When he’d woken in the hospital, his only thought had been finding Olivia and making sure she was safe. It had taken him months to do it, but he’d finally succeeded, and there was no way he was going to walk away.
“Sure you can. Turn around, get back in the car and drive to Chicago.”
“And forget that you’re in danger? Forget that Chicago’s most well-known crime family wants you dead?”
“You don’t have to forget anything. You just have to remember that we’re nothing to each other.” She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped into the house, her expression hard, her gaze steely.
What had happened to the twenty-year-old with dreams in her eyes? The one who’d laughed when he’d nearly knocked her over while hurrying to an accounting class? She’d been dressed for ballet, her hair in a tight bun, a knit dress hugging her slender frame. Ford had picked up the books that had spilled from her arms, looked into her eyes and decided that being late for accounting class wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“Nothing? You used to tell me I was everything to you.”
“You were. That was the problem. You were everything to me, and I was—”
Secondary.
She didn’t say the word, but Ford knew she was thinking it. Hadn’t he said it to her the day she’d asked for a divorce and walked out of his life?
My career is priority. Everything else is secondary.
The words seemed to hang in the air as Ford followed Olivia into the house. The walls were sage-green, the floor dark wood that was faded and nicked with time. There was little furniture in the living room. Just a love seat that faced the fireplace and a coffee table that held a few magazines and a book. Olivia grabbed the book as she walked past, shoving it into the table’s only drawer.
A romance novel?
Probably.
He’d laughed when they’d been dating and he’d seen her reading one, but she’d just smiled and said romance was the perfect escape from the mundane world. He’d told her that a world with her in it could never be mundane.
When had he forgotten that?
“Olivia—”
She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze, her eyes empty of emotion. “I need to call Micah.”
“I have a better idea.” He grabbed her hand before she could lift the phone. “How about we get in my car, drive to the nearest airport and fly to Paris? I’ve got a friend there who is willing to put us up until the trial.”
“If we live that long.”
“All we have to do is make it to the airport and onto a plane. There’s no way the FBI will let any of the Martinos out of the country.”
“They won’t need to. The Martinos have enough money to hire an army to come after me. And they won’t need an army. All it will take is one person to get the job done. If you were thinking clearly, you’d realize that.”
She was right. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Hadn’t been thinking clearly since she’d called to tell him she was being put in protective custody and they’d never see each other again. “So, check in with Micah. Tell him I want to fly you out of the country. It seems to me the farther you are from the Martinos, the better.”
The phone rang before Olivia could respond, and she answered, turning away from Ford as she spoke.
“Hello? Yes. He is,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and frowning in Ford’s direction. He didn’t even bother pretending that he wasn’t listening.
“I know. All right. I’ll be ready.” She hung up, and turned to face Ford again. “I’m going to be relocated.” Thanks to you.
She didn’t say the last, but Ford could see the accusation in her eyes.
“I’d say I was sorry I found you, but that would be a lie.”
“Since when did lying bother you?” she retorted, the words more resigned than venomous.
“I’ve never lied to you, Livy. Not before and not now.”
“Maybe not.” She offered a tired smile. “Look, I’ve got to pack and you’ve got to leave.” She walked to the front door, her movements graceful and fluid. Even if he hadn’t known she’d studied dance for twelve years, he would have thought she was a dancer. She carried herself with understated confidence that he’d always found alluring.
“I’ll leave when you do.”
“You don’t have to stick around, Ford. The marshals will be here any minute.”
“Maybe I should rephrase that. I’ll leave with you. I didn’t spend all this time searching for you to let you disappear again. Wherever you go, I’m coming.”
“You can’t.”
“Of course I can,” he responded. He’d been offered a place in the witness protection program after Martino’s men had nearly killed him. When he’d learned he wouldn’t be placed with Olivia, he’d refused. Finding her had been his first priority. His only one. Now his priority was making sure he didn’t lose her again. No one, not the Martinos, not the FBI and not the U.S. Marshals would keep him from doing that.
“So let’s say you can. That doesn’t mean I want you to.”
“You’d rather I let you face this alone?”
“I’d rather you’d stayed in Chicago. I’m sure your business is suffering without you there.”
“I don’t care about my business. I care about you.”
She laughed, the sound short and sharp. “We both know that isn’t true.”
“Olivia…”
A quick rap at the door interrupted his words, and Ford was almost glad. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many ways he’d imagined saying them. Somehow, though, none of them seemed like enough. Not to convey what he felt or to express his sorrow for the pain he’d caused Olivia.
She started toward the door, but Ford put a hand on her arm. “I’ll get it.”
He was a foot away when the door swung open and two men stepped inside. Tall and dark-haired, the older of the two flashed his badge. “I’m U.S. Marshal Sebastian James.”
“Ford Jensen.”
“And I’m Olivia Jarrod,” Olivia said, offering her hand to the tall, dark-haired marshal as if having marshals barge into her home was an everyday occurrence. For all Ford knew, it was.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Jarrod. Marshal McGraw said he’d contacted you about relocation?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. You’ve got ten minutes to pack a bag. Then we’ll head out. Mr. Jensen, you’ll be
