“Uh-huh.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “No, seriously, it’s not like that.”
“If you say so.” Nessie’s smile turned knowing as she went back to pouring coffee for the rest of her customers. “But Jax says Ghost doesn’t do favors for anyone, ever. So if he’s making an exception for you...”
“He’s making an exception for Leelee,” she corrected. “He also sees the pattern in these disappearances. That’s all.”
Nessie hummed noncommittally, and Naomi knew a losing battle when she saw one. She balanced the coffee mugs and the plate and headed to the window table, ignoring Nessie’s snicker as she walked away.
Ghost barely looked up when she set his coffee and bagel down. Didn’t thank her, didn’t move. He just kept his gaze fixed on Foster’s office across the street, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. Like nothing else in the world mattered except the possibility of someone making a run for it.
Fine. If he wanted to be all business, she could match him.
For now.
She dropped into the chair opposite, sandwiching her own mug between her palms and letting the warmth sink into her bones. Her fingers were still cold from outside, and the coffee helped. A little.
She took a sip, and the taste nearly knocked her back out of her seat.
Damn. This was good. Rich, dark, a little smoky, just the right amount of bitterness. Way better than the to-go cup he’d originally brought her. He’d been right to dump that out.
She went in for another sip, studying him over the rim. The lines around his eyes were deeper this morning, and the shadows there spoke of more than one sleepless night.
“You should apologize to Jax,” she said softly.
He froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. For a second, he didn’t move. Not even a blink. Just that dead blue-gray stare pinning her like a butterfly to a board.
She curled her hands tighter around her own mug. “I mean it. He’s worried about you. Nessie said he didn’t sleep last night.”
She waited for the argument, some dry retort. It didn’t come.
Instead, Ghost set his coffee down with silent precision, gaze locked on the street. His jaw worked like he was grinding stones between his teeth. “He’ll get over it.”
“Will he?”
He cut her a look sharp enough to draw blood. “I don’t owe him anything.”
“It’s not about owing. He tried to check on you last night, and from the sounds of it, you gutted him. Apologizing is the right thing to do.”
He didn’t respond. Just stared out the window as rain beaded and slid down the glass. For a full ten seconds, he went statue-still, the kind of quiet that telegraphed walls going up, not down.
“Owen.”
At his name, his gaze snapped to hers and held. She saw the flash of vulnerability before he hid it and thought about the way his voice had sounded on the phone last night. Raw. Worn. Like a man who’d been hollowed out and didn’t trust the world not to break what was left of him.
“If you keep pushing everybody away, you’re going to have a very lonely life.”
Ghost’s jaw flexed. For a second, she thought he might lash out, but he didn’t. He just stared her down with those icewater eyes.
She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting him out. His gaze followed the movement, and she didn’t miss how it lingered a second too long on her chest.
“You’re cold,” he said. Not a question, but a matter-of-fact statement.
Standing abruptly, he peeled off his jacket, then his hoodie, revealing a plain black T-shirt underneath. He tossed the sweatshirt across the table. The movement startled her, and she caught it on reflex. Warm from his body, it smelled like cedar, rain, and the dark spice of cigar smoke.
She held it for a second, unsure whether to put it on or hand it back. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
He stuffed his arms back into his jacket and returned to his seat. “Put it on, Fury. You’re shivering.”
