DUTY

THREE

"Who?" My response was involuntary, instinct. I shifted on my feet, busying myself with the remote, flipping through the channels. There was that fidgeting, that need to be on the run.

How else did I get here?

Running. I was always running. Now I'd have to again. A mole would tear us down.

Tom rose from the bed, the thin cotton of his shirt straining across his wide shoulders. He radiated warmth, pressing himself into my back, resting his chin on my shoulder. A kiss pressed there. In the tiny gap of open skin.

"Pierre."

My hands stilled. The room spun. No - me. I was spinning. Around in Tom's arms to face him. His soulful eyes locked on mine.

"Pierre, Abigail's husband?" As if there was more than one Pierre in Columbus. But checking was worth it. It was important to know who drove the knife into our backs, important to remember and adjust, important to yank the knife out and strike.

A deep groan rumbled from Tom, eyes slipping closed, forehead creasing. "f**k, I forgot about her." He kissed me on the forehead, a habit more than intimacy. "Order us something from room service, I'll just be a second." Another kiss and he was out the door.

It was hard to dial the numbers on the room's phone, harder to keep an even voice when the other side picked up.

A thick crusted sausage and sweet pepper pizza with homestyle fries on the side. Not the meal of champions but precisely what I needed. It's not like we were health nuts anyway. The kitchen had been the first thing to undergo the remodeling and we still had yet to use, the fridge no more necessary than a sauna in Phoenix.

Tom filtered back into our room later than a second. Much later. Pizza nearly obliterated, I didn't have the drive in me to start in on the fries.

It had been a long time since I'd been on the run, so long it seemed, that the mere suggestion of it had me starving.

Pathetic. I let myself fade into the pillows, four stacked all around me. The television played nonsense, something that required subtitles. My staring at it didn't help me read them. The entire screen blurred, my own life playing where it belonged.

My childhood, on the move. Dad pulling on my arm, Grant throwing out my things, Mom already ahead, already unpacking at the new house.

I hadn't even realized that we were running back then.

The door opened with a puff of cool hall air, and the chain lock caught with a clang of metal. "Mila." Tom's voice clipped, littered with impatience.

I sprung out of bed to let him in. I didn't remember locking it. Tom looked like a changed man, features strained, eyes bloodshot. Mindlessly he rubbed at his temples pacing the room. "Roman's doing a second sweep of the property. She's not there."

When had he done a first sweep? Was that the only reason for this so-called date night? An excuse to get me out of the house while they searched it? "I thought he was just the muscle." I scrunched my nose up. The thought of Roman being more creating a chill down my spine.

Tom stopped, dropped his hands and faced me. "I know you don't like him but I do. I appreciate smart, loyal people who can follow the rules. You know that more than anyone." He flicked the end of my nose with his pointer.

"I know that you reward well and punish with the same force," I replied, flicking his nose in return. He and I were alike in that way. Reward and punishment. Consequences for every action.

He laughed, shrugging down the neckline of my shirt, he placed a kiss on my collarbone. "Don't pretend you aren't the same. I know you had Gabriel beaten up on Wednesday."

Of course, he knew. What didn't the Don know about his city - his people? "He was pushing on my turf." I smiled remembering it go down, "and I didn't have him beat up, I just told him to attack me. You're the one hired Hunter to make sure no one touches me."

Tom's chuckle was a warm breeze on a winter morning. He cleared the food from the food of the bed leaving it in a stack by the desk. With a heave of breath, he sat down, the mattress groaning under his layers of muscle and toed off his boot, "Maybe I should get you another guard for when Hunter steps on you."

I bent down, helping him with his other boot. "Maybe I'll get myself one. I could use a Roman." Eyeing from below Tom looked like a god, the thick line of his jaw, firm and bold. The long lines of his neck, pale skin disrupted by tendrils of black, ink sneaking up off his chest.

His laugh started again, and he fell back onto the bed, stealing away my view. "Tell me about your day." He patted the spot beside him. "Your voice relaxes me."

"I had coffee at the shop. Relaxed, read the paper, had a croissant or two. Hunter, even with his damn diet, snuck a bit of the maple donut." Leaning down next to him, I turned to my side, brushing a hand along his chest.

"Is that why your purse is filled with cash?"

A shrug and a blush. Simultaneous. "I always carry around too much." I lied.

"I love you, but you know you don't have to deal anymore right? Especially when it's unfair to everyone else. You make it too easy." His thumb traced the curve of my brow, dropped down to brush over my lip.

Pulling the lip into my mouth, I shrugged again, "It gives me something to do, besides I like to know how things are moving. If each batch is gold as you say."

A single throaty chuckle, "And?"

"And . . . you're Midas." I grinned flicking my tongue out, tasting the pad of his finger.

"I f*****g like that." He grinned, turning up on his elbow to plant a heated kiss on my neck, nibbling and sucking. "Say it again."

"Midas." I murmured.

"f**k, baby. I'm going to turn you to gold."