by Addison Fox
The lightest sound—nothing more than a scrape of shoe, really—pulled him from his thoughts and had the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge. With deliberate movements, he pulled Rowan under his arm, shielding her body as best he could with his.
“Finn?” Irritation spiked in her tone as she turned her narrowed gaze on him.
“Shhh.”
“What is it?” Her eyes widened but she lowered her voice to the barest whisper.
“Not sure.”
The light scrape of a shoe grew louder, even as he could see the streetlight on the next corner blinking brightly in front of them. They needed another half a block and they would be among more people.
If they had that long.
The footfalls grew even heavier and Finn knew he couldn’t wait until they hit the corner. With a hard turn, he spun on his heel, coming face-to-face with a thin, scrappy thug. “What do you want?”
“Nothing, mate. It’s a nice night for a walk. Heading to the pub.”
Finn made no move to touch him, nor did the man respond in kind, but he couldn’t stop the beat of discomfort that thudded in his veins. “Then be on your way.”
“Easy. Easy.” Flat green eyes—the only distinct feature in the man’s face—crinkled at the corners as his gaze shifted to Rowan. “She’s a sweet bit of fluff, now, isn’t she?”
“Be on your way.”
The guy ran a hand over his jaw. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
Finn leaped at the man’s words, unwilling to wait another moment to see what the guy had planned. He plowed a hard fist into the thug’s midsection and watched the man double over. He stayed on the balls of his feet but backed up slightly.
“Finn! Watch out!”
Rowan’s scream had him moving backward another few steps, and it was only that movement that prevented him from feeling the pointed edge of the thug’s knife.
“Want to play rough, mate?”
“Rowan! Go get the cops.” He never turned—refused to move his eyes from the threat—as he shouted out the words.
“I can’t leave you.”
“Get the hell out of here, Peach!”
He heard her momentary gasp of shock before the thin man leaped once more, the knife glinting in the dim, ambient light of the street.
Finn sidestepped several thrusts of the knife, his quick footwork the only thing keeping him in the game. The slender man was fast and slippery and he’d yet to get another hold or punch on him. The sound of shouts lit up behind him, and the heavy footfalls were enough to spook the thug, who took off running.
Before he could give chase, one of the cops Rowan had summoned was off after the man, and another cop had a firm hold on his shoulder.
“I’m fine.” Finn lifted his hands. “I’m fine.”
The cop led them to the small stoop of a nearby building and gestured for them both to sit down. He ran through a list of questions, the fine cut of their outfits and the cop’s assessment of where they’d been that evening going a long way toward his ready assumption it was a standard mugging attempt.
Finn shot Rowan a sharp look to play along but he needn’t have bothered. She was well ahead of him.
“I did see him eyeing my clutch.”
“Of course, ma’am.” The officer made a few more notes before handing Finn a card. “I’m afraid there’s not much more we can do tonight, Mr. Gallagher. I’ve got your information, and if you think of any further description, please call me.”
Finn nodded and helped a still cold and aloof Rowan to her feet. The cops walked them the short distance back to the main thoroughfare before loading them into a car to drive them the remaining distance to the Savoy.
“So much for a quiet evening.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Rowan’s voice held all the warmth of razors as she stared out the window as the cop turned into the hotel’s front entrance. “I’d say it was strangely illuminating.”
She allowed the cop to help her from the car and left him to make his own farewells. “Thank you for your assistance, Officer.”
The man nodded and Finn practically had to run to keep up with Rowan’s steady clip through the lobby. “I’ll walk you up, darling.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
He kept pace, stabbing his index finger at the button for the elevator. “Oh, but I insist.”
“Don’t put yourself out.” She turned her back on him as the doors slid open, tossing her final salvo over her shoulder as she stepped into the empty elevator car. “Peach.”
Chapter 6
Rowan wasn’t surprised when Finn followed her into the elevator, but she hadn’t counted on his rising anger or the delicious sensation of having his large form towering over her in the small space.
“I can explain.”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“Rowan. Listen—”
“No.” She waved a hand, unwilling to listen to some smooth explanation or some sort of misguided apology. “Whatever words you think you can cajole me with, you might as well save them.” The elevator doors slid open on her floor and she stomped off, far from caring about how rude it was to leave him behind.
She was angry.
And irrationally hurt, which was the only possible reason tears pricked the back of her eyes as she struggled with her electronic key.
“Here. Let me.” Finn reached over her shoulder and took the slim card from her shaking fingers. The lock switched to green and snicked open.
She crossed into the elegant suite and dropped her purse on the small couch that sat on the far wall, dashing at the moisture in her eyes before he could see the tears. She then stripped off the heavy suit jacket she still wore.
Rowan refused to face him and instead kept moving toward a bottle of water on the desk that ran alongside the couch.
