“Thank you for going to dinner with me.”

I blinked into the darkness.

I did this rapidly to hold my emotions at bay.

Dinner had been great. Asher had asked about my day and filled me in on the Rhode, Brooklyn, Remington story, which was both tragic and beautiful since they ended up together as a family. But in telling me about the trio’s reunion he also told me about Letty’s sister and how she died. He didn’t let me dwell on her murder, taking us right into Letty and River and how they’d known each other for over a decade but only met face-to-face recently and now they were engaged. He asked about shopping. We talked books. I teased him about reading romance, then told him I loved that he did.

It was easy.

Then we came home, and he set about making good on his earlier promises. Which of course he did, spectacularly.

“I think I’m supposed to thank you,” I whispered.

“Why would you thank me? I’m the one who had the pleasure of your company.”

The blinking continued when I begged, “Please stop talking. I’m afraid you’ll run if I cry three days in a row.”

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

Which thankfully he did. I was nearly asleep when I heard him whisper.

“I will never run from you.”

My eyes popped open. My breath caught and I prayed he was telling the truth.

I wasn’t ruined.

I was on the mend.

22

I was at my desk reading the latest intel report on Will Evans. He was in frequent contact with all the usual suspects—Russian mob, cartels, and warlords—but none of those interested me. Getting a Russian mobster to roll over was akin to making wine out of water, and since I wasn’t Jesus I’d never pull off that particular miracle. It was the Lorenzos he dealt with, the middlemen, we needed to find. I had less than a week before I had to be back in California. Something I was hoping to avoid.

I heard footsteps outside my office and looked up from the papers scattered on my desk.

“You got a minute?” Wilson asked.

I didn’t like the look on my boss’s face. Normally, Wilson was easygoing. That was until you pissed him off—then the man was like a Rottie on steroids. He’d chew your leg off and not think twice.

“What are you doing here?”

“The team’s waiting in the conference room.”

What the fuck? Wilson had called a meeting and no one told me.

“The team’s waiting?”

Wilson held my angry stare. And since I knew he wasn’t going to break I pushed back from the desk and stood.

A hundred scenarios played out in my mind as I followed Wilson down the hall. Yesterday he’d finally met with Marco Kelly, the owner of Club Joi. I knew the meeting happened, but after a brief check-in Wilson said he had some business to handle, then he went dark. However, he had not mentioned coming back to Idaho.