Page 28 of Deep Cover

He also informed her there would be an evidence dump waiting for her in the morning, pulled from a conversation with the dead man’s widow.

Real progress was being made and the case could move forward now. It would take up every second of her time, making it easier to avoid Reid.

For another long moment, she drowned in the memory of the shower all over again. Her body still tingled from his hands, lips and tongue. Even the way he looked at her felt like a physical touch she had missed so damn much.

Shoving that thought far, far away, she worked through her inbox, addressing the most urgent emails and saving the rest for later.

Then she closed her laptop and folded down the covers. The bedding smelled fresh. The sheets were crisp and cool and inviting. But the minute she shut her eyes, lurid memories of Reid pinning her against the wall…his thick cock moving inside her…his mouth crashing across hers over and over again…swirled through her mind.

If she was back in her apartment, she’d open a book on invasive insect species or something equally dull and fall asleep partway through a summary on lantern flies. But there were no books in her room.

Though there were shelves of them in several rooms she’d passed, she didn’t want to chance an encounter with Reid. Bad enough that she already proved her self-control was lacking.

She lay in the dark for at least twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Reid’s tongue doing that thing before she gave up on trying to sleep.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she switched on the bedside lamp—also sixties retro—and slipped on a hoodie. She’d skipped dinner in order to avoid Reid and her stomach was not happy with her life choices.

When she slipped out of her room, she checked the tunnel for Reid, relieved when she didn’t see him. Then she set off for the kitchen. A snack would help her sleep. If it had sugar in it, all the better.

Again, all this would be easier in her own apartment. There she could walk into her cozy cottage-style kitchen and make a microwave mug cake. It was unlikely this kitchen had the ingredients she needed to throw one together. What did a military base have in stock?

Beef. Plenty of beef.

And potato chips.

Her stomach growled, forcing her to move faster, her socked feet silent on the concrete floor. The doorway glowed with light, and she slowed her steps, listening for voices.

When she heard nothing, she chanced a peek inside. The kitchen was not empty. Jolie and Stina were there, sitting at the counter with mugs of tea between them.

Caryssa blinked at the coziness of the setting. The common room had surprised her too, but the low light over the stove made this space feel almost domestic, worlds away from the secret military compound surrounding it.

The women were talking in quiet voices, and not wanting to interrupt them, Caryssa started to back out.

Both sets of eyes snapped to her.

“No, stay.” Stina waved at an empty seat.

Jolie offered a warm smile that under any other circumstances, she might take as genuine. But after their last encounter, she wasn’t so sure.

Caryssa hesitated before she finally entered the room. Hesitantly, she pulled out the vacant bar stool they offered. Suddenly feeling as awkward as a rookie agent on her first day on the job, she darted a glance between the women.

Jolie studied her, her eyes softening in a way that made Caryssa feel as if the woman could see right through her.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She reached for a mug that wasn’t there yet, her hands needing something to do.

“Let me pour you some tea.” Jolie bounced up from her seat with a lot of energy for it being so late at night. She crossed the room in swift strides to the white porcelain teapot sitting on the very industrial range.

Caryssa was surprised to see it had little pink flowers dancing across the side, and her lips twitched at the thought of the big, rugged men of the ghost ops team pouring from it.

“Um, thank you.”

Jolie tossed a look over her shoulder. “I hope you drink chamomile.”

“That’s perfect.” She glanced around the kitchen. The appliances were all industrial grade, as were the cabinets. Her gaze snagged on one cupboard that was inked with blocky black letters. AMMO.

Across the space sat the long dining table where she’d first spotted Reid.