“Rowan. We need to talk.”
“You think?”
“Come on. Please.”
She did turn at his words, the bottle partway to her lips before she dropped her hand. “What can you possibly say that will make any of this okay?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“You chose not to tell me. There’s a difference.” The urge to yell at him—a fierce need she’d held in during the entire ride back with the cops, then up to her room—faded in the light of the truth.
He’s alive.
The young man she’d thought died saving her was alive and well and living a life of prosperity and success in London.
“Do you know how I’ve wondered about you? For twelve long years I’ve wondered if you died that night. I’ve lived with the pain of knowing I put you in danger and got you killed.”
“I’m fine. I’m here.”
“And you never even thought to tell me. To contact me or give me some hint that you were okay. That you’d lived.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t hard.” She set the bottle on the desk before the urge to throw it across the beautiful suite got the better of her. “A piece of me died that night and you couldn’t even let me know anonymously that you were all right!”
“I couldn’t contact you.”
“What happened to you?”
“I got shot and I survived. It’s that simple.”
“I can’t believe they let you get away. Just let you walk right out of there, dripping blood and holding on to the bracelet they’d come for.” She thought back to that night—the memories still so vivid she could have sworn they’d happened the week before instead of more than a decade prior.
“I’d left a few traps of my own. You brought petroleum jelly to grease the door. I brought something a bit harsher.”
“What kind of traps?”
“A few smoke bombs I could set off remotely. Some things in the street designed to trigger several alarms. I only needed to create a few moments of confusion in order to get away.”
“So you fled? How did you get medical attention?”
“It was a flesh wound, mostly. I bandaged it up until it got better.”
“You what?” The image of him tending to himself had her sympathetic urges welling up and she ruthlessly tamped them down. “It still doesn’t excuse you never contacting me.”
“I thought about it, but I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone if I contacted you. And if you tried to find me, you’d put yourself right back in danger. It was easier to let you think I was dead.”
Whatever understanding she’d tried to muster up during his retelling fled on swift feet. “I’ve spent twelve years convinced I’ve had your blood on my hands, and you thought the easiest answer was to ignore me and let me suffer with that? And that somehow it’s all my fault?”
“You’d have suffered a hell of a lot more if those jackals knew you were back in the game.”
“How would you know that?” Even as the words left her lips, the reality came crashing in. “Of course you knew. You’ve kept tabs on me. Watched me.”
“Watched out for you.”
“I didn’t need watching out for. I have an entire freaking family devoted to that very sport. What I needed from you was to know you were alive.”
The hostility that licked at her belly and tinged her words found its match in the harsh words that dripped from his lips. “Like you wouldn’t have done just as I predicted. I hardly see you out of the game, Rowan. You may have switched teams, but you’re still as foolhardy as ever. And still determined to mess with the world’s most unsavory characters to meet your own goals. Your own ends.”
“I’m part of a legitimate business and I put my skills to good use. I’d hardly be here, ready to depart in a few days to Cairo with you, if that weren’t the case.”
“None of it changes the fact you take chances.”
The oddest urge to cover her ears and stomp her feet gripped her, and Rowan fought it back. She wasn’t a child and she refused to act like one, even if every word out of his mouth contradicted something he’d said prior. “So you refused to contact me but you’ve kept tabs on me and quite extensively, I suspect.”
“Of course I have. I needed to know if you were ever going to come after me. I had to be prepared for that eventuality.”
Another laugh followed on the first as she tried to take in the sheer audacity of his choices. “Yet you came to me for this job in the Valley of the Queens. Of all the people you could have contacted, you chose me. I’d say all your efforts to maintain distance were for nothing, wouldn’t you?”
Throughout his confession, he hadn’t moved from his place across the room. It was only when she stopped speaking that he moved closer, as if testing the waters of her anger, waiting to see if another maelstrom awaited him.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I need you on this.”
“Well, we all need lots of things. I needed to know you weren’t dead, but I didn’t get that level of consideration or care.”
“I understand you’re angry, but if you could try to see it from my perspective...”
“You understand nothing.”
Those tears she’d fought so hard against welled up before she could hold them back. “You have no idea what that night did to me. I’d lost my parents a few years before and then to see that happen to you. To think I was responsible.”
Finn had her in his arms before she registered his movement, his arms wrapped around her as her cheek pressed to his chest. The steady beat of his heart thudded under her ear, and even though every instinct urged her to pull away, some small part of her wanted to curl up right there and never move.
The young man who had touched her heart all those years ago was here. Alive. Those strong, heavy beats inside his chest proved it.
* * *
Finn held Rowan against his chest, his hands tracing lazy circles over her back. While he had never doubted she remembered that night so long ago, he had no idea the depths of guilt she suffered over the evening.
