She was going to tell him that she could get it, but one look at his face changed her mind. “On the lower shelf of the linen closet in the hallway.”
Triana expected him to go get it, but instead, he stood there holding her finger tightly, his expression thoughtful. While she certainly enjoyed him holding her hand, she was a little confused at the same time. They certainly couldn’t stay like this for the rest of the night.
She opened her mouth to point out that everyone was probably waiting for dessert when Zane walked in with the box of Band-Aids. The British SWAT officer didn’t say a word but simply set the box on the counter, then walked out.
Triana stared after him.
“How did he…?” she began, but the words trailed off as Remy opened the paper wrapping of the Band-Aid and applied it to her cut.
“Thanks,” she said. “I never thought of first aid as romantic, but now I see I was wrong.”
He arched a brow. “Romantic, huh? I’ve never thought of it that way, but maybe I have a different definition of the word than you do.”
Triana raised up on tiptoe and kissed him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him close. “Does that fit your definition of romantic better?”
Remy nodded, giving her another kiss, this one long and lingering. Her body quivered in response, and she glided one hand down to caress the bulge in his jeans.
“Think anyone would noticed if we slipped into my room for a quickie?” she asked teasingly. “I promise not to make too much noise.”
He chuckled softly. “As tempting as that is, I think someone might come looking for us.”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re probably right. Promise to make it up to me later?”
He kissed her again, making her weak in the knees. “Count on it.”
* * *
“So, now that the locals are gone, are you going to tell me what the hell has been occupying that so-called mind of yours?” Max asked.
Remy frowned across the table at the younger werewolf. He and Max had joined some of the NOPD SWAT team for lunch after Drew and Brooks had put an early halt to the morning’s training so they could make that afternoon’s work more difficult. Since there’d been fifteen of them, the waitress had shown them to a back room reserved for parties, but now that the other cops had left, he and Max had the place to themselves.
“Nothing,” he lied.
Max snorted. “Bullshit. You were so preoccupied during training this morning that you tossed a 180-pound body dummy over your shoulder and hopped an eight-foot-high chain-link fence like it wasn’t even there. Gage told us not to do crap like that.”
Remy opened his mouth to deny it, then stopped himself. Maybe he had done something that stupid. He wasn’t sure. The morning had been kind of a blur. In fact, he barely remembered any of the combined physical fitness and tactical movement training Drew had put together for them. It wasn’t his fault. The training, which consisted of humping heavy gear and rescue dummies, climbing buildings, and shooting pop-up targets, hadn’t been very challenging. Unfortunately, that had left him with lots of time to think about other stuff—like Triana.
“Did anyone see me do it?” he asked.
Max waited until the waitress dropped off their second orders of burgers and fries and left the room before answering.
“No. No one saw you do it but Brooks and me.” Max reached for the bottle of ketchup. “So what the hell is bothering you?”
Remy glanced out the window at the light drizzle coming down. That morning, the weather experts had announced that Ophelia had changed direction and was now moving along a more northerly track. While New Orleans wouldn’t get hit with the worst of the storm, it would still get wet. The outermost rain bands of Ophelia had started coming ashore an hour ago, dropping rain all the way from Mobile in the east to Lafayette in the west.
“I’m just worried about this thing with Aaron Lee,” Remy said, turning back to Max. “It’s been two days and we haven’t heard anything from the informant in his organization. For all we know, the guy—if it is a guy—could be dead by now.”
“I hear ya.” Max dumped half a bottle of ketchup on his plate, completely drowning his waffle fries, then took a big bite out of his cheeseburger. “How’s everything going with Triana?”
Remy cringed. He should have known Max wouldn’t buy his crap about the informant. While he was worried about the informant risking his, or her, life to put Aaron Lee behind bars, that wasn’t what had his head spinning in circles. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it though.
“Good,” Remy said noncommittally as he focused on his food. He stayed away from the ketchup, preferring to taste the food he was paying for, not the free bottle of crushed tomatoes on the table. “We have a lot of fun together.”
“You have a lot of fun together,” Max mimicked, imitating Remy’s casual tone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell is wrong with you?”
Remy ground his teeth. Did Max even have a filter on that damn mouth of his? “What do you mean?”
“It means you’re full of shit,” Max said. “I haven’t been a werewolf long enough to know if you’re sending out those signals that some of the others can pick up on telling them if you’re lying, but I don’t need to be a werewolf to figure it out. Don’t tell me you haven’t realized just how special Triana is, because the rest of us sure as hell have.”
