Page 53 of Colton's Secret Weapon
Her shivering must have awoken him.
Figuring the best, easiest and least obtrusive way to ease her discomfort from the night’s chill was to just pull up the spread from his side of the bed and lay it over her, he did so. Slowly. Gently. Careful not to actually touch any part of her with any part of him.
And leaving himself with only a sheet for a cover.
On his back, he checked on the gun, closed his eyes, figuring he could get another three or four hours in and, instead, lay there in the darkness, trying to convince himself that Dove was sound asleep. He’d seen the slight jerk when he’d dropped the last corner of the spread to her shoulder.
And suddenly couldn’t clear his mind of images of her. That morning in his kitchen. In those thin pants and ridiculous, half shirt thing. What was it with the woman and leaving a strip of her belly bare? Didn’t she get that she lived in Alaska? One of the coldest states in the nation?
Flash-forward. The stark fear in her eyes when she’d first walked into the hospital, seconds away from seeing her father.
The saucy grin she got on her face when she was messing with him.
He heard a sniffle. Tried to pretend that he hadn’t. For all she knew he’d fallen back to sleep. Normally he would have done. Should have done. Wished he had.
And might have actually done, if she didn’t start to move, turning slowly to a flat position and then scooting toward her edge of the mattress.
Keeping his eyes closed until she was off the mattress, he glanced to see her back as she tiptoed across his carpet. Ready to snap his eyes shut if she started to turn back. Instead, he watched her head not to the adjoining bathroom, as he’d expected but to the bedroom door.
Without moving anything but his mouth he said, “Sorry, that’s a breach of protocol.”
In the moonlit shadows he could make out her shape. Her nod. He couldn’t read her expression as she glanced toward the bed. “I didn’t want to bother you with my tears. I’ll be right back. Just let me—”
“I’m bothering you by requiring you to remain in my presence. You have a right to bother me back. Please get in the bed. If you go, I have to get up and follow you.”
She could ask under whose orders he was working. But what would be the point? They both knew the score. She was free to go at any time.
But she needed his help, and his connections too, probably. And he needed to keep her safe.
Deal or no deal. Up to her.
Spinning on her heel, she faced the bathroom. Then said, “You want to check in there first, to make sure no one’s lurking?” He wanted to hear snarkiness in her tone but didn’t. He heard compliance.
“No,” he told her. He could see the security camera blinking over his bedroom door. And would have had a phone alert if the room had been breached. Same for the alarms on both windows. They were lit, signaling working order.
But he lay alert, staring at the ceiling until he heard the bathroom door open. And then, eyes closed, waited for the dip in the mattress to signal that she was back in bed. Relaxing, he told himself he’d be back to sleep in no time.
“Thank you, Mitchell.” The nearly whispered words drifted over him.
“You okay?” he asked then, instead of issuing theyou’re welcomethat would have been more his style.
“Yeah. Crying is healthy, you know. Helps release the toxins that build up with stress and grief. You might try it sometime.”
He’d take her word for that one. But didn’t bother to share the news. “Get some rest,” he said instead and, closing his eyes, ordered himself back to sleep.
Chapter 16
Tuesday passed with no new fears hitting Dove in the face. Her father was still showing little sign of waking up, but his vitals were okay. He seemed to be resting peacefully. And most incredible to her was that his brain scans, while showing some swelling beneath the gash to his skull, showed no sign of malfunction or permanent damage.
Mitchell asked about the scans the second he returned to the hospital room where he’d left her under the care of the changing guard outside the door, with a promise from her to order in, not go out.
In the suit and tie he’d donned that morning for a half day in the office, he pulled a chair in from the hallway to sit beside her.
“The doctor said he’ll wake up when he’s ready,” she relayed the prognosis last. Leaving off the last line the woman had issued with clear warning.Or he won’t.
Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, Mitchell’s gaze was pointed at Whaler. As though he could get answers from the older man. Or somehow telepathically send her father the assurance that he’d be there to help when he woke up.
She was being fanciful on that last bit, she knew but allowed herself the luxury. Hours alone in a mostly deserted facility made it a challenge to keep the demons at bay. Thoughts of Mitchell had helped.
