The golden glow of the lamp on her dresser spilled dim light across the room, showing her all her favorite things.
There was the bedspread she’d ordered from Etsy. There were the books she’d borrowed from Hew sitting next to the ones she’d picked up from the secondhand bookstore after she regained her freedom. There was the man who’d made it all possible because he’d been the shoulder she leaned on and the ear she spilled all her grief and trauma into when her whole world had been turned upside down.
He was still in his flight gear. Black tactical pants. Fitted black thermal shirt that stretched tight across his wide chest. Combat boots that had seen better days.
He looked…lethal.
He was lethal, she supposed. But he rarely looked lethal. At least, not to her.
Because he was her Hew. Her quiet, gentle, generous Hew.
When he was teasing her or talking to her or tenderly brushing away her tears, it was hard to remember that he was also a trained killer. A man who dropped bombs and pulled triggers and bested bad guys.
He’d dragged beside her bed the armchair she usually kept shoved in the corner. And somehow, he’d curled his massive frame into the thing.
His big arms were folded across his chest. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. His head was tilted back into the corner so that his Adam’s apple bulged in the tan column of his throat.
There was that hollow at the base of his neck. That vulnerable dip in a body that was otherwise hard and honed.
It had fascinated her from the start. And after she’d begun to heal, she’d spent her days fantasizing about flicking her tongue into it and her nights dreaming of what it would be like to taste his tough skin right there.
He was asleep.
But only just.
She’d learned from all her nights curled against his back that, even at rest, he remained vigilant. The tiniest sound could pull him straight into action. The slightest movement had him lifting his head and asking, “Everything okay?”
Something about that, about the thought of him never fully resting, made her throat tighten.
She could have gone on watching him forever. Memorizing the exact shape of the whorl of dark hair over his forehead, the inky shadow his thick lashes cast on his high cheekbones, and just how plump his lips looked when his mouth was relaxed. But her gaze was drawn across her room to the tall, leaded glass windows and the muted, golden light pressing against them.
Daytime? She blinked in confusion. How long have I been sleeping?
The chopper ride to the private airport east of the city was a blur. She remembered choking back tears at Hew’s thoughtfulness when he handed her the plushie. She remembered being hustled into a dark car for the ride back to BKI. And, to her chagrin, she remembered losing it.
When Hew had slid into the back seat beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, all the spunk and spirit that had kept her going for the last day had deserted her. Silent, hiccupping sobs had wracked her chest and burned her lungs. And no matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t stop them.
He had whispered comforting words that had blended and blurred together in her brain as they mixed with snippets of conversation from the front seat.
“—dangerously dehydrated. Call Ozzie and make sure?—”
“What are we gonna do with?—”
“—get some damn answers about?—”
She remembered the car nosing out of the Bat Cave—the tunnel dug beneath the Chicago River that was BKI’s secret entrance. And she remembered the concern on the faces of the people around her as she attempted to smile and reassure everyone she was all right.
She vaguely remembered being helped up the stairs and coaxed into bed as Peanut purred and curled into her side. And there was a fuzzy memory of Hew bending over her before…
Oblivion. That sweet, dark, dreamless void.
When she shifted slightly now, Peanut blinked at her with sleepy yellow eyes. Then, having determined he’d done his duty by her, he yawned, stretched, and hopped off the bed with a solid-sounding thud.
No doubt going in search of breakfast, she thought fondly.
She went to stretch, but stopped when she saw the tube snaking up from the crook of her arm. She followed it to its source. A clear plastic IV bag hung from her headboard.
It was nearly empty, explaining the urgency building in her bladder.
