She nodded, her head moving against his chest. “Yes. Definitely.”
“Do you want to talk about it? Rumor has it that talking about nightmares can help.” He gently moved her back down under the covers and spooned around her, offering warmth and protection. Rain poured down outside, lending a sense of intimacy to the small room.
“Do you talk about yours?” She couldn’t become dependent upon him, but nothing in the world would make her move away right now.
“No.” He played with her hair, his arm extended up her torso. “There’s a shrink with the new requisition unit who would love to dig into my head and discover all sorts of twisted emotions, but so far I’ve been able to evade her. Have you ever talked to anybody?”
“Yes. I saw somebody in person for a while who really helped, and now I have a counselor online. We Skype.” In fact, she was due to meet with Dr. Valentine soon. “He’s very good, if you want his number.”
Mal chuckled again. “I don’t think you and I should talk to the same shrink.”
Yeah, neither did she. “It does help, though. I’ve worked through a lot.” She didn’t want to push him; it wasn’t her place. “If you don’t want to talk to your shrink, you could always talk to me.” She held her breath.
“Like you talk to me?” he asked quietly.
She winced. He was smart and trained. Of course he knew she was keeping secrets. But a lot of people had bad childhoods, and hopefully, he was chalking her nightmares up to that. “I think my nightmares come from a less-than-ideal childhood. What about yours? Childhood with mean grandpa plus flying bullets?” She wanted to know everything she could about him.
He sighed. “Yeah. I guess. The bullets part is what has me hypervigilant. Checking locks, always looking over my shoulder, not trusting anybody. Standard PTSD without going too nuts on anybody. Yet anyway.”
“You’re trusting me.” Maybe not completely, but he was naked in bed, talking about feelings. Guilt swept her. Well, she was talking about feelings, too. Just not facts. That had to count for something, right?
“Who hurt you, Pippa?” The question was soft, and his low tone took her by surprise.
The words invited trust. She wanted so badly to give all of herself to him. To let him work through some of the problems. She opened her mouth, not sure what she’d say.
Something dinged on the bedside table. She looked around.
“Damn it.” He rolled over and reached for his phone. His body stiffened. “I have to go, sweetheart. Work calls.”
She glanced at the clock on her side of the bed. “It’s after midnight.”
“Yeah.” He slid away from her to stand, taking all his heat with him. He flicked on the lamp. “I’m not sure if I’ll make it back tonight.” Ducking, he grabbed his jeans off the floor.
She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. What kind of midnight emergency could a guy in requisitions have? This was a man accustomed to going undercover. Was he undercover right now? What was going on?
He’d gone on full alert, his movements economical and sure. When he tucked his gun in the back of his waist, it looked like he’d done so a million times before. His jaw was firm, his focus already somewhere else.
There had been a gun on the table? She hadn’t even noticed. “You need a weapon to fill out forms? What exactly are you working on?”
He didn’t pause in drawing his shirt down over his flat stomach. “I’ll always have a weapon.”
That didn’t really answer her question. “Malcolm? I really don’t understand.” Vulnerability swept her, and she drew up her knees.
He leaned over and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “We’ll talk later. I have to go, sweetheart.” Grabbing his boots, he headed out of the room, and soon the front door closed behind him.
She stared into the darkness. Something really wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just her brain misfiring. Her emotions were as well. Hurt. Pain burrowed deep, with a warning she’d learned the hard way to heed.
It was time to run.
Chapter Twenty
Malcolm shook out his wet hair as he nearly ran over Roscoe shoving his way onto the elevator next to Force. He had a Glock at his waist today, since the cult had kept his other gun. He pressed the Down button. “Why am I here?”
Force wiped his left eye. “From an anonymous tip, local authorities found the bodies of a man and a woman in a forested area outside Boston a week ago. One stabbed to death, one strangled. News just came through. The deaths have been dated to around the time the cult worked the area.”
Anonymous tip? That was odd. “Were the victims listed as missing?” Mal asked.
Force nodded. “Yes, and we’re trying to find a connection between either of them and the cult. So far, no luck.” The elevator descended.
