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Evawoketopalewinter sunshine seeping through the bedroom window. She hadn’t closed the shades when Carson dragged her off the couch and pushed her up the stairs. He’d let her work well into the night before insisting the computer could run the facial recognition program without her.
Rolling over, she checked the cell phone. Four hours of sleep wasn’t bad. No new messages from the hospital or anywhere else. Probably a good thing under the circumstances. She stretched, appreciating the soft flannel sheets, content enough now to admit Carson was right about the bed being a vast improvement over the couch. Aside from the excellent accommodations, the intensity of the situation and the schedule made her feel like she was back with her team.
Only this wasn’t her team. This time she was in civilian clothes under the direct protection of a sexy guy with a charming accent. This time she had no idea who would act on any intel she provided. Both factors should make this search for the Morcos brothers easier for different reasons. Instead she felt worse.
Eager to get back to work on the sweet setup Nichols had brought, she gathered a change of clothes and padded quietly down the hall for a quick shower. The hot steamy shower did wonders for her tight shoulders. Dressed in jeans and her favorite red sweater, she crept past Carson’s room and down the stairs.
She measured out coffee and set it to brew while she checked for any return on last night’s queries. “Where are you, Abe?” she whispered to the screen. There’d been no confirmation of the obituary in the email Bart received. Until she had the news from a reliable and independent source, she would not accept his death.
Her stomach rumbled as she turned to the second computer. According to the facial recognition program, courtesy of the FBI, Bakr Morcos had yet to enter America. She wasn’t sure she believed that either. With the nearly unlimited resources of his family business and the wide network of associates on both sides of the law, there were too many plausible options for entering the country undetected.
“One good lead and you’re mine, you twisted jerk.”
She went to the kitchen to fill a mug with coffee and start breakfast. Ruth had every gadget and top of the line appliance and Eva couldn’t resist the lure any longer. Cooking kept her hands busy while her mind worked through a problem and Morcos was nothing if not a problem.
Last night’s dinner had been smothered chicken from the Midnight Rooster. While Eva appreciated the gesture, she was determined not to put Ruth out any more than necessary. The sheriff had delivered the delicious meal personally, along with news that Hannah and Special Agent Nichols failed to draw out the sniper.
He considered it a failed ploy, but Eva put it in the ‘win’ column. To her, it meant the sniper and Bakr—the man most likely pulling his strings—knew she was right here. While it felt a bit constricting, it also meant as long as she stayed put, he had to come to her.
How to make that happen sooner rather than later?
She stewed on the question as she pulled eggs, cheese, and a package of thick-sliced bacon out of the refrigerator. When the skillet was hot, she added the bacon and started cracking eggs into a bowl. She paused at four, two for each of them, then added two more for Carson. He had a lean build, but there was a lot of it.
As if summoned by the thought, Carson came down the stairs in well-worn jeans and a white t-shirt, his gun in a dark leather holster at his hip. With his hair damp from the shower and his jaw shadowed with morning stubble, he stirred a different kind of hunger inside her. It took a supreme effort not to whisk the eggs right out of the bowl.
“Good morning.” He placed the radio on the back counter on his way to the coffee pot. “Need topped off?”
“Please.” Topped off by him would be ideal. She pushed that image out of her head in a hurry. “I hope you like eggs.”
He added a splash of cream before taking a long sip of his coffee. “Yup.” He glanced from the bacon sizzling in the skillet to the wall oven. “Want me to make biscuits?”
“You cook?” At his raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Ah, another area of Morris family training?”
He winked. “I’ve learned it pays off.”
That was a loaded reply if she’d ever heard one. It sent her imagination on another wild ride, but this one ended on a less than happy note. How often had he cooked morning-after biscuits for Shannon? “Then why do I always see you at the Rooster?”
“Your boss had me tailing you,” he reminded her, turning on the oven.
She set the eggs aside. “Before that.”
“Oh, come on, the Rooster’s got the best food in town.” He turned suddenly, his face going red. “If you tell my mom I said that, I’ll deny it.”
“Huh.” She slid a glance at him while she moved the bacon to a plate to drain. “I’m open to negotiations.”
“Cooking for one is more hassle than it’s worth.” He started mixing dry ingredients. “Really, the Midnight Rooster is a department tradition.”
“Sure.” She found the blush staining his ears was adorable. “Supporting the local economy.”
“Exactly.” He surprised her, rolling out the dough and cutting biscuits to uniform size with the rim of a juice glass. “How’s that FBI set up working for you?”
“Don’t change the subject.” When the biscuits were in the oven, she poured the eggs into the pan. “It’s no big effort for me to hack your email and send your mom a message.”
“I bet it’s not.” After putting things in the sink, he started setting the kitchen table for the meal. “What will it take to guarantee your silence?”
“What are you offering?” Something about him inspired her to laugh and flirt. Whatever unidentifiable character trait it was, she let him see a side of her she typically hid from the rest of the world. She had to keep reminding herself he wasn’t available.
“Tomorrow morning at the shooting range isn’t enough?”
