Great. And now I’m hungry for fried green tomatoes.
He ignored his grumbling stomach and straddled Haint’s leather seat—which Becky had dyed a deep, rich, moccasin brown. After unscrewing the gas cap, he swayed the motorcycle to and fro. This allowed him to see the fuel sloshing in the large tank. Once he was assured it was topped off, he replaced the cap.
His gas gauge had never let him down. But he’d learned his lesson aboutnotrelying on the reader and instead always putting eyes on his fuel level because the one time hehadn’tchecked the tank on his dune buggy, he’d been forced to walk fifteen miles through the Agafay Desert back to Marrakech.
Not only had he been dirty and dehydrated by the time he’d reached civilization, but he’d also been sunburned all to hell and had nearly stepped ontwoseparate desert-horned vipers.
He checked the fuel on the production bike Knox would ride. Checked the oil too. And then he double-checked the route he’d marked on his encrypted phone—the one he usually used while on a mission.
After that, there was nothing left but to get to it.
Time to put out the fire and call in the dogs.
“Mind hanging onto this for me until I get back?” he asked Eliza.
“It would be my pleasure.” She accepted his personal cell and shoved it into the hip pocket on her slacks.
If anyone—namely the folks after Knox—tried to track Britt via his cell phone, they’d find themselves at Black Knights Inc. and be faced with his coworkers who, conveniently, wouldn’t have the first clue where he’d scampered off to.
“You’re a saint,” he told her by way of thanks. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
Her grin was positively devilish. “Certainly not Fisher.”
He held up a hand. “Please stop. It’s like when your parents talk about having sex.”
“Except you’re three years older than I am, so comparing me to your mom is absurd.”
“Doesn’t matter. You and Fish are family. So…” He shivered. “Same difference.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Speaking of sex and people who are a far cry from saints, how was that kiss you shared with Agent O’Toole in the kitchen?”
So good it made my jeans feel two sizes too small,he thought as images of Julia with her hair tumbled down over her shoulder and her cheeks flushed with passion screamed through his brain.
Aloud, he only admitted, “Better than it had any right to be, seeing as how we were two feet away from where my ex-con brother was sitting on the pantry floor.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “It was like being inside a welding factory the instant you two stepped into the kitchen together.”
“I’m not following.” He frowned.
“Sparks, Britt,” she explained. “Tons of sparks. I was tempted to shield my eyes.”
“Yeah, and that’s the kind of fire I got no business playing around with,” he declared staunchly.
Eliza narrowed her eyes. “That’s an odd sentiment coming from a man who’s made risk-taking his entire personality.”
“There are risks, and then there arerisks,” he countered. To distract her—and himself—he frowned at the empty staircase. “I’ll go get Knox. You mind checking on Sabrina? Make sure she hasn’t passed out again?”
“Give her a break.” Hew appeared at the top of the stairs. “She’s been on the run for two days.” He tromped down the metal treads, his biker boots booming like thunder. “You can be patient for five more minutes and let her catch her breath before you ask her to go on the run again.”
Britt jerked back his chin when Hew headed toward his own ride. The former Nightstalker wore his riding jacket and had his overnight go-bag slung over one shoulder.
“Where are you off to?” Britt demanded.
“I’m going with you.” Hew’s response brooked no argument.
Britt argued nonetheless. “Bullshit. It’s bad enough Hunter is letting us use his cabin and Ozzie is sticking his neck out by hacking into the lives of the folks on the joint task force. I don’t want you?—”
“See, that’s where you got things all wrong,” Hew interrupted as he opened the tour pack on the back of Freedom, the gray-blue chopper Britt had recently helped him refit with a big, twin exhaust.
