“Where the hell did you all sleep?” He glanced around at the cramped space, the small kitchen, the couch, the single bedroom.
“Shannon and I slept in the bedroom. And this was Mike’s room.” She pointed at the couch. “After Shannon died, I demanded he sleep beside me. When we travel, he sleeps beside me. We have a unique relationship because we didn’t grow up together. We’re best friends. Siblings, too. But it’s our friendship that binds us.” She pulled in a guilt-ridden breath. “I know you thought we were fucking, and I let you believe it. It’s a ruse he and I employ to ward off unwanted attention.”
“Male attention.”
“Yes.”
“He’s protective of you.”
“That’s an understatement. When I met him, he was the biggest troublemaker in Dublin 22. The leader of the troublemakers. I was a thief when I arrived here, and he made me a better thief. I went from picking pockets to luring powerful businessmen back to their hotel rooms and scraping their phones while they were in the shower.”
“Scraping digital information?” His eyes darkened. “Information that, I assume, you sold on the black market?”
“Yep. I saved up a shitload of money from those jobs.”
“Did you fuck these men before you robbed them?”
“Sometimes. Look, Mike and I got mixed up in some dirty shit. We needed money. A lot of it. We’ve been planning our revenge for our father’s death for years. So we ran criminal schemes and robbed people to fund it. It was the only way we could afford to do this for as long as we have.”
“Why didn’t Mike meet your dad?”
“Dad was protecting him and Shannon. He kept their existence a secret. Something he couldn’t do with me because I didn’t have a mother.”
“Who was he?”
“Richard Pictam.”
“That’s your real name? Lydia Pictam?”
“Yeah.” She looked down at the table and picked at a deep scratch in the wood. “I loved him so much I idolized him. He was my entire world. My protector. He had this rugged rebelliousness about him, an air of danger, but he made me feel safe. Untouchable. Like I could do anything because he would always have my back. My own personal action hero.” She sucked in her cheeks. “I wanted to be just like him. So I ran the streets, got into trouble, picked fights, and acquired some bad habits. But he’s the one who taught me how to defend myself. Combat training, weaponry, tactical skills—he taught me everything I needed to know to protect myself.” She looked up and met Cole’s eyes. “He was an NSA agent, part of the Special Collection Service.”
“Ah.” He sat back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “An intelligence spy.”
“Yeah. He worked jointly with the CIA abroad to penetrate foreign communications networks.”
“That explains how you got access to those customized bugs. But how the hell did he hook up with a Russian sex spy?”
“No idea. He never talked about my mother. I don’t even know how she died.” She shrugged. “Shannon O’Sullivan held his heart, and he protected her and Mike until the day he was killed.”
“How did he die?”
“That’s a critical question.” A dull pain pressed behind her breastbone. “With a dangerous answer.”
“Come here.” He pushed back his chair and gripped her hand, pulling.
She went into his arms, her heart so swollen with years of grief and anger she didn’t know how her ribcage continued to contain it. He slid an arm behind her legs, and in one swift motion, he hoisted her up and onto his lap.
And just like that, her chest felt instantly lighter.
“I used to have a pet snake.” He rested his mouth against her head. “My foster family gave it to me.”
“Foster?”
“I’m one of those unlucky few who spent eighteen years in foster care. But I always considered myself lucky. I lived with nice families. Good people.”
“But none of them were permanent.”
“No.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “I said I would tell you about the snake tattoo, if you told me about the swallow. You told me about the swallow.”
“And now you have two snake tattoos.”
“I used to have more on my arms. I had them removed after I faked my death on Thurney Bridge.”
“What?” She jerked back.
“A story for another time.” His fingers found her hair, absently playing with the tangled strands. “The pet snake I had in high school gave me a dangerous reputation, especially with the girls. It got me laid. A lot.”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear.” He laughed. “What I learned was that snakes represented danger, and having a dangerous reputation earned respect and elicited fear. No one fucked with me. It gave me the confidence to take what I want.”
He held out his arm, punctuating his point with the tattoo of the serpent taking what it wanted. Her.
She traced a finger over the ink. “I don’t know if I should be honored or scared.”