“Respectfully,” I grumble, already knowing I’ve lost the tone battle, “put your shit in the fucking suitcase or leave it behind.”
“What he means is, take what you need,” Hawk interjects when he returns, stepping in from the hallway with a snicker. “We’ll have someone come grab everything else within a few days.”
I shoot him a look. “That’snotwhat I meant.”
“Good cop”—her eyes flick between us as she shoves the lacy undergarment into her suitcase—“mean, grumpy cop. Cute.”
She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair before grabbing a few more items and forcing them into the already full suitcase.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “You done?”
“Almost,” she says, reaching for yet more clothes. She is a ball of frustrated energy, pushing the hair falling over her face back with an impatient flick. Mackenzi bends over the too-full suitcase, and I can’t help but notice the voluptuous curve of her body as she struggles with the zipper.A detail Iabsolutely should not be registering.She yanks it shut with a frustrated tug. “There.”
I step forward, reaching for the suitcase before she can pick it up. “I’ve got it.”
“I can carry my own bag.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re going to.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she grabs her phone and keys off the desk, shoving them into her book bag. As she swings the bag over her shoulder, she hesitates—just for a second—looking around the room. It’s quick, but I see it. She’s scared. She covers it well, chin lifting, expression hardening again. But I saw it.
We walk out of the room, down the hallway, and outside to the SUV, Mackenzi sandwiched between Hawk and me. When we reach the vehicle. I load her suitcase into the back while Hawk opens the rear passenger door for her. She pauses for half a second before getting in, like she’s making a point of not thanking him.
“‘Thank you’ is the phrase you’re looking for,” I snark through the cargo area of the SUV.
She settles into the seat, arms crossed almost immediately, sulking. Hawk slides in behind the wheel, and I take a seat in the back beside her. The engine starts, and we pull away from the curb, heading toward the highway. She broods facing the window, doing her best to ignore the two of us.
I twist in my seat to look at her. “Are you going to be like this the entire time we’re responsible for you?”
“Like what?”
“Trouble.”
She snaps her head around and meets my gaze, her eyes full of fire. With a shrug of her shoulder, she sasses, “Probably.”
I almost smile. Almost.
“You think this is a game?” I ask.
“I think,” she says slowly, “that if you wanted me calm and cooperative, you should’ve tried treating me like a person instead of a—What was the word?—asset.”
“That’s exactly what you are right now.”
“Wow. You really just said that out loud.” She leans her head against the seat, exhaling slowly. “You two do this a lot?”
“Do what?” I clarify.
“Kidnap people.”
I sigh exasperatedly. “It’s not kidnapping.”
“It is from my perspective.”
“Frommy perspective, you came somewhat willingly, and you’re alive. It’s my job to keep it that way.”
She studies me for a second before declaring, “You’re kind of an asshole.”
“Kind of?” Hawk snickers from behind the wheel.
