Page 18 of Stealth Mission

Dare I say, murderous?

In one smooth move, Walt pushes me behind him.

The move is so surprising, I’m a little thrown off by it.

As I imagined, Sylvester’s boiling mad and mostly drunk.

He demands, “What are you doing talking to him?”

Instinct makes me want to bare my teeth, but Walt’s back would be the only thing that sees me. I lean to the left, so I can see around Walt’s shoulder. “Hehas a name. Sylvester, this is Walt. Walt, this is Sylvester.”

I leave off the dozen nicknames I have for Sylvester, none of which are flattering. Although it would be pretty funny to see how Walt would handle my remarks.

Would he laugh?

Something tells me, yes. He’s got a mischievousness about him that’s almost irresistible.

When the staring match continues between the two men, I slide around Walt’s elbow and take up a spot next to him, appreciating his imposing presence. “Do you need something, Sylvester?”

Two beady brown eyes the color of muddy water snap in my direction as if he just remembered I’m standing here.

“Why would I be yelling your name if I didn’t need something?”

Eye-roll-warning alarms blare in my head.

Walt chooses now to come to my rescue…yet again. “Mighty forward of you to ask about a private conversation between me and my friend.”

“Friend!” Sylvester’s face darkens to a weird purple shade. “I thought the mayor said she just met you at the bank?”

“I make friends fast,” Walt says, never taking his hardened gaze off Sylvester’s face. “And I like to keep them nice and safe.”

A large vein pulses in Sylvester’s neck. He bites out, “Get lost. I need to have a word alone with you, Marianna.”

The nerve of this guy. My answer is succinct. “You’re drunk, Sylvester, and I’m not talking to you tonight.”

Preferably not ever. But I’ve got to figure that part out.

As expected, this goes over like someone stealing your last bit of chocolate cake.

Sylvester’s already thin lips flatten out. It’s an unattractive look. Walt on the other hand looks even better like this. All hot alpha. There’s never been two men more opposite than these guys.

Walt is big, razor-edged and strong. He wears a suit damned well even though he’s got a street fighter’s energy.

His expression has gone from murderous to dangerously calm now. Unreadable, bordering on relaxed. Like the king of the jungle is getting ready to strike.

Sylvester, on the other hand, looks like he might explode. There’s also the fact he looks like someone just finished primping him for a photoshoot.

I never cared for the man before, but after seeing him stacked against the handsome stranger, he’s ridiculously sad.

Control slipping, Sylvester resorts to snarling. “I said,now.”

“Careful, now,” Walt warns, voice low and very controlled.

“I’m not available. We’re in the middle of an important conversation.” I move closer to my protector’s side. “You can’t just barge over here and interrupt like you’re the king of the world.”

Sylvester glares at me, then focuses on Walt again, his anger churning. “So, I bet flyboy here is trying to woo you with the story of his heroics at the bank.”

My foot twitches with the urge to nail his shin with the pointy toe of my shoe. “Don’t be rude, Sylvester. And I was at the bank, so there’s no story to it. He was heroic.”

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