Page 66 of Holiday Hostage
Reed tapped his fingers to his forehead in a mockery of a salute that caused a muscle to pop in Mav’s jaw. He whistled on his way to the kitchen. “Come on, Tarron.”
“I’m not a dog.” I followed him because I was going that way anyway. I almost stopped and went another direction, just to keep the smirk out of sight.
It wouldn’t work.
Reed would find something else to comment on.
His sarcasm and lighthearted banter knew no bounds, something we’d discovered years ago.
It helped alleviate fear and tension, even though it often pissed me off.
Like now.
Reed turned sideways and patted his leg while making smooching noises. “Come on, boy. Come here.”
“I’m going to murder you in your sleep. Or shave off your eyebrows. And your hair.” I burst out laughing when he grabbed both sides of his head and gave a theatrical gasp.
“I’m making coffee. You two can have a cup when you stop acting like brats.” Maverick tried to keep a straight face, but he caved with a burst of laughter when Reed and I covered our mouths at the same time and wobbled forward a step with pretend shock.
“Idiots.” He muttered as he turned on his heel, but his laughter wound through the hallway.
“Asshole.” I shoved Reed toward the stairs.
He shoved me back, then tried to swing his arm around my neck in a headlock.
I reversed the move easily. Too easily.
Which meant he was in more pain than he let on. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You just want to see me naked.” Reed batted his eyelashes and puckered his lips. “Give us a kiss.”
“I’ve seen you naked. Not impressed.” I shook my head at him. “Stop trying to get out of it and let me see your wound.”
He grumbled and cursed but moved his shirt out of the way. The red, swollen flesh was a concern, but no streaking or drainage to indicate infection.
I poked at the edges. “You popped a stitch. Want me to fix it?”
“Does it need it?”
“Depends on whether you plan on lifting weights in the next few weeks. Or running for your life. I’d tell you to take it easy on that arm, but you’d rather stab yourself in the eye than do what I say.” I fixed the dressing and headed toward the kitchen. The rich aroma of coffee welcomed me.
Mav even held out a full cup when I entered the kitchen. “We need to plan.”
I sat at the counter, scalded my tongue on the hot coffee, and motioned for him to go ahead.
His tone of voice said he already had something in mind.
Reed joined us, shooting me a dirty look as he took a cup from Mav and joined me at the counter.
Maverick leaned his hip against the counter opposite us and stared toward the large windows covered in snow and ice.
The wind hadn’t stopped howling in days, and the constant barrage of snow built up against the front of the cabin. “How long should we give the storm?”
“It’ll blow over soon.” Reed–having been in Alaska with his Dad on multiple hunting trips–had the most knowledge of the weather conditions. “Few more days at most.”
“That gives us time to prepare.” Mav sipped his coffee and tucked his right hand into the front pocket of his cargo pants.
I hadn’t noticed the tremor until he tried to hide it. “Our extraction point in Anchorage is still viable, even though we’re severely off schedule.”
