“We’re headed down for a sit-rep.” Sam took both mugs and indicated with a hitch of his chin that Fisher should proceed him back downstairs.
“We?” Fisher looked past Sam’s shoulder. “All I see is you.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed. She’s putting on dry clothes.”
“Pity.” Fisher shook his head. “I liked her in that little crop top.” The grin he threw Sam over his shoulder as he turned and headed down the hall was absolutely devilish. “Live fast, Eat trash,” he quoted the slogan from Hannah’s T-shirt. “Your girl is funny. And cute. You failed to mention how cute she is.”
“First of all, she’s not my girl.” Why did a knot form in Sam’s stomach when he said that? “And second of all, I get that most women look at your red flags and think it’s a carnival, but Hannah isn’t most women.”
“I think I’m offended.” Fisher pressed a hand to his chest as they passed the TV room. “I think you’re sayin’ I’m not good enough for your girl.”
“She’snotmy girl. And don’t forget I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’re cooking up some ill-conceived, half-formed plan to seduce a woman.”
Fisher slid him a considering look. “My plans of seduction areneverill-conceived or half-formed. But I don’t reckon that matters in this case. Because somethin’ tells me Miss Hannah Blue is immune to any of my tricks.”
If only that were true, Sam thought grouchily, remembering the reverence in her face as she’d stared up at the sergeant major when he’d called her brave.
“Please,” Sam scoffed. “You’re like catnip to women. None of them are immune. So hear me when I saystay away from Hannah. She’s not for you.”
“Gotcha.” Fisher nodded. “Consider your territory pissed on.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“No?” Fisher cocked his head. “You’renotclaimin’ her for yourself? Then I don’t see the problem in my givin’ it a go.”
“Theproblemis that if you try, I’m gonna have to cut off your balls and feed them to you.”
“Oohh.” Fisher chuckled. “You’ve gone and whipped out your big, bad Marine Raider voice. I’m shakin’ in my boots.”
Sam was done with the conversation. “Do me a favor, Fish, and go play with your dick.”
“Temptin’.” Fish rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “But see? It’s so much more fun when someone else does it.”
Sam considered dumping both mugs of hot chocolate over Fisher’s head, and only managednotto by gripping the handles hard enough to have his knuckles turning white.
After he’d followed Fisher to the second floor, Fisher turned and said, “So is it just me in particular? Or are ya sayin’ ya want men in general to stay away from Hannah? Because if it’s the latter, I should warn ya, that’s a losin’ battle. She’s fine as frog’s hair. Ain’t no way you’re goin’ to hold off the whole of the male population. Even youaren’t thatgood of a marksman.”
“I don’t have to hold ’em all back.” Sam took a seat at the conference table. “Just the one’s like you who have dishonorable intentions.”
Fisher grabbed his heart. “Ya wound me. Why would ya think my aim toward Miss Blue would be anything but honorable?”
“History.” Eliza answered before Sam could. She stood at the top of the stairs with a tray full of snacks. “And the long line of broken hearts strung out behind you.”
“Horseshit,” Fisher scoffed. “I haven’t evenscratcheda heart, much less left one broken.”
“Only ’cause you’ve never been with any one woman long enough for her to fall in love with you,” Sam insisted.
Fisher lifted a hand like he was a Roman orator addressing the senate. “Romantic relationships are like avocados. They’re perfect for about twenty-four hours. After that, they start to spoil.”
Eliza opened her mouth, no doubt to tell Fisher off, but Ozzie interrupted from his seat in front of the bank of computers. “It’s official, folks. The FBI has a picture of Sam and Hannah leaving on Pale Horse.” He hit a key and a grainy photo appeared on one of the monitors. The angle showed it’d been taken from a security camera on the roof of the FBI building.
“If that’s the best image they have, we’re home free.” Eliza dropped the tray into the center of the table.
“I was able to hack their system and erase their security footage for the ten minutes surrounding Hannah’s escape. But apparently they have a couple old analog cameras that record straight to tape. That’s how they got this photo.” Ozzie tapped the monitor’s screen.
“No real identifying factors then,” Eliza insisted. “I mean, it’s obvious whoever raced to Hannah’s rescue drove a souped-up motorcycle. But it’s impossible to discern any details from the image. There’s no way the feds will be able to trace the bike back here.”
Ozzie looked skeptical. “They could use old city CCTV footage of motorcycles that’ve been caught on traffic cams to contrast and compare. I bet they’ll come knocking on our door sooner or later to see if the motorcycle they caught on camera matches one of ours.” He flung his arm in the general direction of the lower floor. “We should park Pale Horse in the Bat Cave.”
