“I do,” he snaps. “What I don’t trust is this group you’re going into.”

“They’re—”

He cuts me off. “I know. They’re Amish. You keep reminding me of that like they’re a bunch of fucking angels. But guess what, Kate? Somehow a fifteen-year-old girl ended up dead. She got pregnant. Had an abortion. Her body was pumped full of a dangerous narcotic. And she froze to death out in the fucking woods. That’s not to mention the rumors flying about that strange son of a bitch running things.”

“I guess you’ve been doing homework.”

“What do you expect?” he asks, his voice a scant inch away from nasty. “Undercover work is dangerous no matter how you cut it.”

“I’m not worried—”

“Maybe that’s the problem, Kate. You’re not worried. You’re not afraid to put yourself out there. You’re not afraid to lay it on the line. Maybe you should rethink that.”

I stare at him, my heart beating hard in my chest. Temper and uncertainty pull me in opposite directions. “I have to do this,” I tell him.

“Why?”

“Because I’m a cop. Because I’m the best person for the job. Because I’m good at what I do. Because she doesn’t have anyone else to speak for her.”

I’m not exactly sure where that last line came from. A place inside me that remembers what it was like to be a fifteen-year-old Amish girl and not have anyone to turn to when my life was shredded by an act of violence. When everyone—my own family included—swept it under the rug and pretended it never happened. I’m lucky because I survived. Rachel Esh did not.

“I need you behind me on this,” I say, surprised that my voice is shaking. “I don’t want to leave with things unsettled between us.”

“Things are not unsettled.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

Frowning, he gets to his feet and rounds the table, pulls me to my feet. “I love you. That’s not going to change. You got that?”

I don’t trust my voice, so I reply with a nod.

“I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence if I didn’t give you shit about this.”

“I got the message,” I tell him.

“When you love a cop, worrying sort of comes with the territory.”

“Same goes.”

“With you”—growling low in his throat, he brushes his mouth against mine—“it’s a full-time job.”

I don’t kiss him back, but something softens inside me. “You didn’t bite off more than you could chew when you got involved with me, did you, Tomasetti?”

“I can handle you just fine.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

Falling against him, I raise my face to his. “I need you to trust me,” I tell him. “That’s all I ask.”

“I do.” He dips his head and kisses my neck. “Will you do me a favor?”

I loop my arms around him. “Well, now that you’re being nice…”

“Listen to your gut, Kate. Don’t take any chances. Don’t trust anyone.”

“Okay.”