What he really wanted was a short but to the point tête-à-tête with the man. Without RJ knowing, of course.

Which only made him look away, the fist again forming in his gut.

“It makes me nervous,” RJ said. “He’s up to something and we need to figure it out.”

York looked at her—oh no—

“Together,” she added. Then put her hands on his. “Or we let Roy handle it—after his wing is healed.”

Roy looked at her. “Really?”

“I’m not a spy,” she said, her gaze falling on Ziggy, then to York. “And I guess it’s time I accept that.”

“Yes, but you are smart,” York said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “You figured out the EMP bomb in Italy. And before that, the plot against the president.”

“There was a plot against the president?” Winchester said.

Oops. There he went, forgetting that there were unvetted ears at the table.

Except, he hadn’t forgotten. But it seemed that Winchester was authentically surprised, although, he was an actor.

Still, maybe not working for the rogue CIA faction behind it all.

Maybe.

“How about a walk,” RJ said, and reached for his hand. “Before trouble finds us.”

“I think the trouble is standing right beside you,” Roy said.

York threw an olive at him.

Roy ducked. Ziggy caught it.

York stood up, grinning. “You think I’m trouble…” he gestured to RJ.

She laughed, sweet and perfect.

Yes, he could stay here forever, the past behind them, the future glorious before them like the vineyard that stretched out into the night.

They walked past the garden, down the pathway, fingers entwined. She stopped before a massive cave, two wooden doors closed. “This is where Fred stayed. There is a tunnel, and it keeps going, all the way through the hill to the other side. That’s where he gets the Jews out.”

“That’s got to be a hard decision—stay and protect the woman you love, or leave.”

He didn’t know why he said that, just…

RJ turned to him, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. “York. Is there something you’re not telling me about…I don’t know? The attack? The man you met in Germany? The Bratva?”

He stared at her, but she just looked at him, staring back.

He should tell her. Right, no—no lies. Trust her with—

“York!”

He turned. Ziggy ran down the path, illuminated by the moonlight. “You have a call. Logan Thorne.”

“Now?”

“It’s only 3 p.m. in Washington D.C. He says he has information on the plane crash—or near crash? The one in Italy?”

Right. He kept RJ’s grip in his as they returned. Roy met them in the garden, clearly not wanting Winchester to hear their conversation.

He had Logan on speaker.

“Hey boss,” York said, joining the call. “what’s up?”