Page 87 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“Sneaky,” she whispers again.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it, “Thank you.”
I go still.
The second thank-you is worse than the first.
The first was for the doctor. For Heath. For action taken under pressure.
This one is for carrying her.
For not waking the children.
For putting her down gently when we both know I am capable of being anything but.
I let my fingers pause near her cheek, then withdraw.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
She is asleep before the words fully settle.
For several seconds, I stand beside the bed and look at her.
This is unwise.
That is the cleanest word for it. Omar would choose something more dramatic. Reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. All accurate, but not precise enough. Unwise covers the shape of the problem without pretending I intend to stop.
Maya Reeves is in my house for five days.
Three have passed.
Leon is moving men south. The Bureau is looking for her. The twins are beginning to trust her. Omar is beginning to tolerate her. I am beginning to want things that will make this entire arrangement harder to end cleanly.
Unwise.
I turn toward the door.
Before I leave, I look back once.
She sleeps on her side, one hand curled near her face, the other resting over the blanket as if still searching for a feverish child’s hand.
Tomorrow, she will remember the reward.
She will likely try to renegotiate it.
I smile and turn out the light.
Let her try.
Chapter Twelve
Maya
Iwake up in my own bed.
That is the first problem.
The second is that I remember getting there.
