Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Unless he walked into the agency and told them nothing, then he’ll follow a protocol. He’s FBI. We don’t have the luxury of hiding from danger, but we also can’t needlessly risk other people’s lives. The challenge is that we don’t know what he’s told the agency, if anything. I’m missing. Do they know that? Maybe Darius is playing the same game we are, and trying to say very little, until he knows who he can trust. The best way for me to find out is for me to call Darius and my boss so we can compare their stories. But if I don’t show up to my shift, all bets are off. I’m going to have to call my boss and tell him something. Otherwise, he’s going to send out notifications of a missing agent.”
“Wait to call Darius until we have a camera pointed at him,” Adam suggests. “If he’s dirty, he’s going to call someone with that information. We need to know who he calls and on what phone. I’ll let you know when.”
“She’ll call her boss when we hang up and we’ll update you,” Luke says. “What else?”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Luce,” Adam warns, and I’m not sure, but I think he means with me.
As if confirming my suspicion, Luke replies with, “I already did,” before he adds, “Later, man,” and disconnects.
He offers me his phone. “We’ll get you a new phone in Breckinridge. One that will scramble your number and location.”
I take a few steps and accept the phone, sitting down on the end of the bed, which is actually a whole lot closer to Luke than I intend. “What’s our plan here? What do I tell my boss? What are your thoughts?”
It’s a moment of déjà vu that tightens my throat. I used to tell him about my cases, and ask him that exact question. He feels it, too. I see it in the tightening of his lips and his heavy pause before he says, “My opinion,” he glances over at me, “is to tell him the truth. You were attacked. You’re hiding. Ask about Darius. Show concern. Is Mike still your direct supervisor?”
“He is.”
“Well, you’ve always questioned Mike’s decision-making. I wouldn’t stop now.”
I’m reminded of one of the sexiest things about Luke Remington. He offers commands when we’re naked and debate when we have our clothes on. Not the best thought to have while sitting on a bed in a hotel room with him. Which is why I refocus on the topic at hand, which is Mike. He’s not wrong about him. Mike has been a source of frustration to me when it comes to my job growth. He could push to allow me to grow right here in Colorado. He just doesn’t. I suddenly wonder if there’s a reason beyond him generally being a jerk. Which is ridiculous. This mess I’m in can’t be connected to my personal and professional life.
Can it?
“Let’s hope I get his voicemail,” I say, before punching in his number.
After a few rings, bingo. Voicemail. I shake my head to let Luke know and then wait for the beep. On my cue, I say, “Mike, it’s Ana. I’m safe. I’m on a hitlist, as is everyone in my small circle. I don’t know if it’s personal or professional, so be careful. I’ll call you when I can do so safely.” I disconnect and hand Luke his phone.
He immediately shoots off a text before saying, “I let Adam know what just went down. He’ll watch for any electronic trail chain reaction involving Darius.” He pushes off the desk and stands, towering over me, and when I say the room is small, it’s small. His legs are all but touching my legs. My breath catches in my chest and I steel myself for the impact of our always intense connection, as I tilt my chin up to meet his stare. I find him staring down at me, his eyes half-veiled, tension in his jaw, in his body. God, in my body.
When I think I can’t take the silence anymore, I say, “Luke—”
“I’ll go shower so you can have the bathroom as long as you want.” That’s it. That’s all he says before he moves away from me and walks across the room, grabs his bag, and disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
LUCIFER
Holy hell. Ana and the damn tiny hotel room are going to be the death of me.
I lean on the bathroom door, running a rough hand over the two-day-old stubble on my jaw. She keeps looking at me with those big, beautiful eyes filled with regret and guilt, but I’m not sure if that guilt’s about shooting me or wanting the man who killed her brother. Probably both, which translates to exactly where we already were before now. She will always hate me. I’d be a fool to forget that fact.