Page 28 of Cruel Kiss

"I know what it is. I asked you to explain it."

"You just said you knew what it was."

"Ronan, I swear on all that is holy…”

He folds the paper and sets it down on the couch next to him. Slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, he takes off the glasses, folds them, and tucks them into the collar of his shirt. Needless to say, that does not help my blood pressure. Those eyes alone are hypertension-inducing.

"I put a tracker on your car," he says. "Yes."

"You—" I stop in order to give myself a second to reboot. "You put a tracker on my car. And you're admitting it? Just like that?"

"Would you prefer I lied?" He tilts his head. "You've made it very clear how you feel about lying."

That's such a cheap shot that I actually gasp. "Don't you dare turn my trauma into a defense."

He folds his arms across his chest, biceps flexing against the thin material of his shirt. "You asked me to explain, so I'm explaining. Yes, I put a tracker on the car. I want to know where you are at all times, because there are people who would like to hog tie you in the back of a van, and I would like to know if that's happening while it's still happening, as opposed to afterward."

"I think you've lost your mind."

"Better my mind than your life."

That's so painfully reasonable that my brain decides to put a pin in this topic and go scrambling for the next thing to be mad about. It very quickly stumbles upon an obvious follow-up question.

"Is it just the car?"

He shakes his head. "No," he says.

"What else have you bugged?"

"The kids' backpacks, for starters."

I take a staggering step like he just cold-cocked me in the head. "Thewhat?!"

"One in each. For the same reasons, as I'm sure you'd understand."

I have to grab the edge of the counter, because I have gone white. I can feel it happening, all the blood leaving my face and going God knows where. "For how long?"

"Since the night I moved in, of course."

That was two weeks ago. Two weeks! My kids have been walking around this city with little black boxes broadcasting their location to a Bratva phone for two weeks and I didn't know, I had no idea, because he just did it, the way he does everything, without asking, deciding for me, deciding for them?—

"You had no right," I whisper. "You hadno right."

"I know."

"You fucking— wait, what?"

That's not what he was supposed to say next. I had the whole arc planned in my head, the accusations and his slippery lawyer counter-accusations and me getting the last, savage word. And instead, he just keeps sayingyesandI know. You cannot fight a man who keeps agreeing with you.

"That's it?" I demand. "That's your whole defense? 'I know'?"

He bobs a shoulder shamelessly. "I don't have a defense. You're right. I should have told you."

"Damn straight you should have told me!"

"So I'm telling you now."

"After I found it!"