59. Mandy
MANDY
We have a plan. D-day is Monday.
Which gives us two days to figure out exactly how Hendricks is going to hand me over to a man who probably wants me dead—without actually getting me dead.
Details.
The one thing we didn't figure out is Clara.
We know who she is. We know she might be abducted in four days. What we don't know is how to protect her without tipping off Ashford or anyone else involved. Harper wants to put eyes on her, but Hendricks thinks even that could spook someone who's watching her. If someone's watching her.
They're both right, and we can't take a chance with her life.
Fortunately, there's another option. They just don't know about it yet.
I glance over at the man as he drives us home. He has that tightly controlled look about him again. Both hands on the wheel. Shoulders rigid. Jaw ticking.
I always thought the ticking-jaw thing was something romance authors made up. It’s not—and it’s fucking hot.
Unfortunately, the rest of him looks like he’s mentally running through every possible way Monday could go wrong and assigning each one a body count.
I hide my smile by looking out the window. “You’re brooding.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Your jaw is thinking very aggressively.”
His eyes stay on the road. “Mandy.”
There it is: the warning.
I settle deeper into my seat, watching the Montana countryside slide past the window. He’ll spend the entire drive doing this if I let him—planning, replanning, looking for every variable he can control because the one variable he can’t control is sitting beside him.
Me.
That should probably bother me. Instead, warmth unfurls in my chest.
Jesus. Feelings are inconvenient.
I glance at Hendricks again. The clenched hands. The rigid shoulders. That ticking jaw.
That’s okay—I know how to relax him.
A slow grin spreads across my face.
When we get home.