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“So neither of you have had any sleep.”
He chuffed. “We’ve had plenty of sleep.”
She refolded her arms. “Oh?”
“Every thirty minutes means we both get twenty in between.”
“And that’s what you’ve been using for sleep?”
His head ticked to the side. Weird excuse for a shrug but it worked. “Some of the best sleep I’ve gotten recently, actually.”
Her attention riveted on him again—not that it’d strayed far—but the resurgence of that basement-deep darkness across his face…and the blades of pain in his gaze…and the new clench of his jaw, as if beating himself up for letting the confession out… A person had to be a damn robot to ignore it. Or to not want to hold him because of it. Or even just ask why twenty minutes of sleep was a “good” thing for him.
Reactions, one and all, that would be like cutting the man’s balls off. To him, anyway.
For that reason alone, she pretended he’d merely commented on the weather. “Okay, soldier. Since you’re so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, how about a few more personnel updates?”
Yep. Definitely the right decision. The surge of his new confidence, fortifying his posture, blasted warmth through every inch of her body. Of course, that meant a fresh kind of torment. Refraining from holding the man was tough enough. Now that he was back to looming and formidable again, she fantasized about jumping him.
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”
Though if he insisted on keeping up with the “ma’am”, she’d revise that desire to decking him.
First things first.
“I’m most concerned about Luke’s young lady friend. Is someone with her?” She shook her head, overcome by a moment of remorse. “Her name is Mia Hemingway, and I believe she lives in Henderson. She and Luke were in an online chat group for fantasy book fans. They’d been looking forward to meeting in person for months.” She twisted her arms tighter together. “What her parents must be going through, thinking their daughter was killed…”
Franzen nodded—one movement conveying a volume of empathy. “Understood, but unavoidable at the moment. I have, however, contacted Sol about reaching out to the Hemingways via deep cover field agents.”
She copied his nod. “And that’ll take time.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She scowled. What place on his face would hurt the least to smack? When getting the answer seemed as hopeless as head-butting a brick wall—or his chest; same thing really—she focused on easier things.
“Ms. Vann and Mrs. Gallo haven’t left her side,” Franzen assured then. “Currently, all three are out cold on the pull-out futon in Z’s office.”
Her frown deepened. “Z?”
“Zeke Hayes,” he supplied, going on when she returned just a blank stare. “The big, semi-scary dude you met last night?”
The description helped. “Ohhh. Right. Nicked right temple. Tortured superhero stare. Grizzly bear voice.” In short, she added silently, could pass as your brother.
He smirked. “Pretty good, considering you passed out so hard in the helo, I had to practically carry you in here.”
“That I would’ve remembered.”
And there was her foot. The one she wouldn’t miss, now that it was solidly shoved down her throat. Franzen, trying to help, quirked a glance to the side as if she’d spilled a tampon from her purse. If only things were that easy, and she could just scoop the damn thing back up—but she’d dropped something much worse. Words. Telling ones. Cheek-reddening, air-thickening, blood-heating ones.
“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t have forgotten it either.”
Nope. Wrong. There was the line transforming the air to soup. Delicious, smoky, sensual puddles of the stuff…
He swung his gaze back to her face. His irises were like chocolate decadence, perfectly complimenting the smooth coffee of his skin, which stretched over the incredible swells of his muscles. Damn, how he made her mouth water…and her blood heat…
She had to get back under control.
Now.
