Page 78 of Protecting You

“Your uncle?”

Her head tilted to one side. “I know I told you?—”

“Right, right.” He brushed her off. “Uncle Roger, the doctor. You called him?”

“Like I said, I was worried. He told me you were probably fine but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure, so I let myself in and checked your pulse.”

She’d checked his pulse, and he’d slept right through it?

Disconcertingdidn’t begin to cover how that felt. “And you’re still here because…?”

“Because checkout was hours ago.” She snapped her laptop closed. “Who knew you’d sleep until two o’clock.”

Right.

Too much information before coffee.

She pushed to her feet. “I assume you’d like that privacy now. Why don’t I get us something to eat? Anything sound good?”

Now that she mentioned it, he was starving. “Anything, and a Coke. I need caffeine.”

“Would you rather have coffee? There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts?—”

“No. It’s a thousand degrees in this room.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not warm.” She stepped closer and laid a palm on his forehead.

Her hand was cool, her touch soft and tender.

“You don’t feel feverish.” She slid her hand to his cheeks. “Do you have a headache? Are you?—?”

“I’m fine. It’s just these blankets.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but sheesh. He needed her out of his bedroom. He tempered his tone. “Sorry. I’m cranky when I’m hungry.”

And when I wake up to find uninvited guests in my bedroom. Even gorgeous ones who smell like springtime and make my stupid heart go haywire.

“Right.” She backed away. “If you’re sure, I’ll be back soon.” She snatched the car keys off the bureau and headed for the door. “I left a note for you earlier with the number to the cellphone Malcolm gave me. Call or text if you think of anything. Oh, and I grabbed you some clean clothes. I wasn’t sure what sizes you’d want, so I made my best guess.”

Sure enough, a sack rested next to where she’d found his keys.

She walked out, leaving him alone. And as much as he told himself he was glad for it, he already looked forward to her return.

* * *

While Alyssa was out,Callan showered and dressed in the clothes she’d bought him—joggers and a T-shirt. She’d even grabbed a package of boxers. Awkward that she was buying his underwear, though they fit well enough.

Considering Benson-the-thug had hit him pretty hard the night before, most of his injuries weren’t visible. His headache was better, thanks to the ibuprofen Alyssa had left on top of the sack. He had a slight bruise on his cheek, and his lip was swollen.

When he finished cleaning up, he texted Malcolm, who responded immediately.

Sit tight. We’re formulating a plan.

Shouldn’t Callan be a part of that? He and Alyssa were the ones who’d been at Ghazi’s house.

If it were up to Callan, Ghazi and his people would be taken into custody and treated like the terrorists they were.

But it wasn’t up to Callan.

He emailed Michael Wright, who knew more about Dariush Ghazi than anybody else in the Agency. Callan described the photograph he’d seen in the man’s room and asked if he had any idea who she was.

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