“I’m glad I had it installed.”
“Yes, sir. I’m grateful, too. Do you want a coffee?”
“Not yet. I’ll have some orange juice for Ana.”
She smiles. “Coming right up.”
“Is Taylor awake?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Let him rest.”
She hands me the juice, and I leave her to go wake Ana.
She’s still asleep.
“There’s some orange juice for you here.” I place it on her bedside table and she stirs, her eyes are on me, her teeth toying with her bottom lip. “I’m going to take a shower,” I mutter and leave.
I strip quickly, leaving my clothes on the bathroom floor. My run has done little to improve my temper. I start washing my hair vigorously, and mentally run through a checklist of what I have to do this morning. I sense Ana before I hear her. She closes the shower door, then steps up behind me and places her arms around me. I stiffen at her touch.
Everywhere.
Don’t touch me.
Ignoring my reaction, she pulls me closer, so that I feel her warm, naked body against me. She presses her cheek to my back.
We’re skin on skin.
And it’s unbearable.
I’m too mad at you right now.
I’m too mad at myself.
I shift so we’re both under the water and continue rinsing the suds out of my hair. She presses her lips against me in small, soft kisses.
No. “Ana,” I caution her.
“Hmm.”
Stop.
I burn for her.
But my thoughts are too dark.
I’m too angry.
Her hand skims down over my belly, and I know what she has in mind. But I want none of it.
I want all of it.
All of her.
No!
I place both of mine on hers and shake my head. “Don’t,” I whisper.
She steps back, immediately, as if I’ve slapped her, so I turn around and her eyes flit to my erection.
It’s just biology, baby.
I clasp her chin. “I’m still fucking mad at you,” I whisper, and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.
And I’m fucking mad at myself.
I should have stayed in Seattle.
She reaches up and strokes my cheek, and I desperately want to give in to her tender touch.
“Don’t be mad at me, please. I think you’re overreacting,” she says.
What!
I straighten, so her hand falls to her side, and glare at her. “Overreacting?” I rant. “Some fucking lunatic gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife, and you think I’m overreacting!”
She gazes up at me, but she doesn’t back away. “No, um, that’s not what I was referring to. I thought this was about me staying out.”
Oh. I close my eyes. I left her for one night, and she could have been kidnapped or worse. Murdered by that asshole.
“Christian, I wasn’t here,” she whispers in the gentlest of tones.
“I know.” I open my eyes, feeling hopeless and worthless at once. “And all because you can’t follow a simple fucking request. I don’t want to discuss this now, in the shower. I am still fucking mad at you, Anastasia. You’re making me question my judgment.”
I leave her and grab a towel as I stalk out of the bathroom. I want to hang on to my anger. It protects me and keeps her away from me.
It keeps me safe.
Safe from more complex and difficult feelings.
I towel myself dry. I’m still damp as I dress, but I don’t give a damn.
I storm out of the closet and along the corridor to the kitchen.
“Coffee?” Gail calls after me, as I head toward my study.
“Please.”
At my desk I look once more through Hyde’s background check. There’s something here. I can feel it. Gail appears and leaves a black coffee on my desk.
“Thanks.”
I take a sip; it’s hot and dark. Damn, it tastes good.
I call Welch.
“Good morning, Grey. I hear you’re back in Seattle,” Welch says.
“I am. Who told you?”
“I just got an update from Taylor.”
“So you’ve heard about Hyde.”
“Yes. I’ve put a call in to my contact at King County PD. Find out what’s going on.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’ve heard from the FBI.”
There’s a knock at my door, and Ana stands in the doorway, wearing the purple dress that reveals every womanly curve she possesses. Her hair is in a bun, and there are diamonds in her ears. She looks prim and proper, hiding her inner freak, and it’s arousing as hell. I shake my head, dismissing her, noting the downturn of her mouth as she turns away.
“Sorry, Welch—what did you say?”
“The FBI. There’s a match. The partial print in the EC135.”
“It’s Hyde?”
“Yes, sir. The FBI uncovered his convictions as a minor in Detroit.”
Detroit again.
“They match,” he says, “though those documents are supposed to be sealed, which is why it’s taken a few days.”
“What does that mean?”
“They may be inadmissible.”
“Shit, really? Well, there’s also the footage we have of Hyde outside Escala that Prescott found earlier this week. It’s obvious he was checking the place out. And, of course, the CCTV from GEH’s server room.”
“The police have been wanting to question him about the incident at GEH, but they hadn’t been able to locate him.”
“They have him now.”
“Indeed,” Welch growls. “And the two investigations are going to compare Hyde’s prints for a match.”
“About time. Did you get anything out of his former assistants?”
“No. They’re reluctant to talk. They all say he was an excellent boss.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Agreed, given the hushed-up harassment claims,” Welch mutters. “We’ve only spoken to four. I’ll keep pushing.”