Page 22 of Touch Me

“I’m not giving you a job, Moira.”

Her smile was bright as sunshine. “We’ll talk about itlater, big brother.” And then she was out the door.

“A job?” Leah’s brows rose almost to her bangs.

Ryan waved it away. “I need to know who’s behind this story.Who sent it to The Eye. Who confirmed the pregnancy? Any information you canget, I want.”

“On it.” She started toward the door.

“And send me links to any other sites circulating the samestory. And social media stats. I want to know how viral this thing is.”

“I’ll get Denny on it, too, if that’s okay. You know she’llbe able to get you the stats and links faster than I can.”

“Good. I want answers, Leah. See if you can get them for metoday.”

Chapter Eight

I’m in some half-asleep state with Humphrey Bogart murmuringinto one ear, and Ryan into the other. It’s a lovely dream, especially since Iknow that even though Bogie is going to get on that plane with Louie, Ryan’sstill going to be beside me.

Jamie…

I clutch the pillow and turn my face into it, trying toslide back into the bliss of sleep.

Jamie!

A warm hand against my forehead. Ryan’s hand.

My eyes flutter open, but it’s hard to keep them open. I’mtired. So, so tired. But as my eyelids droop, I catch a glimpse of Ryan’s face.A face I know even better than my own. I see the worry in his eyes. But I alsosee the tightness in his jaw and the tension around his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, though I doubt he understands. Itcame out more like waz long. This is going to be the hard part. Thisbone-deep exhaustion. Thankfully, the doc said it would pass quickly.

I just need more sleep. I force my eyes open to look atRyan, then murmur seep, as if that will explain everything. Then I letthem flutter closed, only to smile when I feel the press of his palm against myforehead.

“Shit.”

The word is harsh, and as I listen to his departingfootsteps followed by the slam of our bedroom door, I know that something’swrong. I push myself up to lean against the pillows, mentally slapping myselfback into consciousness.

So, so tired.

And while I wish I could stay in bed longer, I can’t. I haveto get up. I have to talk to Ryan.

I stretch, then reach for my phone, only to discover it’snot on the bedside table. I frown, then remember that it had died on my driveto the clinic that morning—my bad for forgetting to charge it. And for havingremoved the charging cable from my car last week when I couldn’t find the onein my home office.

I look around, intending to plug it in now, then realizeit’s in my purse, and my purse is in the entryway.

Sometimes, technology sucks.

I go the old-fashioned route and glance at the clock,frowning when I see it’s almost three. I pull on a ratty pair of shorts andgrab a tee from the pile on my dressing table chair. I’m already in my bra. Iusually sleep naked, but my achy girls aren’t enjoying that experience lately.

Dressed, I yawn and stretch in an attempt to clear my groggyhead. It’s not really working, but I ignore the lure of the bed calling meback, and head out into the wilds of the house to find Ryan.

It’s not tricky. The huge sliding doors are open, and I cansee him pacing the back patio, which will be my next stop after grabbing asparkling water from the fridge, guzzling it, and surprising myself with a hugeburp.

Apparently, I have a lot of things to get used to.

I’m trying to organize my thoughts as I cross the den, butwhen Ryan turns to face me, my mind and body go entirely numb. His expressionis blank. A zero. Completely unreadable. His eyes flat. His body tense, as ifhe’s having to work to hold it up.

I’ve seen him like this before, but only when he’s deep inan investigation, and usually when he’s got his sights on some bad guy or whenone of his team’s been injured.