Nope. He was sure. Nothing had ever hurt as much as getting shot, then nearly blown up, then nearly impaled by flying automobile parts.
He eased down the stairs, iPad and T-shirt in his left hand, weapon in the right. He dropped the T-shirt and iPad on the table in his foyer, yanked the door open left-handed, and faced the fury of his two very angry, very worried friends and one FBI agent whose relief, even in his sleep-fogged state, was palpable.
Zane went first. “What’s the matter with you? Who puts their phone on silent in the middle of a murder investigation?”
“I didn’t—”
“I’ve lost at least a decade of good years in the past seventy-two hours.” Gil’s black hair gave every indication that he’d been running his hands through it, often. A known sign of stress for his friend.
“My phone—”
Faith stepped forward. “Gentlemen, as much as I support your right to harass Special Agent Powell, perhaps it would be best all-around if we took this conversation inside.” With a quick flick of her fingers, Faith indicated a car parked a few doors down.
Without a word, Luke stepped back and opened the door wide as they all moved inside.
Zane glared at him and everyone. It might have been intimidating had he not also had one arm in a sling and been unable to hide his limp as he went straight into Luke’s den and eased himself into a wingback chair.
Gil stayed close to Zane but didn’t miss the opportunity to punch Luke’s good arm as he passed by.
Faith followed without a hint of frustration. She waited by the door until Luke closed it behind them. “What happened?” Her voice low, calm.
“Phone died.”
“I understood you have a house phone.” Faith paused by the painting over the little table in his entryway. Her tone conversational. Her body language relaxed.
“Did.”
“And?”
“Switched my TV, internet, and phone provider last week. They messed up the transfer. House phone still isn’t working.”
She gestured toward his den. “Don’t be too hard on them, Luke. We all thought—”
“Be hard onthem? Are you kidding? I’m the one who needs to run for my life.” He leaned toward her, speaking low in her ear. “I’ve been at their mercy before. It’s not pretty.”
His plea for sympathy earned him a low chuckle and a whispered, “If it gets too bad, I’ll protect you.”
“Sure you will.”
They entered the living area together. Zane glowered. Gil paced and stewed. Best to lead off with a plea for mercy. He focused on Zane. “The house phone still isn’t working.” Zane knew about his television drama.
“Jared can—” Zane flinched at the sound of his own words. “Crap. How are we ever going to get anything fixed without Jared?”
“Jared was handy?” Faith slipped onto the sofa nearest Zane.
“He’d have been deadly with a power tool. Clumsiest agent I ever worked with in the field.” This wasn’t speaking ill of the dead. If Jared had been alive and sitting with them, Zane would have said the same. “But give him some wires, a motherboard, a circuit? The man could rig anything.”
Luke set his iPad on the table in the foyer but continued to stand near the door, T-shirt in hand. If it were just Gil and Zane,it wouldn’t matter, but was it his imagination or was Faith having trouble keeping her eyes off him? Surely not. Still, standing there in shorts, bare feet, bare chest—it wasn’t indecent or anything, but it was weird. Then a wave of horror swept over him. He’d been leaning close to Faith, speaking into her ear.
And he hadn’t brushed his teeth.
“Excuse me for a moment.” He would have loved to have been able to race away, taking the stairs two a time. Instead, he limped from the room and fumed with every step, unable to escape the fact that in a few minutes he would have to reverse the torturous climb.
When he returned to his den ten minutes later with minty breath and smoothed hair and wearing slacks and a fresh button-up, the conversation had shifted gears entirely.
“I know you guys don’t want to use FBI resources,” Faith was saying, “but if you do need someone, we have a great guy who used to be on our team.”
“A great guy for what?” Luke asked.
