Chapter Eight

Angel was quiet the rest of the evening. Colton offered her his bed, but she declined, so he made up the sofa with a blanket and pillow, knowing he wouldn’t win that argument.

“How are you for weapons?” he asked her.

She pulled out two semi-automatics—her standard issue Glock 40 and a smaller Beretta PX4—and set them on the coffee table. Then she extracted three extra clips from her front pockets.

“So, pretty good then,” he joked.

She smiled, but it wasn’t her normal smile. Not the smile that haunted him every night when he closed his eyes. Was she scared?

He couldn’t blame her if she were. She was a wanted fugitive. But he wanted to put her mind at ease.

“I have a bolt hole in my closet. The floor pulls up and it leads to the crawlspace under the house.”

He knew normal people didn’t need to think about such things. But he’d created an escape plan before he’d even unpacked his clothes. He figured he was safe for now. Viktor Kulakov thought he was dead. And even if he suspected Colton was still alive, he would have to dig through layers of cover before he would find Colton’s real name or his family.

The DEA had made sure his family would be safe. There were too many of them to move into the WITSEC program. Though, some days he selfishly wished they’d been forced to come with him. He hated the idea that his family thought he was dead. They’d lost his dad when they were younger, and now Colton. He wished there was a way to tell them he was alive and well.

Even if he hadn’t felt alive in months and didn’t consider the unrelenting loneliness as being all that well.

Still, he wasn’t dead.

His exit plan meant he had a chance to stay alive if anyone ever did show up wanting to do a better job at killing him than the last time.

“The hatch from under the house leads to the backyard,” he said. “When you get to the yard, stick to the fence on the left. Follow it the whole way to the end. There is a small garage across the alley. I own it. There’s a vehicle inside. Keys are in the pocket behind the seat. It’s stocked. Food, water, ammo. Anything you would need to get away.”

She digested all that for a moment, then said, “Thank you, Colton.”

He let out a breath. “Thanks for saying my name. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it spoken aloud, it almost doesn’t sound like it belongs to me anymore.”

Her brows creased. “What is your new name? I don’t remember. I just memorized your address.”

He’d always thought she’d chosen it on purpose as some kind of silly joke. But maybe not.

“Duncan Willis,” he told her, watching her face intently to see if there was a hint of recognition. Nothing.

She scrunched up her nose. “Duncan?”

“It took two whole days for some high school punk to come up with the nickname Dunking Willies.”

The laughter spurted out of her, and she covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to keep it in.

“They sometimes add a Scottish accent. Dunkin’ Weelies.” He used his best brogue to send her into another round of hysterics.

“I’m s-sorry. That’s not f-funny,” she stammered.

He might have believed her if she wasn’t still laughing. “I don’t know what this says about your sense of humor.”

She snorted. “Are you kidding? Normally I’m in the fifth-grade boy range. I feel like I’ve matured to high school level.”

“You’re the epitome of maturity,” he drawled.

“Whoa. Hold on a second. Don’t go using big words on me.” She was still laughing. “I see your mouth moving, but I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He rolled his eyes. “Get some sleep,” he ordered to end the mocking.

She nodded, but he knew she wouldn’t. Angel didn’t sleep. She rested in short spurts, but never slept deeply, or for very long. He’d always wondered if she’d conditioned herself that way for the job, or if it was caused by something else.

He paused by the edge of the living room. Pudge had already claimed a spot next to the sofa. Apparently, he was staying with her. That suited Colton just fine. Angel needed the heightened senses Pudge offered.

“In case you’re not here when I wake up, I wish you the best.” He took a breath. “It was nice to see you again.”

He shouldn’t have said that last part, but he couldn’t help it. It had been nice to see her. It had also been nice to hold her in his arms for that short moment. At the table earlier, he’d wanted to lean over and kiss her so badly he’d actually almost done it.

And when she’d made that moan of satisfaction over the food, his body had reacted to the sound just as it had in the past when he’d elicited a similar response from her.

But not from his cooking.

They’d been great together. The sex had been hot and fun. Their attraction had always seemed to hit them while doing the most mundane things. Once when she’d been cleaning her gun, they’d ended up rolling around on the floor. Another time, he’d been moving laundry from the washer to the dryer and she’d practically attacked him.

It had been perfect…except at the end of each amazing time with her, there had always been regret in her eyes. As soon as they dressed, she would repeat her warning about how they shouldn’t get close. It wouldn’t end well. Blah, blah, blah.

He should have believed her.

With a sigh, he headed for his room. He’d almost escaped into the hall when he heard her voice.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she called.

His heart seized, and he had to fight to keep from going back to her and begging her not to leave.

She’d said those same words the night she left him.