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“Noooooooooooooooooo!” My own scream shatters the solitude in the house, my voice at the ready, the feeling like a sneeze that won’t execute, an anti-orgasm that won’t release.
I can speak.
“Lindsay, damn it,” Drew says, running into the room, his hands on my arms. I’m aware enough to realize I’ve done it again. Another damn dream.
“Where are they?” I beg Drew. “Do we know where they are?”
“Yes.”
I’m panting, covered in sweat, and my head wound aches like I’ve been banging my head with a brick. “You’re sure?”
“I have someone tailing them at all times.”
“All three of them?”
He nods.
“Where are they?”
His hands don’t leave my shoulders. “God, Lindsay, you’re covered in sweat but ice cold.” He pulls me to him and lifts the coverlet off my bed to cocoon us both. He’s wearing sweat pants, a tight green t-shirt with a West Point logo on it, and as he hugs me, I feel his gun cut into my hip.
His warmth makes me start to shiver, paradoxically.
“Drew.” Why won’t he answer me?
“You don’t know where they are?” His voice is tight as he asks.
“No. Why would I?”
“Why, indeed, would you?”
What the hell is this?
I’m in his arms. We’re wrapped intimately in a bed cover, but his body is tight with tension. This is not the same caring Drew from last night. Not even from this morning. Some part of him changed after he received that phone call.
“Spill it.”
“Spill what?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Why are you acting like I’m suspicious? Like you’re watching me.”
“It’s my job to watch you.”
“No. It’s your job to protect me. Not to give me covert glances like you think I’m about to steal all the cookies in the cookie jar.”
He’s a steel drum.
“This has to with that phone call you got.”
He holds his breath.
“Say it, or get away from me. I can’t play this game, Drew.” Especially when you smell like all the relief in the world.
“Not playing games, Lindsay.”
“Then get your hot, strong, incredibly enticing arms off of me and leave.”
He doesn’t budge.
