He winced, clearly not liking her to compare him to the other assassins in the cemetery.
“You aren’t the only one who wants retribution and justice. I want it, too. And I’m going to make damn sure I get it, no matter who’s responsible.”
But they both knew what would happen after their goodbyes had been said.
His fingers tightened on her upper arms. “What about us?”
“There’s an ‘us’?” She kept her tone insouciant as she stepped away, the feel of his fingers burning like ten individual brands. Instead of rubbing the sensation away, she braced her hands on the counter behind her. His gaze dropped from her mouth to her breasts, making her heart leap in response. No, not this. He wanted her physically. But Mia was greedy. She wanted it all.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, because I didn’t get that from what you said. I said I loved you. You said you cared for me. That doesn’t add up to an ‘us’. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’d ever believe that you’re capable of giving or receiving love. Does someone who kills for a living feel love? Do you even feel anger or hate, Cruz?”
“Damn it. You know we have something.”
“What’s the definition of that something, Cruz? Maybe I’m obtuse. Spell it out for me.”
“I care about you,” he repeated, eyes black and unreadable, tension in every line of his body.
“Hmm.”
She walked back to the table and the piles of papers she’d haphazardly returned to the surface. Brushing off a sparkle of glass, she found a business card and a pen. Turning over the card, she scribbled on it, then handed it to him between two fingers—almost a challenge. “I wrote the number to my direct line on the back. Maybe I’ll want to talk to you in three or four months. Maybe not.”
She took a last look at his face, even though looking and not touching ripped out her heart.
It was better this way. She couldn’t not love him, despite who and what he was. And he was incapable of loving her the way she wanted and deserved.
She walked past him, close enough to smell his pheromones and near enough to observe the muscles under his eyes flinch as she kept going. At the door to the kitchen, Mia picked up her carry-on bag, then straightened and made herself turn to face him. “Goodbye, Cruz.”
• • •
After following a convoluted flight plan through five different cities so that no one would be able to follow her, Mia arrived in San Francisco with the security detail of four men sent by Black Raven. The first thing on her list was food. She planned to hole up and get these matters resolved once and for all. And the fewer people who knew she was back in town, the better.
It was one in the morning, three days after she’d left Cruz. She hit a twenty-four-hour market that was empty other than herself and her security team, and a gum-chewing guy who talked on his cell phone as he rang up her purchases. He was more interested in the men with her than in Mia herself.
She was taking a risk returning to the city. Probably a big risk. But she had to see this through to its conclusion, and returning was her only option. And at this point she didn’t trust anyone other than the heavily armed men accompanying her. Two carried her groceries; the others kept their eyes moving as they walked into the empty lobby of the Blush building. She was made to wait while one of the men distracted the security guard so that she could enter the elevator undetected. Within minutes they were in her pied-à-terre on the top floor.
Mia felt as though she’d been gone for years instead of months. She was home, but she wasn’t taking any chances of things going south. She had things to do; the security company’s sole job here was to make sure she was safe and unharmed and able to do what she needed to do. Their counterparts in Denver were still doing intense background checks on everyone she could think of.
After unpacking the groceries, she made herself a cup of tea and carried it into the study, leaving the men to their own devices. The small study-library would be her war room. She needed answers, and she wouldn’t stop until she had them.
Starting a new list brought her a strange sort of peace.
While she sorted through the most likely suspects who wanted her dead, she’d stay in, prep her own food, and not trust a soul. Five men had been hired to kill her. Ludicrous. It was overkill. But if someone had hired five hit men, they were desperate, and therefore dangerous. For all she knew there might be more hit men lurking where she least expected them to be.
Now hyperaware, she was taking no chances. First thing on her agenda was taking a meeting via Skype with the investment firm. She’d set that up for first thing the following morning.