His expression tightens and he releases me, and he does so a little too easily. He doesn’t like this conversation. He never does.

I’m angry with him and like the perfect adult I am, I give him my back glance at caller ID and confirm my caller before I answer with, “Director Murphy. How did we not know this?”

“A man with money and power can make a lot of things happen. Speaking of, does Kane know?”

The question almost certainly confirms what Kane has been telling me all along. Murphy, a high-ranking member of the FBI, supports my relationship with Kane, someone the FBI has long tried to prove is a criminal as was his father, with motive. He sees Kane’s power and influence as a weapon to use against the Society. “Kane doesn’t work for your task force, Director,” I say offering nothing more.

“Of course not,” Murphy says dryly. “And as for what comes next. Death was too good for that man. We’ll make him pay for his sins.”

“Is that your grown-up Christmas list or do you have a plan?”

“A question for after the holiday. Happy Thanksgiving, Special Agent Love.” And with that, the asshole hangs up.

I rotate to face Kane, who hasn’t moved, the very stubbornness of his position in denial of any withdrawal on his part. He never gave up on me. Ever. And when he put this ring on my finger and I said yes to marrying him, I made a decision to do the same with him. I’m still pissed at him but to hell with fighting. I step into him. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can be alone where we can fight this out properly, and I can win just as properly.”

His eyes darken with approval and his arm slides around me as we head to the chopper.

Soon we’ll be in the Hamptons, and no doubt, so will Pocher.

CHAPTER TWO

Kane settles into the chopper seat next to me and I don’t miss the flex of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that has nothing to do with our tense words. It’s about pain that he would voice, the result of the wounds created by the two blades shoved into his shoulders by Roger, meant to paralyze his arms, still only a week old. He yanks his seatbelt across his chest and I catch it and insert it for him. I might still be fuming a bit over our conversations, but I will protect him. I would kill for him. And we both know it. I used to think the problem for us was his ability to kill for me. Now I lean toward my ability to kill in general being a problem. The fact that it often doesn’t feel like a problem is an even bigger problem.