Gus blew bubbles through a straw in what was left of his strawberry milkshake, ignoring everyone else around him. He was in his own world and content.
Liberty couldn’t help but think about how he’d been with Dr. Pasternak. Nothing remained of the man who had stared down the professor. It was as if Gus had been possessed by a badass that had now left the building so to speak.
Bill shoveled coleslaw from a small dish into his mouth with a butter knife. A fork was lying on the table next to his empty plate, but he’d apparently decided living life on the edge and licking a knife was more in order. He’d been finishing off whatever had been left on everyone’s plates for the last ten minutes or so.
The man was a bottomless pit.
He smiled, causing some coleslaw to dribble down his beard and onto his shirt.
“Here,” Rurik grunted in disgust before thrusting a napkin across the table at the man.
Bill took it, still grinning. “You’re such a good son.”
Groaning, Rurik shook his head.
Liberty touched his forearm, keeping her hand there as his gaze found hers, softening as it did. “You didn’t answer the question,” she pressed.
“I don’t remember the question,” he confessed, staring at her in a way that said he was more than interested.
“He was too busy daydreaming about kissing you again, Liberty Bell,” said Bill, earning him yet another grunt from Rurik.
She grinned, keeping her hand on Rurik’s arm. “I asked what it is you do for a living.”
“I’m an operative with PSI,” he said, his gaze sliding down to her chest.
Bill blew out a long breath. “And I get told I disclose too much.”
Liberty didn’t look away from Rurik. “I could have sworn I saw you flash a US Marshal badge back at the university. Was I wrong?”
Rurik shifted uncomfortably in the booth, bumping the table in the process.
Gus grabbed his milkshake, keeping it steady as he kept blowing bubbles.
“You weren’t wrong,” said Rurik, his gaze still locked on her chest.
“I don’t understand. Is PSI some sort of subsection of the Marshals or something?” she asked.
Rurik cleared his throat. “No. I mean yes.”
Bill snorted. “Liberty Bell, he can’t really disclose who he works for, but it’s safe to say Sput-Rurik is in deep with a place that, as far as government agencies go, ain’t all that bad—on most days.”
As much as she wanted to push for more details, she resisted, understanding there were some things that couldn’t be talked about. She knew that better than most considering the fact she and her two closest friends in the world had a secret that could never get out. Something they didn’t discuss with anyone.
She’d seen enough movies and was smart enough to know what would be done to them. Best-case scenario, they’d end up lab experiments again. Worst case, they’d end up dead. Neither was an outcome she wanted.
“What brings you to Durham?” she asked.
Rurik licked his lower lip as he continued to stare at her cleavage. “I’m stuck on light duty for now after some fuck-nuts attacked me a couple of weeks ago.”
“You were attacked?” she asked, rage filling her.
Who had dared to hurt him?
The temperature dropped and some of the cutlery on the table began to shake. Her skin prickled as the fine hairs on her arm rose.
Bill slammed his hand over a fork and met her gaze. “He’s all right now, Liberty Bell. I swear it. Russians are hardy stock, as much as I hate to admit it.”
She realized then that she’d been the cause of the temperature change. That she’d come dangerously close to doing the equivalent of tossing another trailer around. Had Bill picked up on it all? Did he know her secret?
He waggled his brows at her. “I spoke too soon. You should ask if he has any sore spots left from his operations. You could maybe kiss them to make them better. Bet he’d like that.”
Her attention snapped back to Rurik. “Operations? As in more than one? How bad was the attack?”
How was the man upright let alone as active as she’d seen him be?
Rurik continued to stare oddly at her chest area. “It was nothing.”
“Are you in any pain still?” she asked.
He flexed his hand while he stared at her. “It’s better now.”
She didn’t believe him but it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.
He leaned toward her in the booth, crowding what limited space she had with his muscular body.
Her hormones left her nearly tackling him out of the booth and onto the diner floor, to hell with witnesses.
Rurik sniffed the air and growled in a way that left her wanting him even more.
“If you work for PSI, why are you here in Durham?” she asked, only barely getting the question out when all she really wanted to do was ask him if he wanted to go home and hop in bed with her—and then tell her how bad he’d been harmed and who did it.
Something told her he’d say yes.
He tipped his head, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I’m here for you.”
Bill snorted and watched the events unfolding. “All the enemy has to do to get you to spill your guts is bring her into the room. It could be an entirely new form of torture. Set your woman before you and then tell you that you can look but not touch. You’d fold like a cheap suit. Alphas are hopeless.”
Liberty found it difficult to yank her gaze from Rurik but finally managed to do so. She focused on Bill, who was now lifting the small dish the coleslaw had come in and licking the inside of it. “W-what do you mean by his woman?”
“He knows,” said Bill with a snort. “Or he should know. I think his Russian chicken is interfering with his rational thinking. Happened to his buddies too.”
As thoughts of Rurik’s Russian chicken filled her head, Liberty couldn’t help but glance toward his lap. Even seated the man was
