she crawled out of bed, slipped into her robe, and walked to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk, only to find Javier still awake, the television on, the volume down low.
He took one look at her face, turned off the TV, and stood. “Bad dream?”
She nodded, the sound of her own screams still echoing in her mind.
He left her then, walked back to the guest room without so much as saying good night, the distance between them leaving an ache behind Laura’s breastbone.
But by the time she put her empty mug in the sink, he was back, wearing only his jeans, gun in one hand. “Come.”
She met his gaze and felt a rush of relief to see warmth in his eyes again.
They walked to her bedroom together. Laura crawled into bed, making room for Javier, who shucked his jeans on her floor before stretching out beside her.
Strong arms closed around her, drawing her close. “I’m sorry,
“It was my fault. I pushed you. I’m sorry.”
He kissed her hair. “Sleep.”
She curled up against his bare chest and within minutes fell fast asleep.
JAVIER WOKE WITH a start the next morning, the whir of helo rotors and reek of burning oil and smoke fading as he came fully awake. Laura lay beside him, still sound asleep, her hair spilling over both of them, her sweet scent surrounding him. He brushed a strand from her cheek, his gaze traveling over her sweet face with its dark lashes and high cheekbones, the satiny curve of her bare shoulder, the soft curves of her breasts, their tips like little pebbles beneath the silky cloth.
Every instinct in him wanted to kiss her awake and pick up where they’d left off in the sauna. But he couldn’t go there.
Instead, he slid out of the bed, drew the covers up to her chin, and left her to sleep. He took a leak, brushed his teeth, and put on his workout clothes and a jacket. He left Laura a quick note to tell her where he was going, checked in with her security detail, then slipped out of the loft, her key in his pocket. With a quick search on his smartphone, he headed up 20th Avenue toward City of Cuernavaca Park and the South Platte River Trail. And then he ran.
He barely noticed the half-frozen river, the early morning cyclists who sped by him, or the sun, which hovered above the eastern horizon, spilling its rays over the drowsy city. He ignored the pain in his thigh, the ache in his ribs, his mind focused on respiration, the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his feet on the concrete.
No, he wouldn’t go there.
He ran faster, pushed himself harder.
His lungs burned. The muscles in his thigh screamed in protest. He ignored the pain, drove himself harder.
And still Javier ran.
LAURA HAD JUST finished with the I-Team meeting when Janet arrived. One of the advantages to working from home was that she could take a break whenever she wanted. She made Janet a cup of coffee, then sat across from her in the living room and told her what she needed her to do—and why.
“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I have to do all I can. It makes even less sense today than it did yesterday.”
Janet met Laura’s gaze. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to discover that FBI investigators won’t.”
“I’m a trained investigator, and a good one. Maybe I won’t find anything. But maybe I will.”
“You give me your word you won’t leak the contents of the file in a news story or reveal where you got the documents?”
“I promise—and I’ve never broken a promise to a source.”
Janet drew a deep breath, clearly considering it. “All right. I can probably get the file to you by this afternoon before we head to the television station. I’m trusting you with my career.”
Laura felt a rush of relief. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. I know where you live.” Janet smiled, then looked toward the door. “Corbray is on his way up. I didn’t know they made men like him. He is . . .”
Janet didn’t finish the sentence, so Laura finished it for her. “He is strong, thoughtful—and incredibly hot.”
Janet smiled. “Yes. That’s the word I was looking for. Hot.”
Didn’t Laura know it?
Sleeping beside Javier again had left her painfully aware of her own sexual attraction to him, filling her head with fantasies that were going to make it very hard to get any work done today.
“Where did you two meet?” Janet asked.
“In a restaurant in Dubai. He saw a couple of Russian guys bothering me and—”
A key slipped into the lock and Javier entered.
His face was wet with sweat, his expression guarded. He gave them both a nod, his gaze lingering for a moment on Laura before he disappeared down the hallway, probably to take a shower.
Janet stood, her gaze following him. “We’ve got a security briefing in about an hour to prepare for your trip to the news studio tonight. I’ll see you then.”
JAVIER SAT IN the backseat of a bulletproof Chevy Tahoe beside Laura, who pored over her notes in preparation for her interview, pencil and highlighter in hand. She wore a sweater and jeans, Kevlar beneath her coat. Her face was still free of makeup, a makeup bag the size of a tool chest and a sleek little blue dress in the cargo space behind them. She’d styled her hair the way she’d always done before her abduction—loose and long with lush waves that were drawn away from her face and pinned back with a barrette. One way or another, he was going to find a way to get his fingers into that hair when they got home from this little adventure.
He leaned closer to her and spoke quietly, catching the soft, sweet scent of her skin. “After this is over, you’re going to spend tomorrow and the weekend resting. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing, remember?”
“You can’t give me orders. I may look like one of your men with this on,” she said, glancing up at him and tapping the Kevlar with her knuckles, a slight smile playing on her lips, “but I’m not.”
He leaned closer still and nuzzled her hair, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Oh, believe me,
She canted her head, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Don’t distract me. I’m going on live TV for the first time since . . . I need to be prepared.”
He could tell she was genuinely nervous about this interview—and he knew why. Still, he was doing his best to keep the mood light, hoping to take the edge off her stress. “Were you this grumpy when you reported from Baghdad?”
“Oh, much worse.”
Javier chuckled, turning his gaze back to the street. Ahead of them, an unmarked vehicle carrying two DUSMs turned the corner, another vehicle following behind them, its headlights illuminating the backseat. The Marshal Service had jocked up for a fight. It was the first time since the car bombing that the killer stood a chance of knowing
