Page 83 of Zero Hour

She looked at his fingers, warm and steady. Somehow, he made her feel anchored. Less like she was floating around in a storm.

"I’m fine." She squeezed his hand, acknowledging the connection. "I just need to find her. If I can do that, maybe I can help stop this."

"That’s my girl," he said, approving.

Her heart flipped at the possessiveness in his tone.

Hours passed. Patrick was always on the phone, updates streaming in. Operators came and went, shifting out for rest. The room thinned out. The office settled into its night rhythm, the usual hum of activity dwindling to a skeleton crew. A caffeine-fueled comms officer had taken over from Anna, while an IT tech made the rounds. Blade had finally left, although he was still on call, leaving her and Patrick to their own restless exhaustion.

"You should get some sleep," Patrick said, coming out of his office.

"I can’t," she admitted, tearing her gaze away from the computer screen.

"You won’t be any good to anyone if you can’t keep your eyes open."

She arched a brow. "What about you?"

"I’m fine," he said stoically. "Besides, I can catch a few hours on the couch if I need to."

"Let me stay," she whispered. “I want to keep searching.”

He hesitated and she glimpsed the flicker in his eyes—the war between logic and whatever was growing between them.

"Okay," he said finally. "But make sure you take a break when you need to.”

She nodded, then turned back to the mugshots. Patrick went back to his office.

Some hours later, she had to admit defeat. Her eyes were closing, the faces swimming on the screen in front of her.

Standing up, she stretched and crossed the office to his door.

Patrick looked up from his laptop. The day had taken its toll on him too. Shadows darkened his eyes, and his stubble was longer now, more noticeable. He looked rugged, and devastatingly appealing.

"Any luck?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

"Don’t worry. It was always going to be a long shot."

"I know. I just need to do something."

He studied her for a long moment, then nodded toward the couch. "Come on. You need to rest."

He closed the blinds that stretched across the glass windows, then pulled the couch out into a sofa bed. Grabbing a blanket from a cabinet, he then spread it over the mattress. "It’s not much, but it works."

She looked at him, at his wrinkled shirt, the open collar revealing dark hair at his chest, his five o’clock shadow, rough and rugged. Memories of the night before slammed into her. The way he’d touched her, the way he’d made her forget.

She needed that again.

Desperately.

Turning to face him, she whispered, "Kiss me."

He glanced at the door, still open. "Jasmine, I’m not sure?—"

"Please."

He hesitated, then slowly, walked over and closed the door, turning the latch to lock it. The office outside was still awake, people working, moving through the night, but here, inside this room, it was just them.

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