He felt Ryn’s fingers curl around his thigh.

He glanced at her and back to the road.

“We’ll have people close,” he grunted.

“I’ll arrange it and call Ryn,” Cisco said. “Until then, be safe.”

“Whatever,” Boone muttered.

“We will,” Ryn said quickly over him. “’Bye, Brett. See you soon.” She disconnected and then said hurriedly, because they were close to the turn, “You need to turn right on Logan.”

Boone didn’t say a word, just changed lanes.

“He won’t hurt me, Boone,” Ryn said quietly.

“You’re as close to this as I want you to be,” Boone told her. “That being circumstantially involved and that being in the past. But we need to know what he knows. So you’re still in. And I’m not okay with that.”

“Once he shares, you’ll have it and can take that ball and run with it, and I’ll be out,” she assured.

He fucking hoped so.

“Do you think Mueller and Bogart are a threat to me?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.

Though he thought, if they knew she had a line to Cisco, and was meeting him for another chat, they would be.

Christ.

Ryn let it go, gave him more directions, but he knew where they were going before they got there.

The pile of brick house she owned but didn’t live in, mostly because it was unlivable.

He parked and looked at it.

There were two big trees in the front that seriously needed to be cut back, overgrown hedges, and the only thing that was tidy was the lawn, which obviously she either mowed, or she had someone else do it.

They got out of his car and walked up the broken and cracked walk.

Ryn took her keys out and let them in.

And once in, she moved through the murk and turned on a standing lamp without a shade that showed him that the inside was worse than the outside.

It didn’t only look bad, it smelled bad.

The old owner clearly had cats.

About fifty of them.

“This is mine,” Ryn announced.

He caught her gaze and admitted, “I know.”

It took her a beat to process that, and he was surprised, and pretty fucking pleased, she let it go.

“I’m gonna flip it,” she said.

He stared at her.

She lifted both hands in front of her, starting to turn while spreading her arms out, instructing, “Visualize.”

He didn’t visualize shit.

He watched her.

No.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I already had a guy come in,” she said, “and he told me this has to stay.” She slapped a wall. “But it can be a column. The rest can come down, opening living room, kitchen and dining all in one big great room.”

She turned to him.

“I already have the chandelier I’m going to hang in the dining area and all the tile for the kitchen. It’s in my extra bedroom at the apartment. I also found this great slab for the island. Mom has it in her garage. Quartz. I’m gonna do two different kinds. One on the island. Another on the countertops. I haven’t found that second slab yet, though.”

She gestured down the hall.

“There are four bedrooms, but not really. One is more like a room even Harry Potter’s aunt and uncle would balk at putting him in. But for a house this size, it’ll make a killer master closet. An unexpected bonus in this neighborhood for potential buyers.”

She twisted and pointed through a doorway beyond which he could see more than he wanted to of a filthy, out-of-date kitchen.

“The backyard is huge. The hedges at the sides are great for privacy. I’m gonna do a flagstone patio, with a built-in overhang, put French doors in the kitchen, so it’ll be like an extra room. I’m also gonna add a built-in firepit.”

“That’s a lot of work, sweetheart,” he said carefully.

She didn’t look concerned or angry he pointed out the obvious.

She looked excited and sounded it when she said, “I know.”

She then moved to him, close to him, but she didn’t touch him.

She just tipped back her head, her long blonde hair falling down her back, and she spoke.

“But the plan is, get this done, do most of it myself, sell it, and comps in this neighborhood right now are ninety to a hundred thousand higher than what I got this place for. It’s gonna take some cash to make this what it can be, but not ninety to a hundred thousand. I stand to make thirty to forty grand on this. I invest half the profit in another property. Flip that, a lot quicker, using the extra money and the surplus I don’t spend from my own earnings pulling in a crew. After I unload that, double down, build my crew, and have two on the go, picking up another one whenever I sell one. And then have three on the go. And so on.”

She got even closer. He could almost feel her breasts brush his chest, but she still didn’t touch him.

And she lowered her voice.

“I’ve been sitting on this house for almost a year, Boone. The money would come in and go to Angelica. Or Brian. Not this place. My pad is all right, but I don’t live there because I like it. I live there because it’s cheap and I work at Smithie’s because I want this to be my gig. Buying houses, making them beautiful, selling homes. And I need money to make that happen. And now, because of you, I can.”

Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing?

“Is that gratitude, babe?” he asked.

“Yeah, Boone.”

He never in his life thought he’d want to make out with a woman in a dump that smelled of cat piss.

But after she said those two words, after watching her lay out her dream for him, he pulled her into his arms and made out with Ryn in her dump that smelled of cat piss.

When he broke it off, she was plastered to him and neither of them let go.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” she asked.

“No dream is crazy, Ryn. I worry you don’t know what you’re doing, but I reckon before you do it, you’ll figure it out or find someone who can help.”

She nodded.

“And I’m someone who can help.”

He felt her body ease deeper into his, and she smiled.

Good Christ, he wanted to fuck her all the time.

“I’m gonna get back on with demo tomorrow,” she declared.

“I gotta work tomorrow, baby. Take it easy. But the weekend, I’m here. And if I can arrange some time off, I’m here. You cool with that?”

“I didn’t bring you here to ask you—”

“I’m a member of the Extreme Alphas Club, woman. You think I don’t get off on the idea of demoing shit and trimming hedges and grouting tile?”

She started laughing.

“Now as awesome as this is,” he went on, “I really need you to walk me through it showing me what you’re thinking, and do that fast, so we can get outta here before I puke because of the stench.”

“The carpet goes first,” she replied.

“Word,” he agreed.

She started laughing again.

She stopped to tip her head to the side and ask, “Okay, Boone, sheikh’s son?”

He touched his lips to hers, said, “Later,” against them then broke from her, took her hand, and ordered, “Show me where you want the French door.”