Page 97 of Long Way Down

There was a soft click, and yellow light assaulted his eyes, proving he hadn’t gone blind.

Dixie’s voice was hoarse and croaky when she said, “That’s your phone,” and pinched his ear again.

“Ow, shit, hold on.” He swatted her away and pushed up on both hands. Peered across the bed and toward the crumpled pile of his jeans over on the floor, where his phone started ringing again. “Wait.” He checked her bedside clock: quarter to four. “Shit.”

Dixie made a noise of protest as he floundered upright and out of bed. He kicked a bedpost in his hurry, and hissed through his teeth to keep from shouting. It hurt like abitch, but he managed to answer before the call went to voicemail.

“Hello?” he gasped into the phone, panting and biting back a curse at the same time.

A pause. Then a dry, emotionless voice said, “Is this a bad time?”

Pongo sat down on the bench at the foot of Dixie’s bed, naked, and leaned down to massage his bruised toes where they were already turning red. “Kat?” he asked, because that dry, emotionless voice was familiar.

Another pause. Then: “Fuck. It’s you, isn’t it?” Annoyance crept into his tone, and Pongo could envision his black brows drawing together beneath the bill of his hat.

“If by ‘you,’ you mean that charming, handsome, super cool guy who–”

“Save it, Pongo,” Kat snapped. “Are you my contact?”

“I’ve got the phone, don’t I?”

“This is the third time I’ve called.”

“Sorry. I was, uh, a little busy.”

“Yeah.” One word full of contempt.

“Wait. Does this mean that you’re–”

“Not over the phone,” he said, sternly. “Meet me in twenty.” He rattled off an address that Pongo committed to memory, and then disconnected the call.

He sat for a moment, fingering the tangles from his hair, trying to wake up the rest of the way and rubbing the sting from his toes.

The sheets rustled behind him, and Dixie asked, “Who was that?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and found that she’d sat up in bed, sheets gathered up over her chest, lamplight painting her sleepy face in soft colors. She reached to tidy her hair, just as he had done, and he relished that small sign that she cared what he thought. He would tell her she looked beautiful with her hair mussed from his fingers, but thought she might shoot him the bird in response. Best to keep quiet and enjoy it, then.

“A contact I’d been waiting to hear from,” he said, and watched her hook her arms around her raised knees, chin settling on top of one. She blinked and her gaze cleared, became focused. She was interested – and that brought to mind Ian’s direct stare, the veiled, elegant threat in his blue eyes.

“Is this about my case?” she asked.

It was early to get his smile up to its usual wattage, but he did his best. “C’mon, sweetheart, you know I can’t tell you that.”

She frowned dramatically – actuallypouted– and heaved a deep sigh. “Ugh. So much for being an outlaw.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I have a boss, too. I’ve got rules to follow. They’re just different than yours.”

She tilted her head, and he wondered if she’d ever stopped to consider such a thing before.

Pongo stood and plucked his boxers off the floor. “I gotta head out.”

“This late?” She sounded disappointed, and that filled him with all sorts of warm-fuzzies.

“Yeah. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Fuck offwas worlds warmer thanfuck you,and he marveled at the progress they’d made.

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