Forty-Two

Sabrina kept staring at him, that blue-eyed glare of hers cutting him to the quick. He recognized an interrogation tactic when he saw one, and she used it beautifully—letting the silence between them grow into something so big and heavy that he shifted uncomfortably beneath its weight. “I forgot how good you were at this,” he said, shooting her a glance.

She smiled. “I’m good at a lot of things, O’Shea. You’ll have to be more specific.”

He arched an eyebrow, a slight smirk coasting across his mouth. “Now, that I remember.”

Incredibly, she blushed, a red stain rushing across her cheeks. “You’re trying to distract me.”

He shrugged. “Is it working?”

“No.” She broke eye contact, looking out the window. “You’re going to find that warehouse alone,” she said.

“Yes.” There was no use lying. There never had been where she was concerned.

“Why can’t I go?”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said automatically, giving her the first answer that popped into his head.

“Bullshit,” she said, not buying a word of it. “Why can’t I go?”

He felt something inside him shift, the truth he fought to keep buried, bubbling to the surface. He clenched his jaw shut and shook his head, eyes glued to the road.

“I’ll just follow you—”

“I don’t want you there,” he practically yelled, causing the dog behind him to let out a low-level growl. “Rustig,” he said firmly and was rewarded with a split-second look of confusion before the dog did as he commanded and quieted. He shot Sabrina a glance, struggling with what came next. “I won’t be able to do what I have to if you’re there.”

“You can’t go in alone, O’Shea.”

“Sure I can,” he said with a shrug. “I do it all the time.”

The blush on her cheeks had faded, but now what color remained drained from her face. “I don’t care what you’re used to doing. I don’t want you going by yourself.”

“And I don’t want you with me.” He looked away, directing his gaze out the windshield, focusing on the road so he wouldn’t have to see her face when she finally understood. “I don’t use silence to get answers. My interrogation tactics are a little more physical.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Her blasé tone pulled his attention for a moment, reminding him that she worked for Shaw now and there was nothing he could do about it. “No … but that doesn’t mean I want you to watch while I use a pair of gardening shears to play This Little Piggy with one of Reyes’s underlings,” he said bluntly. “Look”—he raked a hand over his face and shook his head—“I’m not going to apologize for—”

“Good, because I’m not looking for an apology.”

He risked a glance at her. She sat turned toward him in her seat, shadows splashed across her face, rushing and retreating through the windshield, making her expression hard to read. He felt it again, that nearly desperate need to put space between them. To push her away. Keep her safe. “How you liking the new job?” He hadn’t meant to say it—hell, he hadn’t even meant to admit that he knew she was working for Shaw, but there it was, a ticking time bomb between them that had suddenly detonated.

“Oh, am I supposed to apologize now?” she said, shaking her head. “There’s a lot of shit I’m sorry for, a lot of shit I regret, but calling Shaw isn’t one of them.”

“Give it some time,” he said as he angled the car against the curb outside her house and cut the engine. “He won’t play nice forever.”

She stared straight ahead for a few moments, her attention focused on something other than him. “That day, when David told me I couldn’t save you both, I was confused. I didn’t understand—I didn’t know you were there,” she said, turning toward him, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then I realized what he was saying. You came to rescue me. Again. And I’d have to choose between you and Val. I couldn’t. Don’t ask me to be sorry about that.”

“I’m not worth saving,” he said quietly.

She popped her door open and dropped a foot onto the curb before looking at him again. He could read her expression plainly now; it was a mixture of sadness and the kind of resolve he knew he’d never be able to break, no matter how hard and far he pushed her away.

“That’s not something you get to decide.” She stepped out of the car and levered the seat, motioning for Avasa to follow her. She stopped on the sidewalk, looking down at him through the open window. “I love you.” She said it plainly, and he could see just how much it cost her to lay herself bare like that.

He looked away, unable to take the full weight of her gaze. “You shouldn’t.”

“You don’t get to decide that either,” she said before she turned and led the dog across the yard and into the house.