CLARA

When I answered the call from Sinclair, my stomach instantly clenched, dreading what he was going to demand from me now. The conversation was brief, and he did all the talking, telling me that the death of Rust Markov caused considerable challenges in this case but we still managed to get some impressive results. That line sounded like a formal statement to quash internal politics. Then he announced that my role in this case was finished and that I would be going home to resume my previous job on the MCU, but that I should fill out another application to join the FBI.

Apparently Sinclair is impressed by my tenacity, my intelligence, and most of all, my resourcefulness. He will make sure that my name rises to the top of the list.

I should be ecstatic. This is everything I wanted. And this could have—and by all rights should have—gone an entirely different way, ending with me working as a rent-a-cop, chasing twelve-year-old shoplifters at the local mall.

But the entire time he was talking, all I was thinking about was Luke. About how I went to sleep after our midnight run thinking that maybe there was a chance to salvage something here. That if I was going to lose my job anyway, then maybe we could make this work.

My career hasn’t ended. I’m getting what I’ve worked so hard for.

Which means that I can’t carry on a real relationship with my former target. I wouldn’t get past the first levels of applicant vetting without raising major flags.

So this, right here, is everything I’m ever going to have with Luke.

He kicks the door shut before the dogs have a chance to join us, and then he doesn’t waste a second, pulling me into a long kiss that has me finally breaking for air.

We become a tangled mess of limbs as our clothes fall to the floor, until there’s nothing between us but skin and this mass of emotions that have somehow survived such a violent storm.

“Hold on a sec.” He leaves me stretched out onto the bed to fish something from his duffel bag. I assume it’s a condom, so when the first sparkles of diamonds catch my eye, I frown.

“I know you can’t keep this,” he starts, kneeling on the bed, his perfect naked form almost as overwhelming as the necklace in his hands. “But can you please just wear it for tonight?” He clasps it behind my neck and then straightens all the long strands, his fingers skating all over my breasts as he positions the diamond raindrops. “When I saw it, I knew it would be perfect for you.”

I simply lie there, letting his eyes roam over me, letting my eyes roam over him. Drinking him up for the last time.

Until it’s just too much to bear.

I wrap my legs around his hips, knowing he’ll get the message.

His Adam’s apple bobs with his hard swallow. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

So are you. That mess of wavy brown hair that somehow looks perfect, even though I know he didn’t do anything to it today. That jawline that I remember staring up at the night I threw a drink at him. It feels like an eternity ago. Those full lips that are almost too pretty to be on a man.

Those sincere blue eyes that have never lied to me.

I give his hips a gentle tug toward me with my legs but he resists. “Is something wrong?”

He blinks several times, as if fighting tears. “You’re never coming back, are you?”

I grit my teeth to fight my own tears as I climb to my knees, until my chest is pressed against his and my arms coil around his head.

Holding him tight to me.

I can feel his heart hammering against my chest. I wonder if it’s hurting as much as mine is. I coax his lips with my own. And then he’s stealing the air in my lungs with his mouth, consuming my body with such palpable emotion, it’s almost suffocating.

I absorb all of it.

Reveling in the feel of being with Luke one last time.

No guilt.

No lies.

Telling myself that I can never forget what this feels like.

Tangled with Luke’s body, I’m so comfortable that Stanley and Licks’ howls don’t register immediately. It’s not until I feel Luke’s body stiffen, and I know he’s awake too, that it clicks.

I’m on my feet in seconds and peering around the door frame to see the dogs standing in front of the door, growling.

Luke’s up and pulling on track pants. I run into my room to throw on the first pair of pants and T-shirt that I can find. And then my fingers make fast work of the safe so I can get to my gun. I check my phone for any calls from Warner, wondering if it could be him.

No missed calls.

This isn’t him.

A knock sounds.

I punch Warner’s number in and toss the phone to Luke. “Tell him what’s going on.” Right about now, I’m really wishing I didn’t demand that they shut off the cameras. Tiptoeing toward the door, I flick the safety off my gun. I shoo the dogs away with a gentle nudge of my foot, and then call out, “Who is it?”

“Delivery.” A deep, male voice. Not Russian, but still . . .

“At three a.m.?”

“It’s special.”

“Special my ass. The cops are on their way.”

There’s a long pause, and I hold my breath, listening for the cock of a gun. When he speaks again, it’s with less confidence. “I was told that you needed to receive this now, or it will be too late.”

“What will be too late?” Dammit. How do I ignore that?

“I don’t know, Miss. It’s . . . help.”

For all I know, the guy could have a gun aimed at the door, waiting for a shadow to pass over the peephole. I wave my hand several times, holding my breath. No shots fired.