He clinked the neck of his bottle with hers. “Here’s to surviving close calls.”
She pressed the bottle against her lips and tilted her head back. “That was some driving you did. If I’d been at the wheel, I’m sure I would’ve flipped the truck.”
“We should’ve been more careful. I should’ve predicted they’d try something.”
“Why would you?” She tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s sit.”
“Why would I? Because that dude threatened you in broad daylight in public.”
“That’s just it. He approached me like we had a business meeting or something. Gave me a proposition to think over. If he’d wanted to abduct me, he could’ve come into that restaurant and stuck a gun in my ribs. I would’ve gone with him without hesitation.”
He sank beside her on the couch and propped up one foot on the coffee table. “So what are you saying? This ambush wasn’t initiated by the big guy with Las Moscas?”
“I don’t know.” Sighing, she placed her bottle on the table next to his foot. “Turn around. You’re hunching your shoulders.”
He twisted around, presenting his back to her. He couldn’t deny that his shoulders ached with tension.
“You know what?” She snatched up her bottle and rose to her feet. “Bring your beer into the bedroom, and I’ll give you a proper massage.”
He jerked his eyebrows up and down. “I was hoping for an improper massage.”
“That could be arranged.” She batted her eyelashes. “Everything locked up?”
“Locked up, secured, surveilled, Denali on duty, cops patrolling and my weapon by my side.”
She blew out a breath. “I might just be able to get a few hours of shut-eye.”
“Not before my improper massage.”
“Of course not.”
He staggered to his feet and listed to the side. “Whoa. That beer hit me hard. Must be the contrast between the adrenaline rush and a depressant.”
“Good. We both need to relax.” She took his hand and led him into his bedroom.
He should resist the temptation of her invitation. She’d lied to him about that note from last night. He shouldn’t get in any deeper with her until he got some straight answers from her.
She nudged him down to the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She slipped it from his shoulders and pressed a kiss against the flesh of his upper arm.
She grabbed the beer he’d placed on the nightstand, and held it out to him. “Finish this and lie down on your stomach. I’ll release those knots.”
He downed the rest of the beer and stretched out on the bed, his lids so heavy he couldn’t keep them open.
April kissed the back of his neck and trailed a hand along his spine. Then she dug her fingers into the bunched-up muscles at the base of his neck.
He reached around to stroke her thigh as she crouched beside him, but moving his arm took too much effort. His heavy limbs seemed to sink into the bed.
As he drifted off, he felt April’s hair brush his face. Her lips caressed his ear as she whispered, “I love you.”
A smile tugged at his lips, but he knew he was dreaming.
CLAY ROLLED OVER and ran his tongue around his dry mouth. He rubbed his eyes, and then flung out an arm to reach for April, his fingers skimming over her coarse hair.
Jerking his hand back, he shifted onto his side and peered at Denali next to him in the bed.
“You’re not April.”
Without even opening his eyes, Denali flicked his tail twice and burrowed farther into the covers.
Clay dragged himself up against the headboard and massaged his temples. What the hell happened last night? He’d been melting under April’s soothing hands one minute and comatose the next. He didn’t even remember her crawling into bed next to him—he was sure he’d remember that.
He called out. “April?”
Denali whimpered beside him, but the rest of the house remained silent.
Clay rolled up in bed, disappointed that he was still wearing his jeans. Maybe that was a good thing. He’d sure hate like hell to have made love to April and not remember. Impossible.
He called her name again, and as the fog began to clear from his brain, his senses amped up and his nostrils flared. Did someone sneak in here and snatch her?
The sudden thought had his limbs jerking and he kicked aside the covers as he stormed out of the bedroom, Denali at his heels. His head cranked back and forth looking for April’s purse, signs of a break-in...blood.
Instead of all those things, a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter beckoned to him. He crossed the room and snatched it up, his eyes skimming the note April had left him.
She’d left early, didn’t want to disturb him, had a lot to do today, blah, blah, blah. He crumpled the note in his fist.
She’d left to do something she didn’t want him to know about. He slammed the balled-up paper on the counter and lunged for the beer bottle on the sink. He tipped the almost-full bottle back and forth and then emptied it into the sink.
He’d drained his own bottle. She’d made sure of that. He cranked on the faucet and slurped some water from his cupped hand. He swooshed it around his arid mouth and spit it into the sink.
He flung open a cupboard door and snatched a small bottle of sleep aid he used sometimes when the job got to be too much and he couldn’t turn off the horror. He shook it, as if that could tell him if it were missing one or two tablets.
He didn’t need to verify missing tablets to know what April had done. She’d had every intention of making her escape to God knows where with God knows who this morning, but had run into a detour last night with the shooting. So, she did the next best thing—slipped him a mickey so she could sneak out this morning without questions.
She knew there’d be no way he would allow her to go off on her own after the events of last night.
But what
