He hadn’t been able to discern their exact color in the hospital. But the bright glow of the shop lights showed they were the warmest brown that melted into gold near her pupils.
Fox eyes,he thought.And something tells me she’s just as cunning.
She gestured to an empty bike lift and the various stools scattered around the shop. “Mind if we head over to that table thingie and grab some seats? I’ve been on my feet since eight AM yesterday, and my dogs are barking.”
He gestured for everyone to pull up a seat around the stainless-steel bike lift.
The way the little blond dropped onto her stool told him she hadn’t been joking about her dogs. He felt his mouth twitch at the same time he resisted the urge to pull up a stool behind her so he could massage her tense shoulders.
The smell of grease guns, metal shavings, and fresh paint was strong. And beneath all that was the ever-present aroma of the high-octane coffee the crew lived on.
Agent O’Toole looked like she could use a cup. But this wasn’t a social call, so no one made the offer.
Once everyone was situated, Eliza asked the question that was on all their minds. “What brings you out here so early in the morning? Have you made progress on the case?”
“Is it early?” Agent O’Toole rubbed her brow. “It feels awfully late to me.”
“Poe-tay-toe, poe-tah-toe,” Sam said gruffly.
Sam had been in a foul mood ever since the D.O.D had asked Hannah to work on a two-week project in Washington. Britt was anxious for Sam’s better half to return so maybe they’d have their good-natured sharpshooter back.
“I suppose that’s true,” Agent O’Toole conceded. Then she asked Eliza how she was “holding up.”
“Still in shock if I’m being honest,” their girl Friday admitted with a watery sniff. “I keep having to tell myself that Senator McClean and all his lovely guests are dead. ThatCharlie’sdead. That it wasn’t all some terrible nightmare I can’t seem to wake up from.”
Fisher, who’d placed his stool next to Eliza’s, lifted his hand like he wanted to offer comfort. Then he hesitated as if he wasn’t sure he should. Finally, he reached over and grabbed her hand. When her fingers curled around his tight enough to make her knuckles turn white, Fisher’s shoulders slumped in relief.
Well,Britt thought.What have we here? Have these two finally called a truce?
It appeared so. And all it’d taken was a concussion, a mass murder, and one dead fiancé.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve endured tonight,” Agent O’Toole said. And they weren’t just pretty words. Britt could tell she actually meant them. “And I’m especially sorry that Agent Douglas and I dragged you out of bed when you’re recovering from a head injury.” The pretty agent cocked her head and asked, “Howisyour head, by the way?”
Eliza wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “Feels like every city worker in Chicago is operating a jackhammer inside my skull. But other than that?” She flapped a hand. “I’ll live.”
Even though Eliza was slender, Britt had never thought of her as a small woman. She was taller than average. And she often emphasized her height by donning heels. But she looked tiny wrapped up in her fluffy, terry-cloth robe with her bare toes curled around the middle rung of her stool.
“That’s good to hear.” O’Toole nodded. “And we’d like to make sure that continues, so we’re suggesting you come with us to a safe house.”
Every eye in the room was suddenly glued to the little FBI agent’s face.
A lesser person might have shied away from all that attention. Especially considering that attention came from men who towered over her and had miens that’d made many an enemy quake in their combat boots. But Julia O’Toole appeared unfazed.
“What’s happened?” Fisher asked. He’d scooted—perhaps unconsciously?—closer to Eliza, and he dropped her hand so he could put an arm around her shoulders.
Huh. Will wonders never cease?
Fisher hadn’t exactly kept it a secret he found Eliza attractive. How many times had Britt heard Fish proposition the poor woman? He’d lost count. But Britt had never taken Fish seriously.
In a group of men who never suffered from lack of female companionship, Fisher was the playboy amongst playboys. The guy propositioned every eligible woman he met. And quite a few of them took him up on his offers because he looked like one of those dudes from the high-end cologne commercials.
Maybe Brittshouldhave taken Fish’s invitations seriously though. Maybe all this time Fish had been harboring a little thing for Eliza.
As Fisher’s anointedwingman for life, Britt approved.
He hadn’t considered it before, but the two made a good match. Eliza tended to be too serious, and Fisher was playful and flippant. Eliza liked to cook, and Fish would likely die of starvation if left to his own devices. They both liked Taylor Swift and while Eliza watched medical dramas and Fisher preferred streaming Canadian sitcoms likeTrailer Park BoysandLetterkenny, Britt had walked past the TV room plenty of times to find them sharing a giant bowl of popcorn and enjoying each other’s shows.
This could be good, he thought.This could be really good.
