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“Dammit!” Mullins cried out as he stumbled backwards, clutching his chest once more. “You’ve got to stop doing that!” After catching his breath, the captain added, “But I guess I’ll forgive you since you brought coffee.”
But when Mullins reached for a cup, Nigel turned and gave him a cold shoulder. “These are for Milan.”
“All of them?” the captain grumbled. “You’re going to explode his damn heart!”
Nigel rolled his eyes before offering the trays to me. “I wasn’t sure which flavor was your favorite, so I bought one of each.”
His gesture warmed my chest. Nigel had a bit of a gruff exterior, but there was a sweet side to him as well. The fact that it seemed to be reserved solely for me made it even better.
I studied the cups, which had the types of coffee they held written on their sides. I took the one labeled 'French vanilla cappuccino' and told Nigel, "Thank you."
He nodded and grabbed the chai latte before handing the rest to the captain. "Knock yourself out."
Mullins chose his favorite before calling out for another officer, who came by long enough to grab the trays so he could pass out the drinks.
The captain took a long sip of his drink before once again glaring at Nigel. "By the way, it took me a few minutes to return because I was on the phone with The Guardian,” which was a popular media outlet. “They claim that you threatened their reporters at the crime scene.”
Nigel didn’t deny it. He simply shrugged and said, “They were harassing Milan.”
Mullins’ face softened. “I see.” It was a bit confusing; he never let guys off the hook so easily. “Just do me a favor and follow the rules while you’re here, okay? In my precinct, we don’t intimidate the press.”
“I’ll try,” was Nigel’s unenthusiastic answer, and Mullins rolled his eyes.
“I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get.” He took a long swig of his coffee and asked, “Now, where are we going? I’ll drive.”
Nigel shook his head. “It’s back in England, so there’s only one way to get there quickly.”
I knew what he was getting at, so I stepped closer to his side. I held my cappuccino in one hand and offered Nigel the other. He gave me a warm smile and linked our fingers together as warmth flooded up my arm and throughout my body.
“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this,” Captain Mullins grumbled as he placed his free hand on Nigel’s shoulder.
Nigel tucked his drink in the crook of his elbow before retrieving his wand. With a shake and a gentle glow, our surroundings melted from view.
Chapter Six
Nigel
Having Milan’s hand in mine was heaven. It was the single most important touch of my life; he trusted me with his well being. Instead of simply grasping my coat, as the captain was doing, Milan chose an intimate way of showing his confidence, and perhaps his desire, towards me.
And speaking of the captain, he was totally taking away from the special moment as he mumbled curses and tightened his death grip on my shoulder. He was a noisy third wheel, but I still appreciated that he was tagging along to help.
When our feet were firmly planted on dirt, and the dank scent of old paper hit my nostrils, I knew we’d arrived. The room was cool and dark; I could barely see beyond the end of my nose. So, I rotated my wand in my hand, and it illuminated like a torch, bathing the three of us in a circle of light.
Of course my first instinct was to look at Milan to make sure he was okay. He handled teleporting well, which made me proud, yet unsurprised. We were built for one another, so of course Fate ensured that my beloved could travel with me. Milan was probably unaware that moving this way could have a negative effect.
He smiled at me before slowly pulling his hand from mine, dragging his fingers against my own and leaving behind a fiery trail of need. My hands burned with longing to touch every inch of him, but for now, while this mystery loomed over us, those desires would have to wait.
When I turned my head to Mullins, I found a much different scene. The poor chap was shaking from head to toe, and his pale face was covered in a glistening layer of sweat.
“Are you okay, Captain?” I asked as I pried his fingers from my shoulder, positive that he’d left a bruise.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he grumbled, making me snort. Mullins sighed, wiggling the hairs of his mustache before adding, “I’ll never complain about highway traffic again.”
I chuckled at his dramatics, and turned back to Milan when he asked, “Where are we?”
“It’s nicknamed the Forbidden Library.” It was a crude underground cave with dirt walls, which was packed with shelves of ancient books.