She had nothing to feel guilty about, especially since he’d been more than responsible for his own actions. Hell, it was his fault they’d been discovered in the first place. If he hadn’t spent those endless moments flirting with her inside Lady Warrington’s closet—and how was it he still remembered the name of the mark?—she wouldn’t have had to face the evening’s eventual outcome at all.
He’d have gotten her to safety and saved himself a hell of a painful gunshot wound to boot.
Yes, he’d kept tabs on her, but it hadn’t been easy. The healing had taken longer than it should have because he had to care for the wound himself. And then identifying the slip of a girl who’d cased the house and broken into a safe like a pro took even longer. When he’d finally discovered who she was—the granddaughter of one of England’s greatest Parliamentarians—he knew he needed to keep his distance.
So he’d stayed far, far away.
Rowan had left a mark, though, and it was far deeper than the pucker of skin that marred the flesh under his ribs. She was a puzzle and he loved puzzles. Loved figuring out how to solve a problem.
Why would the daughter of such a prominent family resort to stealing? And how the hell had she gotten so good at it?
“You can let me go now.”
The light press of her hands on his chest had him loosening his hold on her but not fully dropping his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Sure you are. Now. Because you got caught. Trust me, I know how remorse works.”
“You think I haven’t felt some responsibility all these years?”
“Whatever you might have felt is eclipsed by your overwhelming sense of being right. If you’d felt differently, you’d have said something. Would have found a way to get to me. Although—”
She broke off, an odd, speculative gleam alighting in her eyes. The normally vivid blue looked even brighter, if that were possible, still sheened with the residual effects of her tears.
“What?”
“It is curious you called me Peach. One would have thought a suave fellow like yourself wouldn’t make such a stupid slip.”
“Neither did we expect to be set upon while taking a short walk through a rather nice part of London.” Finn tried to play it cool, but her words were accurate and, truth be told, the slightest bit mortifying. He prided himself on always maintaining control. On always having the last word.
So why would he make such a stupid, amateur mistake?
“Maybe so.” Her steady gaze ensured she thought the mistake was anything but a slip, and Finn chose to leave her to her illusions.
Nothing had gone quite according to plan since Rowan Steele accepted the job on his team. If he didn’t get his head back in the game, they risked more than a painful trip into both their pasts.
“I can’t change my decisions up to now, but I can apologize for causing you pain. My only intention was to protect you.”
“The people in my life seem awfully bent on doing the same. Must be the fact I’m short.”
Finn didn’t miss the sass in her tone, nor did he miss the small smile ghosting the edges of her mouth. “I’m not so sure about that. You pack an awful lot of punch in that small frame. I wouldn’t underestimate you.”
“Damn straight.”
That crazy urge to drag her into his arms like some conquering caveman returned in full force and he figured he’d better cut bait while they’d moved to some semblance of a truce. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I need to visit an old school friend. I want to ask him a few things about those glyphs.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Still pushing your luck, Gallagher?”
“Consider it an opportunity to make it up to you. Prove we’re full partners in this.”
The slightest furrow marred her forehead before she nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Fine. You can pick me up here at eight. We’ll go see William then.”
“It won’t be a surprise?”
“Will doesn’t sleep, so I can text him now and arrive early and he won’t mind.”
The sudden, irrational urge to ask why she knew this man’s sleep schedule struck him, but once again, Finn fought the urge to bait her further.
“Make it seven-thirty. I’ll buy you breakfast on the way.”
“I’m not all that pleasant before coffee, especially when a five-hour time difference is still nipping at my heels.”
He leaned in, his intention to press a quick kiss on her cheek. Instead, he ended up lingering, his lips hovering near her ear. “I’ll make sure you get a double shot of espresso, then.”
“Good night, Finn.”
The husky strains of her voice floated over him like a lover’s caress and he forced himself to pull back, well aware the torture was his penance for years of silence. “Good night, Rowan.”
It was only when he was once more in the hallway, the heavy door clicking closed behind his back and the secondary door lock falling into place, that he breathed a sigh of relief.
She was willing to see him again.
It didn’t make up for what had come before, but it was a start.
* * *
Rowan opened one eye to stare at the clock as her cell phone trilled in her ear. She scrabbled for the phone, desperate to quiet the noise when her gaze alighted on the caller ID.
Her grandfather.
Bracing herself for the inevitable scolding—albeit one done with a loving hand—she engaged the call. “Good morning, Grandfather.”
“What’s this I hear from your brother you’re in London?”
Damn Campbell and his big fat mouth.
“I just got here yesterday.”
“And now it’s today, and your grandmother and I still haven’t heard from you.”
“I was working, Grandpa.” She switched to the more familiar address, hoping it would soften him up. Not bloody likely.
