Forever Mine (Tormentor Mine 4)

Speechless, I watch as Peter places his laptop on a shelf and taps another wall, causing the original wall to slide back into place, covering the opening.

I finally find my tongue. “Is that—”

“A hidden weapons locker? Yes.” He stands and extends a hand to help me up. “But don’t worry, my love.” His eyes gleam with chilly amusement as I clasp his hand and rise to my feet. “I’m not planning to use it to commit any terrorist acts.”

I wince and release his hand. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you should’ve.” He smooths my hair back from my face, the gesture as tender as ever even as his gaze remains that of a stranger. “I always want you to come to me if you have any doubts. Besides, you and that pizzeria owner have helped me realize something.”

I blink up at him. “What’s that?”

“That I need to look into what happened. Something about this stinks to high heaven.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know yet.” He drops his hand and steps back. “I just contacted our hackers, though, so I’ll have more information soon.”

He turns and walks out of the closet. I hurry after him, catching up right before he leaves the guest room.

“So you’re not mad?” I ask breathlessly, stepping in front of him to block the doorway. “That I asked you?”

His lips twist. “Mad? No, ptichka. Why would I be?”

“Well, because you’re innocent, and I pretty much accused you. I really am sorry; I shouldn’t have even considered that—”

“Why shouldn’t you have?” He cocks his head. “It wouldn’t have been the worst thing I’ve done.”

My stomach tightens. “I know, but—”

“It was a logical assumption on your part. A sophisticated explosive, a difficult target, and a motive on my end. In fact, I’m surprised you believe me.”

I’m pretty sure he’s mocking me with that last bit, but I deserve it. “What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask instead of apologizing again. “How can I make this better?”

His eyebrows rise, and his eyes gleam with sudden interest. “What did you have in mind?”

My pulse picks up, and a warm flush covers my body as he gives me a decidedly heated once-over. Sex wasn’t what I had in mind, but if that’s what he wants, I’m more than happy to oblige.

“This,” I murmur, and holding his gaze, I begin to strip.

27

Peter

After we make love, Sara falls asleep in the guest room, and I leave her there to nap. I did my best to be gentle during sex, but I must’ve worn her out regardless.

Either that, or she just needs the extra rest and I have to be more diligent in making sure she takes it easy over the next eight months.

The anxiety-tinged joy fills my chest again, crowding out the remnants of hurt. It doesn’t make sense to be upset at Sara’s question; if anything, I should be glad she trusts me enough to ask me outright instead of letting such suspicions fester.

I also can’t blame her for having the suspicions in the first place. I would’ve never done something as blatant and showy as blowing up the FBI building, but I have been quietly planning to eliminate Ryson—who had continued to sniff around after I made my conditional promise to Sara.

If he’d left us alone, he would’ve been safe, but he hadn’t—and I felt perfectly justified in what I was going to do to him.

Will still do to him if he survives.

My unease intensifies again, but this time, the worry is more concrete. I don’t believe in coincidences, and all of this feels too coincidental. I didn’t tell Sara this, but I have already located a list of the dead and injured, and Ryson is among the latter, having been taken to the hospital in critical condition.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone did me a favor.

After a half hour, I check on Sara. She’s still sleeping, so I make my way back to the guest room closet and take out a few weapons. I stash them strategically throughout the house and carry a few down to the garage, where I hide them in a special compartment in our bulletproof car.

Just in case.

Paranoia appeased, I open my laptop and begin answering emails from my trainees as I wait for my ptichka to wake up.

“Oh my God,” Sara says the next morning, her gaze glued to the TV. “Peter, Ryson was there. They’ve just identified the victims of the explosion, and he’s listed as being in critical condition. Can you believe that?”

I nod noncommittally. “I heard about that earlier. That’s really unfortunate for him.”

According to my sources, he’s got third- and fourth-degree burns over most of his body. I almost feel bad for the fucker. I would’ve taken him out in a much more humane manner—most likely via a drug-induced heart attack, so it would’ve looked like he’d died from natural causes.