue. “But his fighting skills are abysmal.”
“He’s not skilled in food combat,” I say solemnly. “Especially not when ambushed by a five-pound bag of flour and a woman
with excellent aim.”
She leans her head back, eyes closed, and lets out a laugh.
A real one. And as much as I want to kiss her—bruised lip and all—I realize that this moment is more than that.
It’s the moment I know. I want this woman in my life.
The sharp, stubborn, justice-fueled firecracker who lies for good reasons and keeps secret stashes of M&M’s for stress, stakeouts, and emotional sabotage.
Cybil believes she has to protect herself. But I want to change that.
“I promise you, if Craig Miller doesn’t do his part in this mission, I will.”
She turns to me, and there’s something steady in her eyes now—something honest.
“That’s good.” She opens the door and steps out into the warm afternoon air. Looking back over her shoulder, she says, “Because
it would be really embarrassing if I have to save both of you.”
The door shuts behind her with a soft thud, and I’m left sitting there, head spinning. I know she’s joking. I know she’s guarding
herself—with sass and sarcasm, her favorite kind of armor. And maybe she doesn’t need protecting. She might’ve bested me last
night with a fruit bowl, but I’ve got skills. Actual federally certified ones.
Still. I’ve never felt more outmatched—or more determined to keep someone safe.
Cybil disappears inside the house, and I pull out my phone and call Katherine.
She picks up on the second ring. “Please tell me you haven’t been taken hostage with a bobby pin and a glare.”
“Not yet,” I mutter, glancing at the house. “But the day’s not over and she’s terrifyingly resourceful.”
“What’s going on?”
I exhale, shifting against the seat. “Ramirez’s paranoia isn’t going away. I’m concerned about the plan working.”
Katherine is quiet for a beat. “What do you suggest?”
“We stop trying to cover our tracks. We let Ramirez think he’s figured it out, let him believe he’s found the leak.”
“You have a plan?”
“Yeah,” I say, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Will she go along with it?”
I run my thumb across my fat lip. “Yeah, she’ll go along with it.” And likely love every second of it.