“Wait.”
It wasn’t shouted but croaked in defeat.
Coop put out a hand, holding the door ajar, letting the silence stretch before he came back.
“You do not understand,” the Russian muttered.
“Help me to.”
Clearly torn, he stared at the table. Finally, he uttered, hoarse with urgency, “My family… You must protect them.”
“I’ll do all I can to get the feds to see that—”
“No guarantees. No talk,” Gruzinsky said, cuffs clinking as he tried to move his arms but couldn’t.
Coop looked pointedly from the steel around his wrists to his face. “You’ve got it backward. No talking, and the chance to help your family slips away.”
There was a long, drawn-out silence. Coop shifted, ready to walk out.
“Ten days,” Gruzinsky grunted, as if it hurt.
“What happens in ten days?”
“Another shipment. Big one.”
“What kind?”
“Weapons. Drugs.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
Coop uttered a low warning. “Don’t waste my time. I can let you go to Bexar County. You’ll get the same accommodations as your comrades.”
The Russian swallowed. “Port of Houston. Then it moves west. By truck.”
“Who’s present?”
Another pause. “Kedrov was not pleased with the last mission. He will be there. To oversee.”
And just like that, the war had a clock.
Chapter 24
She woke not to noise, an alarm, or the panic of a vision, but to warmth surrounding her. For a few disoriented seconds, she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling was different. Her bedroom didn’t have a fan. The sheets were softer, the scent not her usual lavender but clean, fresh cotton. And this mattress was firmer, not her pillow top.
Memory slid into place. Vince had helped her into his truck near dawn, his hands at her waist, lifting her in when her knees threatened to give out. He’d said something low, the tone reassuring, but she was half asleep and hadn’t caught the words. She remembered his hand brushing her hip when he fastened her seat belt.
After that—nothing.
She registered what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t. Her dress from last night was gone. In its place, jersey knit, oversized, the hem twisted around her thighs. Not her T-shirt. One of his.
He’d changed her clothes and put her to bed. His bed. She should’ve been embarrassed about passing out, but he’d taken care of her. She liked her independence, her business, the life she’d built on her own, but she’d always wanted more. Someone to come home to, to trust, to love. She’d just stopped believing it could happen.
Carefully, Erica turned to face him. The brush of his thigh and the line of his boxer briefs told her everything that hadn’t happened. Not that she believed he’d ever take advantage.
He was still asleep, and she took the chance to study him.
