I smile against his neck, warmth spreading in my chest. He gets me. Every time I babbled on about color, he was listening.
My head jolts away from his shoulder, tremors still rolling through my body in waves. “Shouldn’t you go after her?”
He shakes his head, eyes painting a path over my face. “Mary and Owen are out there.”
His chest rises, weighed down with the realization of betrayal. His hand smooths over my hair, almost absentmindedly, before Bonnie’s shrieks echo into the room, causing Jack’s signature frown to settle on his brow like pulling on a well-worn hat.
“She was your friend,” I say, mostly as a reminder to myself.
“Yeah,” he agrees after a great sigh, his hand continuing to coast over the shivers running down my arms, and I greedily allow the gesture to drip hope into my parched heart. “Mostly work colleagues, but…she and Ken were good to me when I first moved here.”
“Bonnie said something about him losing his job?”
“He—” His words are cut off by an escalation of voices in the corridor, followed by scuffles and the low murmuring of deep voices.
Jack’s eyes close, his mouth pinched as a weighty breath pushes out of his lungs. “The suits are here.”
Before I can respond, a man glides through the doorway, hair meticulously combed, and the faint smell of hair gel wafts into the room. He lazily moves a toothpick from one side of hismouth to the other while his partner strides in, planting himself beside the toothpick guy. Hands resting not so casually on their hips, their eyes roam the space before landing on me, still cradled on Jack’s lap. They puff out their chests, the reversed, lemon-yellow FBI logos visible in the mirror behind them.
This must be some kind of peacocking in the law enforcement world, because Jack snorts under his breath, hoisting me closer like he’s not in the least embarrassed by the entanglement in which we’ve been found.
I, on the other hand, am dying a little on the inside, but I also never want to vacate this spot.
“I thought you said they were suits.” I point, one finger gesturing between them.
“Jack,” Toothpick greets us, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Bacon.”
“Wh—hang on.” I hold up my palm. “Your first name isBacon?”
My face is scrunched as I wait for Bacon to clarify, but a strange phenomenon is occurring in my peripheral vision. Jack’s undiluted, unrestrained, full-blown smile is beaming at me from five inches away. It takes a second for the reality of it to hit me, drawing my complete attention and stupor to the magnificence of it.
“Bacon is his last name.” Jack chuckles.
What in the alternate universe is going on?
“I thought you all went by first names.”
“That’s just us. These guys are a bit more uptight.” He smiles, his eyes falling to my lips. Who is this man, and what did he do with the grouchy, gruff Jack I left at the table?
Mr. Bacon clears his throat, a tiny smirk on his lips. “Glad to see you finally let someone thaw your icy heart, Jack.”
I straighten—as much as I can while Jack still has me nestled in his arms—and frown at him. This is the firstI’ve heard about any hearts thawing. Jack must have knocked his head before sneaking in here, because I’m certain the Jack from thirty minutes ago was just warming up to break my heart.
“Miss Sinclair, you’ll need to come with us,” Mr. Bacon announces, removing the toothpick from his mouth.
“No,” Jack declares in that growly voice that turns my insides to goo.
There’s my grumpy man.
What? No. He’s not yours, Willow.
“She’s been through enough. The questioning happens here, with that door open.” He nods to the interconnected door. “While you debrief with me in that room. You’ve got ninety minutes, max. Then we’re done.”
I swallow, grateful not to be on the receiving end of Jack’s hard stare. I’m also a little surprised he’s being so demanding with the FBI, but their interactions thus far suggest a history.
Detective Bacon nods before turning to his partner, and Jack’s eyes fall back to me, equally assessing and confusing in their intensity. I don’t know what to make of the way he’s touching me and smiling so attentively.
