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“Maybe you guys should shower.”
That made her laugh.
“That was the plan, Zayn. We’ll use the bathrooms in the other house. Can you get everyone together so we can begin working?”
He nodded.
“Major?”
She glanced over.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Good job bringing him in.”
She smiled.
“What wouldn’t I do for family?” she asked. “Remington is ours.”
That he was.
When Jagger tossed her a go bag, they accessed the other part of Chartres, and it was dead silent in there.
Rolling her neck, Jagger knew she was bone, weary tired. On top of going non-stop, she was pregnant.
Oh, and he’d been dwelling on that the whole time in the gator-infested waters.
His nerves were shot.
“Let me rub your neck,” he offered.
That sounded like the best idea.
“Thanks,” she said as they headed into one of the bathrooms, and started peeling off their gear. That washing machine was NEVER going to be the same again. Her boots had to be tossed.
The swamp was gross.
When they’d both peeled off their clothing, Jagger hit the hot water, and the bathroom filled with steam.
When Maura got in, there was that contented sigh.
He handed her a bottle of shampoo, and she lathered up. The whole time, Jagger stood behind her, soaping his body to remove the ick.
When she was done washing her hair, he rubbed her neck.
“God. I’m getting old.”
He kissed her on the temple.
“Hardly. The swamp is no one’s friend.”
That was the damn truth.
“Thank you for not losing your nut and hovering. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
Oh, it hadn’t been.
“You’re welcome.”
