Brain: She have any clues about the hijacker?
Trigger frowned. He hadn’t even thought to ask her about that. One, she was drunk; she probably couldn’t think straight anyway. But two, he realized that he had no desire to talk about the fucked-up situation in which they’d found themselves in Venezuela.
Eventually they’d have to talk about it. He needed to find out if she had any suspicions on who the sleeper terrorist might be. She’d spent more time with her fellow passengers than anyone else and probably had better insights than any kind of report could give him. But for now, all he wanted was to try to understand the crazy feelings spiraling inside him.
Trigger: We didn’t talk about it.
Brain: Seriously?
Trigger: Seriously.
Brain: You moving her to your apartment back here? :)
Trigger chortled softly under his breath. That was Brain’s advice when they’d first learned about the seventh hijacker. And while it seemed like a better idea than ever right now, he knew Gillian would never agree. She was too independent and she had a life here in Georgetown.
As much as Trigger wanted to wrap her in woolen linen to keep her safe, he also never wanted to clip her wings. He liked her independence. He’d just have to find other ways to watch over her, to protect her from the evil in the world. It wouldn’t be a hardship.
Trigger: No. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Brain: Later.
Trigger put the phone back in his pocket and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at Gillian. What was it about her that was so different from anyone else? He wasn’t sure, but he was eager to find out.
Chapter Seven
Gillian woke up around six the next morning, wanting to die. She stumbled into the bathroom and saw her clothes lying in a heap on the floor where she’d tossed them after getting undressed the night before.
She used the bathroom then sat on the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands. She felt like crap. Not bad enough to puke…she didn’t think…but bad enough. She should’ve known better than to drink all that tequila. But the margaritas had gone down way too smoothly.
She remembered everything about last night.
It was still hard to believe that Walker had come to The Funky Walrus to see her…and that he’d said he felt the same crazy connection to her that she’d felt with him.
Gillian had no idea what to do now. She didn’t have a way to contact him—she’d forgotten to get his phone number before he’d left last night. She’d look him up on social media, but she knew that would probably be futile. If he was who she suspected he was, he wouldn’t have a Facebook page. And he definitely didn’t seem the type to have a freaking Instagram page.
Sighing, Gillian stood and went to the sink. She wasn’t up for a shower, but she washed the makeup off her face and threw her now crazy, slept-on-wrong hair up into a bun. She shuffled back into her bedroom and pulled on a pair of black fat pants with huge yellow and orange flowers on them.
Deciding she was going to lie on her couch for a while and try to pretend she wasn’t hungover as hell, Gillian headed out of her bedroom.
She froze in the hallway when she heard someone in her kitchen.
All of Walker’s concerns immediately sprang into her mind. Maybe he hadn’t been so far off the mark when he’d said he was worried about her. Was the mystery hijacker in her apartment right this second, ready to kill her when she showed herself?
For a second, Gillian was paralyzed with fear…then she inhaled.
And smelled coffee?
Would someone hell bent on murdering her stop and make coffee first?
Confused as hell, Gillian walked silently the rest of the way down the hall. She stopped in her tracks when she peeked into her small kitchen.
Walker Nelson was sitting at her kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee, holding his phone in his other hand and reading something intently. He was wearing the same shirt and jeans as the night before, but now his hair was sticking up in the back, and on his feet were only a pair of white socks.
Gillian’s heart lurched. He looked absolutely perfect sitting there in her space. She brought a hand up to her chest and pressed on her heart, feeling it thumping hard under her palm. God, this was so close to the fantasies she’d had over the last three weeks, it was uncanny.
She must’ve made some sort of noise, because suddenly Walker looked up and saw her lurking in her own hallway, staring at him. He put down his mug and phone and immediately stood. He stalked over to her, and all Gillian could do was watch as he neared.
Craning her head back to keep eye contact with him, she was shocked when he didn’t stop as he got close. He invaded her personal space and put his hands on either side of her head.
“Good morning,” he said softly, his rumbly voice making Gillian’s nipples peak.
She knew if he looked down he’d see the effect he had on her body, but he kept his gaze on hers.
“Hi,” she said after a moment. “What are you doing here?”
“There was no way in hell I was going to leave you last night. Not as drunk as you were.”
“You never left?” she asked. It was a stupid question. Of course he hadn’t. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on last night, and it wasn’t as if he would’ve left then driven all the way back to Georgetown this morning.
He grinned. “I never left,” he confirmed.
“Where did you sleep?”
“On your couch.”
Gillian bit her lip. “But it’s not that comfortable.”
Walker merely shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve definitely slept in worse places in my life. And it smells like you.”
She had absolutely no clue what to say to that, so she just stared up at him. His gaze moved from her eyes to her hair, to her lips, down her body, taking in her shirt and crazy pants.
Gillian wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor in embarrassment. If she’d known he was there, she would’ve put on some real clothes. A bra. Done something to her hair…like brush it.
Just when she was deciding if it would be weird if she pushed him away and fled to her bedroom to change, he spoke.
“I thought you looked amazing three weeks ago, after everything you’d been through. And last night, you about knocked me off my feet when you answered your door. But this? Right now? I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”
Gillian’s stomached flip-flopped. “I’m hungover, not wearing a bra, just scrubbed the makeup off my face, which I should’ve done last night, and I think a mouse has taken up residence in my hair,” she blurted.
“You’re real,” Walker countered. “You look mussed and relaxed. Exactly how I’ve pictured you in my dirty fantasies.”
Gillian knew she was blushing, but couldn’t help it. “And you look as perfectly put together as you have every time I’ve seen you. How do you do that?”
But he didn’t answer her. Instead he asked, “Are you hungry?”
Gillian wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”