I stood up, righting myself, re-orienting my body away from his.
“We need to inventory the damage,” he said. “And I’m going to suggest when the manager comes back that we share whatever room he has available to us.”
“Uh, what?”
His face softened. “Twice now we’ve been directly threatened in our rooms. They’ve followed us here, lit our rooms on fire, delivered missives beneath our doors. We need to stick together for safety, and we need them to list us under aliases. Eudora doesn’t believe our undercover names anymore, but I have no idea if, or how, she’d be able to discover our legal names. Either way, I want neither of them listed on the hotel’s guest register. Especially if there’s someone working here we can’t trust.”
“Abe.”
The man in question swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, Sloane?”
“We almost lost a source because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in a public restaurant. How the hell will we abide by our no fucking rule when staying in the same room, in the same bed?” My breathing was already rapid at the thought of it—from anticipation, from worry, from sheer arousal.
“We’ll make sure they have a trundle bed,” he said, a distinct roughness in his voice.
“Two people can fuck in a trundle bed.”
“Sloane.” Even rougher.
“We’re just… Abe, I think we’re in the most danger because we’re the closest to our target. I want to be safe. I want to stay with you, I do. Our rule has to stay.” I paused, scraped the bottom of the barrel for my last shred of willpower. “Right?”
“Right,” he said. “Yes, absolutely. The auction is in seventy-two hours. We’re not animals.”
No, we weren’t. But we’d been prepared to fuck like two people with no common sense or rational thought, and if that didn’t make me an animal, I didn’t know what did.
“Exactly,” I managed.
“Unless my being in a room with you is too unpleasant or uncomfortable, then obviously we can—”
“—no, I want to,” I interjected. “I guess… I guess the thought of being in a room alone right now is even scarier. We need… we need to be able to strategize and stay focused.”
“Focused,” Abe repeated.
“On the case.”
“Of course,” he replied.
We stared at each other for far too long, chests rising and falling. I fully understood the danger we were embarking upon. Except not being in constant eyesight after everything that had happened felt more dangerous.
A dance of painful emotion rippled across his normally stoic face. “Listen, I believe I need to—”
There was a knock on the door, stopping whatever he had been about to say. He shook his head, opened it to reveal police officers and hotel security, here to take our statements and talk about our safety moving forward.
I passed my hand across my laptop, devastated at the loss of my investigative tools. Invigorated at the thought that we were close to Bernard.
And terrified to admit I’d be more comfortable taking on a team of Dresden guards by myself than sharing a hotel room with Abe fucking Royal.
28
Abe
Two exhausting hours later, and we were finally relocated to room #486—which had two regular beds and a trundle bed, eliminating the temptation we didn’t need to sleep together.
A hotel security guard would keep watch over our room, just in case. The police officers had taken our statements, heard about our threats, promised to get back to us in a few days with their reports and progress. None of it mattered. I would most likely be flying back to Philadelphia at that point, regardless of what happened. But having extra protection couldn’t hurt.
Our clothing was still soaked and being laundered by the hotel, who’d dropped off pajamas and sweats for us from their gift shop. Every electronic item I’d left in that room was ruined, every note, every folder. Yet, as I watched Sloane peer outside the hotel window at the newly stormy weather, I understood none of those things were as important as keeping her safe. I would have pushed for the two of us to stay together regardless of our intense attraction—would have pushed to protect her. If I were here with Codex, I would have demanded all five of us stay in the same room and barricaded the door from intruders. Freya would most likely have turned it into a slumber party with snacks and alcohol and horror movies.
I would have spent the night awake, watching over them as they slept.
Off, on.
Were these actions really the actions of someone like my father? An aloof asshole beholden to his most selfish desires? Or was I more than that? Because, staring at Sloane sitting gingerly on the bed, I knew walking out was the furthest thing from my mind. The image of Sloane being tackled to the ground as she screamed was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
I tossed my jacket on the bed and rolled up my sleeves, tearing at my tie. Grabbed the first-aid kit the hotel left for us and ice from the machine in the hallway. Then I got down on my knees in front of Sloane, who kept staring at the rain outside like she feared it would bite her. When she dragged her gaze to mine, registered the ice and the bandages, up went those walls again. But her external discomfort was possibly from the “unconventional childhood” she’d mentioned and been unable to say more about. I got the very strong impression she hadn’t been cared for. Ever.
“Can I take a look at your ankle?” I asked.
“Okay,” she said.
I slowly unzipped her thigh-high boots, freeing her feet. Bare, smooth legs. Bare, pretty feet. Even with all that we’d done at that bar, this act alone felt overwhelmingly intimate.
I looked at her ankle, which luckily wasn’t swollen. When I touched it, she didn’t wince. Happy with that news, I placed a bandage across a nasty scratch on her thigh, checked her knuckles and fingers for signs of injury.
“These will be sore tomorrow,” I said.
She touched my own split-open knuckles. “So will these.”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m more concerned with this gorgeous jaw of yours.” A purple bruise shaded the skin, and I grimaced in sympathy—which only caused my own bruised jaw to ripple with pain.
“We’re a hot mess.” She smiled.
“All part of the job when you’re chasing a criminal mastermind.” I held out the ice. “May I touch you there?”
Cheeks pink, she said, “Yes.”
I gripped the non-bruised side of her face. Tilted it gently.
I held the ice to her skin, caressed the bruise. “It’s okay if being cared for is a brand-new feeling for you.”
Her eyes slid toward mine, relief there. “It’s extremely new,” she said.
I wasn’t used to seeing her so reserved, so quiet. I cleared my throat. “I was my mother’s caregiver after her car accident, after my father left. This stuff comes easy to me now. We spent a lot of time in hospitals and at medical appointments. I spent a lot of time bandaging her up when she banged into things.”
Sloane kept looking at me, so I kept talking. “Her traumatic brain injury left her in a coma for three days, and when she woke up, it took about four years for her to recover from the after-effects. Three months for her to stand on her own and walk again, but her balance was impacted for a long time. Thus the bandaging.”