Page 40 of Until the End

That wasn’t exactly how she’d meant it. This was foreign territory and she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. He wasn’t the kind of guy she usually bagged, but she’d slept with far worse than a government henchman who was turning out to be a savior in disguise. Look at where Jasper had gotten her.

“If we were in the same bed together,” Castle said, “we’d only end up fighting, or, you know…”

Fucking. She nodded in complete, silent agreement. Nothing like a little sweaty bow-chicka-wow-wow, as Lincoln used to say, to forget your troubles for fifteen minutes.

“Fighting some more,” he added.

The ridiculous thought popped like a soap bubble. Not that she had any clue where it had come from in the first place. “I was going to say the exact same thing. Fight, fight, fight all night long.” Or, in her crappy experience, fifteen minutes.

“I planned to sleep on the sofa. Downstairs.”

“Oh.” She paused a beat, her gaze sliding to the bed, then back at him. “Of course,” she said, half chuckling, unable to hide her embarrassment over being so presumptuous to begin with. “You weren’t planning to sleep with me. But you’re really too big to be on the sofa comfortably. You should keep your room and I should sleep downstairs.”

“Nonsense. I don’t sleep much anyway. Let me change the sheets.” He went to the closet and pulled out fresh linen.

She helped him strip the bed. Her hands trembled and she realized her blood sugar was terribly low. How long had it been since she’d eaten?

“Do you know how to make sharp hospital corners?” he asked.

“No, sorry.”

“Then I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you have a seat and rest.” He gestured toward a chair in the corner. “I’m a little OCD. For me, there’s only one correct way to make a bed.”

She drifted to his bureau, bypassing the chair, and started going through the drawers.

“You’ve got some brass lady-nuts if you have the nerve to rifle through my things in front of me. Can’t wait until I leave the room and shut the door?”

“We both know the moment I’m in here alone, this is precisely what I’m going to do. Better to do it in the open. That way, if I come across anything weird, I can ask you about it point-blank rather than staying awake worrying why you have a collection of human teeth or doll heads or something.”

He flicked the sheet in the air. “Really? That’s what you think of me? Collector of teeth and doll heads living in a doomsday bunker?”

She made a hmpf sound. “I was right about the doomsday bunker, and don’t forget the arsenal of firepower you’ve got stashed.”

“I’m a covert operative. Not a serial killer. An important distinction.”

She pulled out the bottom drawer and stared at a glass case inside. “What are all these medals for?” Jeez Louise, there were ten of them, all shiny and pristine on a velvet backdrop.

“Different things.”

Kit opened the case and picked up the one with a star-shaped medallion and a blue, white, and red ribbon. “What’s this one?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Silver Star.” His expression turned stricken, mirroring how she felt on a level she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“What did you do to earn it?”

For a long moment, there was awkward silence, and finally he said, “Killed people. I wish the answer sounded more noble to someone like you, but that’s the plain truth.”

Pursing her lips, she looked over the Silver Star. Stars were celestial, grand, noble. Handing one out for killing people seemed counterintuitive. “Who knew they gave medals for that?” She put it away and picked up another—a blue and white ribbon attached to a cross. “And this one?”

“Navy Cross.” His brow furrowed and a vein throbbed in his temple. “That’s the last medal anybody wants to get.”

“Why?”

“It’s for valor in combat,” he snapped. “I’m a Navy SEAL.” He hung his head. “Was a SEAL. I survived something when the odds had been ninety-five percent that I wouldn’t. I managed to get most of my team out. Most.”

The last word hung in the air. Talk about hitting a nerve. She put the medals away and stared at the case. The energy in the room had flipped from playful to wet-sand-stuck-in-your-shoes uncomfortable.

“You’re a war hero.” She hoped the sincere compliment might defuse the conversation and get them back to a place where she could breathe.