Malik likes meeting at the same hotel, same room, every time. It's a mid-level chain in a mid-sized city. Everything about the meeting is constructed so I don't have the run-in we dread. Being undercover and seeing someone from either version of our lives is one of the few things that makes people like me wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, making sure there isn't a bullet lodged in our brain.

When I slip into the hotel room, the scent of stale cigarettes hits my nose. The rooms need to be renovated, but I never question Malik's desire to meet here. This is his area of expertise, not mine. He stops pacing when the door clicks shut behind me. His dark face and eyes soothe my unease.

He scans me from head to toe, assessing. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it."

"Your message didn't come at the best time. Carys let me take another meeting today. It was a waste of time though."

"Like the last one," he says, finishing my thought.

I shrug. "It'll come. She's giving me more and more authority."

"So that explains why you're dressed like a ninja supermodel." His smile is half-hearted. "What have you got for me?"

Twisting, I swing my black bag forward until I can dig into the pocket for the latest USB drive. It's full of whatever documents I've managed to get off devices in the office, screenshots of texts and emails, anything that might have a shred of evidence to build a case against Carys. I hold the device between my fingers, flipping it over and over.

With a sigh, I drop it into Malik's open palm. He doesn't say anything. I'm sure he knows. Carys is the kind of woman I like, and gathering information on her doesn't sit well with me. She's not a bad person, but sometimes she does bad things.

"I have some...news," Malik hesitates.

I glance up, trying to catch his attention, but he's not looking at me anymore. "Something I won't like."

"Maybe you will."

"Malik, seriously, you've been my handler for a few years." I let out a huff. "The way you started this conversation tells me I'm not going to be happy. Are they pulling me?"

"Yes." Malik sighs, his shoulders dropping. "Probably."

"I'm getting somewhere. It takes time." I've never been pulled off an assignment before, and it stings more than I expect. Time, that's what I need. She trusts me.

"It's not what you're assuming." He sits on the edge of the double bed. The white duvet cover is too pristine, too pure compared to the rest of the dingy room.

I sit next to him, and he takes my dusty brown hand in his two darker ones. My body relaxes as though it's releasing a giant breath. I've been holding myself in for weeks. Being on high alert is exhausting. Here, with him, I can be me, Kimi. Out there, I'm Kim and keeping my lies straight is like walking a tightrope. One wrong move, and I'm falling to my death.

With a side glance, I appreciate the familiarity of him, his broad shoulders, muscular biceps, and angular, open face. From the first time I arrived at a hotel room to find he replaced my previous handler, we've had an easy, steady relationship.

"For what it's worth, I asked them to keep you on this assignment. You might stay. It depends on whether you're picked or whether we can slot you in easily."

"Picked? Malik, you know I hate riddles. Out with it."

"Are you familiar with the Donaghey family?"

I frown, ticking through the operations I've been part of the last few years. "No," I admit. Something about the name is just out of my grasp. The name spins around my consciousness searching for the last time I heard it.

"Hmm. That's probably good. We couldn't find any direct employment connections even though you grew up outside Boston. You consistently use Kim which makes it easier compared to other undercover agents."

A name close to my own keeps me grounded. Some people need to divorce their normal selves. For me, weaving details is easier than inventing them, then remembering my inventions.

"What about the Donaghey family?" I remove my hand from Malik's to rub his thigh in slow circles.

"Brothers. Mafia in Boston. The head of the organization, Eamon Donaghey, their father, was murdered."

Now my brain latches onto what I saw on TV a while ago in Carys's office. She knew the brothers and liked them. Or she liked one of them. My eyes narrow, trying to remember what she said. Her wording was precise, as though there was more to the story. At the time, I wondered if I should pry, but it hadn't been information I needed for either job.

"The organization is fracturing. Lorcan and Finn are on the cusp of an all-out war."

"And?" How well would Carys know these men? Sometimes connections between people are stronger than they appear.

"The younger brother, Lorcan, has been low-key looking for a female bodyguard to add to his staff."

I freeze and remove my hand from Malik's leg. "They want to undo months of work on my part to make me a bodyguard? Are you kidding me? I'm practically the second in command with Carys. This is ridiculous. Off the top of my head, there are at least ten FBI women who could do this."

