Hearing the words spoken aloud made Fisher’s stomach rise and fall like it did when he hooked his parachute’s static line to the plane’s overhead steel cable before moving to the door to make a HALO jump.
No matter how many times he launched himself out of an airplane at altitudes high enough to require he suck on bottled oxygen, he never got used to it. Because even though his mind could understand the necessity for high-altitude-low-opening jumps to clandestinely arrive inside enemy territory, he could never convince his heart it was normal to hurl himself out of a perfectly good plane.
“He did.” Eliza’s voice was so small Fisher could barely hear it.
“And you said yes?”
Fisher lived through every circle of hell as he waited for her answer. When all she did was swallow convulsively and look like she was about to puke, he answered for her. “’Course she said yes. She’s wearin’ his ring, isn’t she?”
Eliza glanced at him and there was…something in her expression. Something that made his heart skip a beat. But before he could ask her about it, the curtains parted.
He expected it to the be the duty nurse. But the two people who stepped into the little enclosure weren’t medical professionals.
They were feds.
He knew them from their kicks. Because while anyone could wear a dark, non-descript suit, only FBI agents paired those dark, non-descript suits with lug-soled duty shoes.
Just when I thought this night couldn’t get worse.
3
“Oh, joy. The fuckup fairies are here.”
Agent Julia O’Toole blinked at the dark-haired man standing beside the hospital bed and wondered if his comment had been aimed at her and her partner or if they’d simply arrived in the middle of some curious conversation. It was impossible to tell from the man’s blank face.
“Sorry to barge in like this.” She kept her tone cool, professional. “I’m Agent O’Toole. This is my partner, Agent Douglas.”
She gestured to Dillan who flashed his credentials and jerked his chin up in theyo, what’s upway of all men who’d been blessed with an angular jaw and above-average height. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Aren’t you a little short for a fed?” The dark-haired man only spared Dillan a cursory glance before gluing his implacable stare to Julia’s face. His Southern accent was as thick and slow as molasses, as potent as Tennessee whiskey.
Her knees threatened to wobble—she’d always been a sucker for a Southern drawl. But the set of the man’s jaw, so superior and hostile, was enough to mitigate the effects of his deep voice.
Kneecaps firmly in place.
Donning her best Mark Hamill impression, she quipped, “My name is Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.”
“Huh?” A line formed between his dark, slashing eyebrows, alluding to the sad fact that her wit was wasted on him.
“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” She made a gesture like she was swinging a light saber. When he only stared at her blankly, she waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. Bad joke. Blame it on growing up with three older brothers who are allStar Warsfans. Anyway”—she turned to the woman in the bed— “my partner and I would like to ask you a few questions if that’s all right, Miss Meadows.”
“Y’all can’t wait to do this later?” The dark-haired man’s frown was severe. It would’ve been enough to turn a lesser person into pudding. But it only made Julia study him harder.
Worn jeans and aDeadpoolT-shirt that read: Maximum effort! His hair was such a deep brown it looked almost black. And he had a tan. But not from recent sun exposure. It was one of those baked-on numbers. What happened to a man after having spent a lifetime in the sun.
He didn’t have the chiseled features of the tall god standing next to him. In fact, if she were asked to describe his face, she’d say he was quintessentially a boy-next-door. Attractive in a pleasant sort of way, but nothing Hollywood would fall all over itself to splash across the silver screen.
Of course, the scar zigzagging its way across his right temple lent his otherwise amicable features a measure of interest and intrigue. And something about the way he stood gave her the distinct impression that, despite his perfectly pleasant face, his nature tended toward the dark and dangerous.
And that was all before she got to his eyes…
Crystal blue. Shrewd. Assessing. When he stared hard at her, waiting for her response, she would swear the air around her thinned.
“Wish we could wait until later. But the human mind is notoriously unreliable.” Stepping toward the bed, she finished with, “The sooner we can get in an interview with Miss Meadows, the better.”
“Better for whom? Not better for Eliza.” Blue Eyes gestured impatiently. “She’s been through hell and y’all want her to paint you a picture of it.”
“Never mind Britt,” Miss Meadows interjected. Julia clocked the woman’s accent. Posh. Studied. Definitely East Coast. “He’s feeling particularly protective tonight.”
