Page 92 of Lone Star

He rotated toward her, then, slowly, the handsome, familiar, much-loved lines of his face drawn at harsh angles. He was so polite, always so ready with a smile and a laugh, as sweet as his name implied, that it was easy to forget just how damn intimidating he could be. She was reminded of that fact now, looking at the leashed fury in his gaze.

When he spoke, his tone was even, though tight with restraint. “Explain it to me,” he said. “From the beginning.”

She took a deep breath, and told him about the day she’d had: about Eden’s invitation, and her ready acceptance; about grilling Eric and Jesse, and running into Jinx; about driving to Sandoval’s, and seeing the cartel roll up, flash and bold, like they owned the city. Told him about Axelle’s wild driving, the chase; about Albie and the twins and Blue and Talis pulling up right on time.

Her insides shivered the whole time, but she could hear the steadiness of her own voice. She’d spent her whole life learning how to control her nerves; she wasn’t going to quail now, not even for her husband.

“So,” he drawled when she’d finished. “You thought it would be, what, fun to go running around with those risky broads because, why, you don’t think life’s already dangerous enough?”

“First off.” She lifted a finger, and watched his gaze snap to it; the kind of gaze that could leave prospects cowering, and enemies cursing and backpedaling. “They’re notbroads. Jenny would smack you for saying that. Second: I went because I thought I could be a good help to them – to the club. And to you.

“Because…” And here was the bad part. The part he’d probably take the worst. “Yes. I am bored.”

His eyes widened, brows shooting up. Shock moved across his face: loosening his jaw, parting his lips, shrinking his pupils down. He didn’t just look shocked, though; he looked hurt, too.

“Candy,” she said again, entreating. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I know.” He shifted his weight – no, he wavered; the deep, sleepless lines beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. And he’d walked in on his friend’s corpse only a little while ago, Fox had told her. He’d had not only a stressful day, but a shitty one.

He turned and dropped into a chair, suddenly. Braced his elbows on his knees, wagging his head. “It’s not like you have kids, or a husband, or a full-time job that wears you the hell out. You sit around all day hoping for something to do. Of course you’re bored.”

“Darling.” She sat down beside him. When she touched his shoulder, she felt the muscle twitch beneath her hand, like a horse shooing flies.

Well, she was no fly, and she wouldn’t be shooed.

“Boredis perhaps the wrong word.”

He lifted his head, and turned toward her, expression grave, now. Resigned. “Is it me?” he asked quietly. “You’re tired of me?”

“No – Derek,no.” She tightened her hand on his shoulder, leaning in close, imploring. “It’s nothing like that. Baby, don’t take this the wrong way, but it isn’t about you at all.”

He blinked. “Then what? I know you’ve been unhappy lately. I thought it was the hormones, or too much stress at work, or…” He trailed off, seeming at a loss.

Sweet man. She leaned her forehead against his a moment, grateful for the pressure of him leaning back. Then she withdrew and took a deep breath. “You know what I used to do when I lived in London. The way I ran ops for my dad with Tommy.”

His brows went up. “I know he sent you here when one of those ops almost got you killed.”

“Yeah, and then you went back to London with me and helped put that situation to bed. We’ve worked together before, you and me. We’ve fought together.”

He tipped his head a fraction in concession. “But.”

“But what?”

“That was before.”

He didn’t have to clarify; she knew exactly what he meant. “Before I had TJ, you mean.”

He let out a slow breath through his nostrils, gaze shifting to her stomach. “You’re pregnant right now, Chelle. While you were interrogating people, and going for car chases, and getting shot at, you were pregnant.”

“To be fair, I didn’t get shot at.”

“Michelle.” Voice sharp now, authoritative.

“Why am I more at risk because I’m pregnant?” she bristled. “Is it the baby you’re worried about?”

He stood up, fast, and she had to pull her hand back. He paced the length of the room in long, agitated strides. Fumed silently a moment. Then stopped and turned to her, expression anguished. “Is that what you think? That I’m worried more about the baby than you?”

She didn’t answer.