Cold Spite (Cold Justice: Most Wanted #5)

Chapter 44

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“ W ant more?” Delilah asked him as he poured over the images of the people who’d visited Joseph Scanlon in prison.

He let his gaze drift suggestively down the oversized FBI T-shirt she’d borrowed from him as she stood barefoot in the kitchen stirring a saucepan of freshly made chicken noodle soup. He’d picked it up from the store yesterday, as he’d remembered she used to like it because she said it reminded her of her mother.

It reminded him of her—like a thousand other things, including his treasured bone-handled balisong now hidden in a drawer in his apartment. He couldn’t even look at it without painful memories rising up inside him.

“Always.” He thrust aside thoughts of the past and deepened his voice suggestively. “You think you can handle it?”

“Soup.” She swatted his calf with a tea towel but blushed a little.

This was a side of her he’d never seen before. They’d never been domestic in their relationship. They’d never been relaxed. They’d been too on edge. Too busy worrying about not blowing their covers and being diced into a thousand pieces of vulture bait.

Even the thought of anyone hurting this woman terrified him, but she wasn’t about to give up her badge unless she was given no other choice. Even if she wasn’t an FBI Agent, he figured she’d be in law enforcement somehow. It was in her blood. Being a beat cop would probably be a lot more dangerous than working white collar crime for the FBI.

“No, thank you.” He needed to reconcile the fact she was as entitled as he was when it came to pursing her career goals and facing danger. “Regarding soup, I’m completely satisfied.”

She shot him a look.

He grinned and held up his hands in defense. “It’s not my fault I can’t get enough of you.”

“Well. Your knee certainly seems better. That’s for sure.” She tried to suppress a smile as she ladled another scoop into her bowl and sat down opposite.

“I have remarkable powers of recovery.” He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. It was scary, but he refused to think that way. Because if this was all he got, he was going to damn well enjoy it for a change.

“You, sir, are incorrigible.”

“Deprived.”

“Depraved.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he teased.

Her eyes latched onto the images he was looking through. “Anyone stand out to you?”

He sobered at the reminder of why they were here. “A few faces look vaguely familiar but…” He stared at one woman who looked like someone he should know, but it must be a coincidence because he didn’t recognize her or her name. “I don’t think I know them. Yael offered to do a deep dive into their backgrounds?”

“Anyone we flag for her.”

He nodded and began to sort through them again setting aside the people who he suspected Scanlon could have used to help him set up and execute this bold revenge plan, including the woman who looked vaguely familiar but wasn’t .

Delilah finished her food and put her dishes into the dishwasher. Dealt with the pan on the stove. Four nights ago, he’d thought he’d lost her forever, and today he’d been able to get close enough to make love to her. He knew she wasn’t where he was in terms of where they might go from this. She’d given him no words. Made no promises, but he could hardly expect them. Assuming they caught Scanlon and whoever was working with him, Delilah still lived and worked on the other side of the country. He didn’t know how they’d navigate that, but he was willing to try to figure it out this time. If she was.

He sent a quick encrypted email to Yael with a list of ten names to start digging deeper into. Then he stood behind Delilah as she sat working on her laptop. He massaged her tense shoulders. Leaned down to nip the tight muscles on her neck. “Did I persuade you yet that I find you the most desirable woman on the planet?”

She leaned her head to one side. And hummed. “Not a hundred percent…”

He spun her around on the stool and lifted her into his arms. “Well, I need to work on that then.”

She reached over to flip the laptop closed and then got the kitchen light on the way to the bedroom.

Later, when they lay in bed, sated and tangled up in each other, she rested her head against his heart, and he felt as if it might burst from joy.

She traced a finger in a circle over his skin. It tickled but he refused to move in case she stopped.

“Will I ever get my life back, do you think?”

He thought about her burned down home and the loss of her friend and her partner. The fact she’d pretended to be dead rather than trust her colleagues.

Going backwards wouldn’t be easy, but this was Delilah, so anything was possible.

He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head but didn’t give her any false promises. And maybe he didn’t want her to go back to that life. Maybe he selfishly wanted her to begin a new one, with him in it.

She called me first.

Even after everything he’d done to her, she’d called him first.

It gave him hope.