“So, she lied about calling you immediately after responding to Patti's distress call because you would have insisted on pressing charges.”
Outraged but too exhausted to do anything about it now, Dillon only shook her head in disbelief. “You're goddamn right I would have insisted.”
Nasa hummed an affectionate sound, cradling her cheeks in his enormous hands while he pressed a warm kiss on her brow.
“That's because you, Tiger Lily, are a badass, and I love you.”
Even as his declaration melted her insides to warm, mushy goo, she remembered the last time he'd said that.
“Nasa?”
“Mmhm?”
“If we're ever in another situation like today, and you tell me you love me but what you're really saying is good-bye, I will kick your ass after I set fire to your file room.”
His breath huffed over her forehead as he laughed, but there was a solemn understanding in his bright blue eyes when he leaned back just far enough to meet her gaze.
“Understood,” he rumbled softly.
“I want a Dragon Scale ballistic vest.” Her demand was met with a slow, devastatingly handsome smile.
“It comes with a rocker declaring you Property of the guy who bought it for you.”
“Define, 'property,'” Dillon haggled, even as her entire body hummed with satisfaction.
Nasa didn't answer immediately, looking at her with a penetrating, soul searching stare,
“Property, as in, the most precious treasure in my universe, that I would do anything and everything to keep safe. Even handcuff in a germy bathroom despite knowing what pain it would cause you.”
Amazed and feeling a little lightheaded, like she'd had too much beer on a hot day, Dillon shook her head.
“I didn't like it, but there wasn't anything in that germy bathroom that could hurt me. You made sure I was safe.”
She knew he would have responded, but a uniformed officer came up to them and cleared his throat, holding up a navy-blue backpack with the NASA space center logo emblazoned on the front.
“Detective Bolton told me to bring this over.”
Dillon opened her mouth to say the backpack wasn't theirs, but Nasa reached out and took it with a nod. “This was in the bathroom with the rest of our stuff?”
“Yes, sir,” the officer answered. “It was on the floor beneath the sink, so I just packed everything back up inside.”
“Appreciate it,” Nasa said gruffly. When the officer backed off to go about his business, Nasa scanned the area around them.
“That's not ours,” she said quietly.
“Ghost likes to leave shit for me with my name on it, but since he was already out of the building, I'm guessing the woman he sent inside left it sometime after you busted free, and she probably left something else. We'll check it in the truck.”
“I want to go home now,” Dillon told him, beyond ready to get the hell out of here.
Nasa slung the strap over his shoulder and looped his arm firmly around her waist. “Me, too.”
*****
After a brief power struggle with Detective Quaid, Nasa made it clear he was done. Dillon wanted to go home, and by God, they were going the fuck home. End of, no more posturing cop bullshit, they were gone.
Dillon said her goodbyes to Patti and told her she'd be in touch soon about what to do next. The reporters had finally shown up, drawn to the call of a possible bomb threat the way sharks were drawn to blood.
They literally made their escape moments before questions started being flung around like grenades.
Safely ensconced in his BOT, Nasa wanted to see what was in the backpack Ghost's accomplice left, but it felt imperative they get on the road as soon as possible.
Duke and Tobias fell in place behind them, and the first hour of their drive back to Austin was spent going over the details of what all went down over the phone. Unsurprisingly, the two commandos were pissed at having missed all the action and even more pissed they hadn't had eyes on the front door to apprehend Ghost.
When they stopped to gas up and get some water, Dillon finally unpacked the contents of the backpack, handing Nasa all the items he'd been divested of, piling her stuff up in her lap.
“This must be the thing she left,” Dillon said nervously, carefully holding up a shiny black case meant for sunglasses. “The bomb squad guys would have made sure it wasn't some kind of explosive, right?”
Nasa felt the paranoia of not being able to say with absolute certainty it wasn't a bomb collide with the certainty they wouldn't have been given the backpack unless it was clear.
“We can give it to Duke. If it is a bomb, I'll only feel slightly bad about letting him open it first.”
Dillon primly wrinkled her nose at him. “I'd feel bad. Don't suppose you have an app on your phone that detects C-4 and stuff?”
“I do not.”
But wouldn't that be a neat app to design? There would need to be a sniffer plugged into the phone, specifically calibrated to detect all forms of explosive materials of course. He could design one, easy. The patent on the design alone would rake in some serious cash.
“So, we risk it?” Dillon asked.
Truth be told, if it was a bomb, Ghost or his accomplice could have set it off as soon as the cop handed Nasa the bag.
On the other hand, Ghost made it clear—right before he shot Nasa in the back—he was sticking to his word, and he had.
All of them walked away from their encounter, some slower than others. So in theory, it wouldn't make much sense to send a bomb along with them for later.
“Yes,” Nasa answered, but he still took the case and walked over to the empty end of the parking lot, away from Dillon and the fuel tanks, just to be safe.
He cracked it open slowly, and when nothing exploded or shot out from inside, he opened it the rest of the way.
Nestled on a bed of black velvet, lay an intricately crafted glass wand. Silver and black veins swirled through the