"Any of those women read, write, and speak Irish Gaelic?" He cocks an eyebrow.

I frown. "They only communicate in Irish?"

Malik's shrug is almost imperceptible while his dark eyes search my face. "Our mole says most top-secret communication happens in Irish Gaelic—emails, verbal conversations, text messages."

Shit. I can see why they'd want to move me. My father, after my older half-brother was killed, developed an obsession with Irish Gaelic. It was all he spoke until his death. I had to learn it.

"So, I guess that answers the why me part." I sigh and stand up, crossing to the mini-bar and plucking out a couple of bottles. I pour Malik a whiskey in a coffee cup and pass it to him and then pour one for myself. "Am I getting an introduction? Is there a plan?"

"You're not mad? You're okay with being close to home?" Malik eyes me while he takes a sip of his whiskey.

"I'm not thrilled." I put my own glass to my lips and breathe in the sharp aroma.

"You might be able to slip away and see your mom."

Tension radiates through me at the mention of my mother. On the wall is a painting of a lone boat in the middle of stormy seas. Each time we're in this room, it catches my eye. Something about it reminds me of my mother, or maybe it's me. She's all I have left.

"A plan?" I prompt again.

"We think Carys knows them."

I laugh, the tension easing out of me. The whiskey burns my throat when I take a sip. "Carys knows everyone. But she's not going to broker an introduction. Why would she hand me over or even consider giving me up?"

Malik grins and takes a long drink. "How do they know each other?"

"An arms deal makes sense." The conversation with Carys about the brothers refuses to resurface from the caverns of my memory.

"And yet, that's not it. Or at least we don't think so. What's near and dear to the heart of your beloved Carys?"

His tone is teasing, but it still pisses me off. I hate when he pokes my weaknesses like it's a game.

"Kids with cancer," I mumble. Carys funnels a lot of her money into charities which aim to treat or support childhood cancers. Her brother died from a brain tumor when they were in high school. A few months ago, we got drunk and traded dead brother stories. Well, she got drunk. I pretended to be drunk.

"Lorcan also has a soft spot for cancer patients." Malik tips back the rest of his drink and stares into the coffee cup. "There's a cancer fundraiser coming up in Boston, on the cusp of being big, not there yet. We've asked them to highlight children's cancers and breast cancer—that's how his mother died. Lorcan has confirmed he'll attend."

"So, I only have to convince Carys? Fly from Chicago to Boston on a whim?" That's a tall order without raising suspicion.

"Not quite. We've arranged for her to get an invitation. You need to give her a gentle nudge. If Lorcan and Finn do escalate into a full-on war, it'll be ripe for arms deals."

"If she doesn't take the bait?"

"I have no doubt you can be persuasive." He puts his empty glass on the TV stand. "We'll figure out a way to broker a meeting another way if you can't make it work. We have a substantial file on the father but not on the two sons." He nods to the duffle bag in the corner of the room. "I brought some information so you're not going in blind."

"The assignment goal? An arrest? War?" I stare into what's left of my drink, swirling it around.

"No, no war. We want to avoid that. Civilian causalities would be out of control. Both brothers are prone to escalation. An arrest is best if you can get the right information but otherwise, try to keep the situation stable. We'll tackle whatever information you acquire."

"You'll stay my contact?" I glance up at him, worry eating at me. He knows and understands me better than anyone else at the bureau. His replacement would never be good enough.

"I will." Malik smiles.

I move to him, sliding my glass onto the table beside his. "Did you want another?" My voice dips low.

We're almost the same height, and the way I've lingered with my fingertips on the table means we're inches apart. His gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips and back again.

"I'll never say no to you." His tone matches mine.

I shift closer, my chest grazing his. "In case I die tomorrow, I'm going to live for today."

His lips lift into a half smile. "Have I ever told you how much I love your motto?"

"A few times." I take in his dark features under my lashes, enjoying the hunger I see. "What are you waiting for?" I murmur. "Make me feel alive."

It's the only invitation he needs before his lips dip to capture mine. His hand tugs the elastic out of my hair, releasing my long, dark strands. I sigh, pressing my body tight to his, the parts of him that have come to life brushing against mine. We may only do this dance every few months, but I know each step by heart.

Familiar. Easy. Safe.

All the things I usually hate.