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Darien’s voice was a quiet murmur. “I haven’t been able to figure that one out yet.”
They looked at each other for a long time.
Until Loren broke his stare and cleared her throat. “What are we doing tomorrow?” Although she’d severed eye contact, Darien still hadn’t looked away from her.
“Tanner’s taking Joyce to the airport. The hospital called—they need her back at work. More Tricking cases, new strains.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, a shadow of something Loren couldn’t place flickering in his eyes. “I’ll be gone for part of the morning. I’m going to the morgue to meet with a friend.”
“A living one, I hope.”
The smile he cracked was unrestrained. And very, very handsome.
“When will you be back?” A part of her wanted to go with him, but she was reluctant to ask.
“After a few hours, hopefully.” That mouth sank again. “If anything out of the ordinary happens—”
“I’ll tell the others.” She smiled.
“I’m not trying to sound overbearing—”
“You’re not. I…like it. This has all been a lot to take in, so having you take control and help me the way you have been is…well, I really appreciate it.”
A twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.”
She pointed behind her—toward the stairs. “Maybe I’ll go to bed now.”
He merely watched her.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she added. She gave him a wave. Turned and padded down the hall.
“Goodnight, Loren Calla.” His bass voice was gentler than most people likely believed him capable of.
Including her.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved, and he still watched her, but his expression had shifted, this new one even more impossible to read than any of his others. “Goodnight, Darien.”
72
Ass-fuck Nowhere
STATE OF KER
Malakai was sweating his balls off.
He downed the last of his water—hot and nasty—and crumpled the plastic bottle into a pulp. “There’s nothing fucking out here!” he fumed.
They’d been wandering around in the desert like a bunch of idiots for what felt like a goddamn eternity. He’d taken off his shirt and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans, and when his Angelthene tan had started turning into a red, peeling burn, he’d resorted to slathering on some of Aspen’s coconut-scented sunscreen.
Coconut wasn’t his usual choice, but neither was sweating his balls off in the middle of ass-fuck nowhere.
“Would you quit complaining?” Max snapped, sweat rolling down his temples. “We’re all as uncomfortable as you.”
“Clearly not, or we wouldn’t be torturing ourselves like this.”
“I don’t know, guys,” Dallas panted. “I’m thinking we should drive farther—maybe check out that housing Priscilla mentioned.”
“Blue said she came from a facility,” Max said. “Not a house. My first thought was the Facility could be a bunker—out in the middle of the desert where no one would think to look for a door.” It was smart—Malakai had to give him that. But smart thinking did nothing to help with this whole swass problem going on in his jeans.
Aspen shielded her eyes with a hand and looked out at the SUV. The vehicle was barely a pinprick from here, the windshield scintillating with sunlight. Dominic and Blue were in there. In air conditioning, probably. Lucky Angel prick. “Too bad she was drugged when they finally took her out of that place,” Aspen said.
