I was cold and tired myself, so I got up to put the laptop away, stripped down, and got back into the bed before turning off the lamp. And then I lay awake, thinking about the gorgeous young man lying next to me.
I’d never had a man sleep in bed with me before. I wasn’t the kind who invited one-night stands to stay over. I could feel Bax’s body heat under the blankets, seeping over to my side of the bed, even though there was a distance between us.
Bax’s voice seemed louder in the dark when he said suddenly, “This is too weird. Sleeping in the same bed.”
“Yes,” I told him. “But it’s also necessary. So be quiet now and sleep. We both need to be firing on all cylinders tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we hunt.”
* * *
I wokeas I normally did, from slumber to consciousness almost at once. I never remembered my dreams, but I had a strange, shady impression that something disturbing had been happening in my mind while I slept. Something dark and bloody.
But the impression evaporated, the feeling died. I felt warm and comfortable, but as I shifted slightly in the bed, I discovered that I had my arm wrapped around something. Someone.
Baxter Flynn.
I froze, barely daring to breathe. He slept on unawares as I tried to inch my way back from him.
The last thing I wanted was for him to get the wrong idea. I’d have to institute some sort of sleeping protocols with a barrier down the middle. Or perhaps we could take it in shifts.
Perhaps I should just sleep on the couch myself and shiver. God knew I’d slept in worse places before.
I showered as quickly and quietly as I could, then put the coffee on. By that time, Bax was stirring, yawning, scratching at himself. His hand drifted lower under the sheets until he glanced over to the kitchenette and saw me watching him.
He snatched his hand away from wherever it had been headed.
“Here,” I said, going over to put an espresso on the nightstand on his side. “Drink that and then get ready. We have places to be.”
It was already getting too late in the morning for my liking. I was an early riser by nature, and I’d slept in until seven. At this rate, we’d never get anything done. Bax grunted, but pulled himself up in the bed. I turned on the television while he drank his coffee, and found myself staring into Baxter Flynn’s face again.
…has disappeared. The Central Park Slayings have reportedly renewed tensions between the different Mob Families in the city. Now, it seems, Flynn may have teamed up with the alleged Underboss of the Morelli Family, Angelo Messina, who has also—
My own face appeared on-screen, then Bax and I were split-screened side by side.
—chaos in Manhattan this morning as police close roads for mandatory car checks, but there are fears—
“Shit,” Bax said. He’d appeared at my side, wide awake, frowning. “They’re still looking atmefor this?” He added, “Uh, and you?”
“They think you’ve disappeared suspiciously. With me. Which,” I pointed out, “you have.”
“Yeah, but that’s not enough to suddenly think an FBI agent is—” I saw his face change. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
—will only end in more bloodshed. Dan, back to you.
Thanks, Kirsten. In other news—
“What is it, Bax?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing, I’m just pissed off. This isn’t good.” Baxter glared at the television, and I turned it off.
“In some ways, no. In others, it could be useful.”
“If the whole of the city’s on the lookout for our faces—”
