Unsure of who–or where–their enemies might be, Nick took Rhys to the shelter of a nearby boat while he figured out his next move. He hoped talking to her would make sense of what happened, but there seem to be more questions than answers.
Nick’s stomach knotted with the possibilities, none of which were good. Had Rhys’s so-called death been planned all along, or was it a botched job? Either way, why would Rhys be involved with the cops? And involved or not, splashing her face across the news wasn’t the most prudent way to protect her or any undercover investigation of which she’d ever had a part. She’d used an alias, but there was no forgetting those deep blue eyes or the way her natural blonde highlights fell tousled around her face, as if she’d just crawled out of some lucky bastard’s bed.
His world felt uneven, and it had nothing to do with the random pitch of the boat.
*warning: this WIP has not yet met the brutal hand of my editor.*
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