“Your house is lovely, Gabe.” If the heavy brown furniture had been in a smaller room, it would have been oppressive. Instead, the colors balanced the spectacular views of the lake and mountains and gave a feeling of homey comfort.

“It’s a good place.” Gabe seated her on the sectional, fetched two sodas from the kitchen, and settled beside her.

Right beside her.

A fizzle of heat started low in her abdomen because she remembered what had happened the last time she shared a couch with the man.

He chuckled and tangled his fingers in her hair. “Talk, first. Then we’ll see what happens.”

God, how did he read the thoughts right from her head? Yet, she couldn’t keep from tilting her head to press against the warmth of his big palm.

“You couldn’t tell me about your past because…” he prompted.

“You must know why.” She curled her fingers around his hand and held it against her chest, like a teddy bear. Needing the connection. “Fake name, fake papers. I figured that was probably illegal.”

“The ID didn’t come from witness protection?”

“No. I bought everything myself. No one knows—or they didn’t—where I’m hiding.”

His brows drew together. “Not even the FBI?”

“Spyros has informants in both the police and FBI on his payroll. I figured entrusting myself to them would get me killed. So I ran.” The memory of that time sent a tremor of dismay through her…because she’d have to run again.

“You ran.” Eyes narrowed, he looked out of the wide windows for a moment. “How did you learn Baumer had asked the Chicago PD about you?”

“An FBI special agent. He’s my only contact, and he keeps me updated about the investigation. He’s been wonderful. He didn’t like that I ran, didn’t know where I went, but he understood my reason.”

“Understood? Even though you didn’t let him know where you were?” Gabe’s eyebrows went up.

“I didn’t want him put in a bad position if his higher-ups asked him where I was.” She sighed. “That’s why I didn’t tell you, either.”

Jesus. Gabe studied Julie.

As she stared down at their entwined fingers, her long eyelashes were a shade darker than her golden hair, making shadows on her pale cheeks. Her hand trembled in his.

She was scared—and with good reason.

In the time between Baumer’s revelation and Julie’s appearance in the office, Gabe had been busy. He’d called an old SEAL buddy who worked for Interpol. The agent said the quiet librarian had not only defended herself, but the fight had cost the hitman an eye. The few times Spyros had been spotted afterward, he’d worn an eye patch. Interpol was positive the assassin would seek revenge.