Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,105

FBI.” Here, her pretty cheeks flushed. “Once you and I started working together, being partners again felt like…”

I waited her out. Waited until she said, “Being your partner made me feel like I could do anything. Like I’m good at my job. Like dropping out didn’t mean I was a failure. Last night, beating Ward like that…” She murmured it under her breath like she couldn’t believe it. “I knew. Knew you had my back. Knew I could best any thief in that room. Knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

I reached forward and dragged my ex-enemy—blankets and all—back into my lap.

“Being your partner is an honor, Evandale,” I whispered against her mouth. “You’ve never been a failure a single day in your life.”

She kissed my cheek. “There you go, being a superhero again.”

“And you take my breath away.”

That stilled her, had her staring at me for a long time.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know, regardless of what happens today, you shouldn’t have to suffer to earn your father’s love. Or his respect. From what you’ve told me of your mom, she really embraced life, didn’t she?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“I’m sorry your father took that from you,” she said.

I rubbed a strand of her golden hair between my fingers, remembering all those arguments we used to have about my dad. How confused I’d feel, having to defend a man who infuriated me all the damn time. Who withheld his love, his affection, and his respect out of a distorted sense of honor and duty. The Bureau above all else.

Even your only child.

“My mother encouraged me to chase whatever happiness I discovered. To treasure the joy, no matter how small. She believed in changing your mind, starting over, trying new things. She was never rigid, always flexible. Losing her was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I said.

“Your mother would be overjoyed to know we’re having this conversation right now,” Freya whispered, kissing my cheek. “I imagine she’d be cheering for you to blow up your life. Start fresh.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, she would.” I tucked that knowledge away for safekeeping. A knowledge that couldn’t be taken from me, that would be cherished. “When did you get so smart?”

“Oh, so you’re admitting I’m smarter than you now, Byrne?”

“Yes. Or at least smart enough to listen to me when we’re working an undercover case.” I tickled her again as she shrieked with glorious laughter. But then she executed a complicated move, sending me flying off the couch and onto the floor. She landed on top of me with a happy oof and immediately pinned my wrists down.

“Who’s the smart one now?” she teased. We were breathing heavily, for several reasons, and I mentally calculated how much time we had before we hit the road.

“How fast can you get ready?” I asked, skating my palms along her thighs.

“Five minutes, tops,” she murmured. “I just need a sweater and my yoga pants.”

“Good,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“To Quantico, of course.”

“And what will we be doing there?” she gasped. “Don’t tell me we’re finally gonna fuck in the library.”

I sat up, bringing our mouths close together. The magnificent grin on her face was all the confidence I’d ever need.

“That can be arranged,” I said. “But first, I’ll need your help quitting the FBI.”

Her mouth formed a surprised O. She tapped her chin. “Hmmm. If you quit the FBI, where on earth would you work?”

I closed the distance between our mouths, kissed her for a sweet, breathtaking moment. “I heard Codex is hiring.”

My irritating, beautiful, genius rival tackled me to the floor in a bear hug.

46

Sam

At 10:59 a.m., I lowered myself into a chair in front of my father’s desk at the FBI’s Quantico offices in Virginia. The Deputy Director had cleared the room, shut the door—and now looked at me with a professionally neutral expression. With a casual air, he flipped the file on his desk open with one finger, scanned it. Nodded.

“The OPR’s initial investigation into your role as Gregory’s partner has come back favorably,” he began. “They found not a shred of evidence of fraudulent activity. Gregory, however, was arrested on criminal charges late last night.”

“Pleased to hear it,” I said. With Freya’s guidance, I’d driven down here wearing my ragged Princeton sweatshirt and sweatpants, feeling nothing but liberation from years of stuffy, ill-fitting suits. But his shrewd eye had scanned my wardrobe and clearly found me lacking.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I replied. “Just wanted