“We’ll wait.”
She narrowed her eyes, her curiosity piqued. What in the world did they need her for? She couldn’t begin to imagine.
From below came the grind of some sort of rotary tool and the staccato hiss of an air compressor. Ozzie sat at his bank of computers, his fingers going rat-a-tat-tat over a keyboard as lines of code flew by on a monitor. His speakers weren’t blaring eighties tunes. Instead, he had his earbuds plugged in and his head bobbed in rhythm to whatever hairband played through them. She could hear Becky in her office, half-laughing as she negotiated over the phone with someone about a shipment of V-twin engines.
It was all so…normal.
Eerily so considering that just yesterday, she’d been tied to a chair in an abandoned bottling plant, feet numb from her restraints, mouth a desert from dehydration. Not to mention, today they had a platinum-haired assassin tied up in the tunnel dug down beneath the river.
“So…” Graham eyed her curiously. “Is Hew your lobster?”
She thought of the stuffed lobster on the chair upstairs. “Huh?”
“Ya know.” He nudged her. “From Friends?”
When she only blinked, he rolled his eyes. “Phoebe Buffay?” He donned a terrible falsetto. “It's a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You can actually see old lobster couples walking around their tank, holding claws.” He made a circle with each thumb and forefinger, linking them to imitate joined claws.
A hard seed of longing lodged beneath her heart.
Hew was certainly her lobster. Problem was—and despite everything they’d just done together—she wasn’t sure she was his.
“What are you doing watching, and memorizing,” she emphasized, “Friends? Isn’t that show about two decades too recent for you?”
He shrugged. “The seventies were better than all others when it comes to sitcoms. And M*A*S*H was the best show of all time; I won’t be acceptin’ any arguments to the contrary. But Seinfeld and Friends definitely rank in the top ten and therefore deserve my time and attention.” He pointed to her nose. “And don’t think I didn’t notice ya changed the subject. I was talkin’ about you and Hew and?—”
He was cut off—thank goodness—when the familiar cadence of Hew’s boots sounded on the stairs. The instant Hew appeared on the second floor, Sabrina caught her breath.
Literally.
She’d read that phrase many times in books and had always thought it was hyperbole.
Then she’d met Hew.
When he entered a room, it was like the temperature changed. Like he sucked out all the air. Like he stopped time.
It was all that dark auburn hair paired with all that height and breadth. It was those sparkling green eyes paired with that lopsided smile. It was all that tan skin paired with that easy, athletic grace.
Graham elbowed her as Hew ambled toward them. “Close your mouth, darlin’, or you’ll start drawin’ flies.”
She scowled, but then caught her breath again when Hew automatically took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers.
He glanced between Sabrina and the big SEAL and lifted a thick eyebrow. “So what did I miss?”
“Nothing,” she was quick to say. Then, just as quickly, she asked Graham. “The Avengers have now assembled. What can I do to help?”
Graham’s teasing expression pulled back like a curtain, revealing a hard-set seriousness beneath. “Come with me.” He hitched his chin toward the stairs leading to the bottom floor.
She didn’t realize the Bat Cave door was wide open until her flip-flops landed on the last tread. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the gaping black throat was waiting to swallow her whole.
“Hang on.” Her stomach high-jumped into the back of her mouth as her feet stuttered. “Why do I have to go in there?”
Graham glanced over his shoulder. “’Cause that’s where Black Widow is.”
She bit her lip. “But I don’t?—”
Hew draped a heavy arm around her shoulders. His breath was warm against her cheek. His voice was a velvet growl in her ear. “Ya got this. But say the word, and we’ll stop it before it starts.”
A part of her wanted to let him do exactly that. But a bigger part of her realized he was right.
