Page 139 of Caterina

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A moment later, I hear movement through the wall.

A drawer. A soft thud. Maybe his boots.

Then nothing for a minute.

I sit on my bed, still, listening like a fool.

I should get into bed. I should close my eyes. I should let the man rest.

I should stop thinking about his mouth.

I should stop thinking about the way he looked at me across dinner, careful and distant and too aware.

I should stop thinking about the way he encouraged me to take power in a different way.

I should stop thinking about the fact that he is in the room next to mine because he insisted on being close enough to get to me if something happened. Even while injured.

For safety.

For duty.

For the job.

My fingers curl into my duvet.

My notebook sits on the bed in front of me.

The casino is a knot I cannot untangle yet.

The family waits inside this house, all of us gathered like branches pulled close against a storm.

And Adrian is on the other side of one wall, injured, stubborn, impossible, dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with the gun he carries.

I look at the wall.

Then at my notebook.

Then back at the wall.

And suddenly, absurdly, dangerously, I get an idea.

I can't seem to shake this one either.

Chapter Twenty One

Adrian

The final round of the house takes longer than it usually would.

Not because there is anything wrong with the perimeter. There isn’t. My people are where they should be. The routes are covered. The cameras are clean. The west side has the weakest approach, but I have doubled my people there, and I can live with the formation until morning.

The rear tree line still bothers me. The side gate bothers me less now than it did yesterday. The cars in the drive have been repositioned so they are not blocking sight lines.

It is not perfect.

Nothing is.

But it is secure enough for the night.

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