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My brows lifted. "How did you know that I could do that?"
"I read every single article you've ever written, Savannah," he drawled, his voice cool and calm like we were back in our bedroom and not, well,here.
God, that he knew me so well was more comforting than he could know. Acceptance—was there anything more beautiful than knowing you had it from the man you loved?
"You have the repertoire of a cat burglar," he was saying as I maneuvered my hands into position. "It's never boring with you around, Savvie."
As he teased me, I popped his shoulder back into position.
And dear Lord, he didn't make even a gasp of a sound.
I blew out a breath as I watched the veins in his temple pulse and his skin turn red as his face flushed with blood, but aside from that, not a peep.
"You'll need the flashlight," he rasped as he dumped the glass onto his stomach and began piecing through the shards to find something better than the one I’d used.
"I don't have anything long enough to pick a lock with," I mumbled as I straightened up. The blood rushed to my head, making it pound, but I heard the faintest noise. "They took my—" It took me a second to register what that sound was. I blinked. "No."
"No, what?" he grunted.
"They couldn’t have underestimated me so much, could they?" I patted my pants pockets down and found...
Beyond insulted, I stomped my foot, immediately regretted it when more pain speared through my skull, then headed over to the door.
Aidan, well aware that my silence was seething, demanded, "What did they do now?"
"They didn't take my keys."
"Thank God for morons."
"I’m going to stab them in the eye with one," I vowed.
"I want us to get out of here without any bloodshed."
It was my turn to grumble, "Why?"
"Because you're here."
"So? Don't you underestimate me too!"
"I want you out of danger, Savannah," he snarled. "I told you earlier that you have no idea what I'm capable of where your safety is concerned. When you're out of the way, I'll start a war, but that's not going to happen while you're in the fray."
"And they said chivalry is dead," I said softly, tilting toward him rather than the door, wishing that I had the time to go over to him and kiss him for that alone.
Instead, I bit my lip, promised myself that I'd kiss him later, hell, that I’d tongue fuck him later, and I bent down and shot the flashlight onto the lock.
Aidan might think I was a master criminal, but that article had been a long time ago. It had been a series that recounted jobs that were traditionally handed down from father to son... and I'd gone in, proving that daughters could do it just as well as sons.
Sexism and feminism had been major themes in my writing back in college. That he’d read my rants and raves made me squirm with some embarrassment, and also delight that he’d taken such an interest in me.
He’d told me that he’d read everything I’d written, but I guessed I hadn’t realized he’d truly meanteverything.
Still, as I stared at the lock and tried to remember what to do, I unfolded the slimline pocketknife that Daddy had given each of his daughters and which I had hooked onto my keys. It looked like a regular old Swiss Army knife, but it was the size of my pinkie, as thin as a set of nail clippers, and was a weapon, not just a tool.
That was when I shook myself—my brain clearly wasn’t working. I rushed over to him and with the scissor tool, carefully sawed through the nylon.
"They left you with a weapon?" he sputtered.
"They did," I said grimly. "Mr. Misogyny needs a Mobster 101 class. You really should get Mossad in to instruct them on how to be better criminals."
