“Stop.” She gave him her fiercest scowl and pulled her hand free. Carried away as she’d gotten that night with the man, the mood, and the moonlight, her mental faculties had been in full working order. She’d known the exact instant her control had begun slipping. And she’d let it. End of story. “I’m a big girl, and I make my own decisions. I could have put the brakes on too—but I chose not to. That’s my guilt to bear, not yours.”

He studied her, then gave a curt nod. “Message received.” Then he leaned forward again and switched gears. “I know my time is running out, so let me cut to the chase. I never forgot you, Cate. Never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped missing you—and wishing we could have had our happy ending. But I assumed that was an impossible dream . . . until we met again at Ivy Hill.”

She snatched up a throw pillow and hugged it against her chest, easing it back a hair after her ribs protested. Zeke would no doubt pick up on her I’m-going-into-protective-mode body language—and that was fine. She wasn’t taking any more frivolous chances with her heart.

“The intersection of our cases was pure coincidence.” Her assertion came across far more confident than she felt.

“Was it?”

“What do you think it was?”

“A second chance?”

She squeezed the pillow. “I’m done taking chances.”

“The odds are in our favor this time.”

Maybe.

He did seem to have subdued his demons. Appeared comfortable he’d paid off most of the debt that had burdened him for almost two decades.

And it wasn’t as if their unexpected reunion had been the catalyst for his career-related soul searching. At their first meeting in the library, he’d told her he was already thinking about returning to regular agent duty back in the States.

Could they make a new start?

“I’m not asking for an answer today, Cate. I’m just asking you to think about the possibilities.”

She played with the cording on the edge of the pillow. Now that she knew the real basis for his decision to leave her for the DEA, it was harder to hold on to the animosity she’d nurtured for eight years—especially since it was obvious the situation had been as traumatic for him as it had been for her.

But she wasn’t ready to offer any assurances.

“I have to think about it, Zeke.”

“Of course. But I’d like you to think about this too.” Once more he clasped her hand.

A swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach, and her lungs balked.

She waited for his request—but he didn’t speak.

At last she moistened her lips. “Th-think about what?”

Drat that catch in her voice.