Page 8 of Room Nine: Masters of Control

“For the most part?” O’Dell relaxes and leans his back against the wall, crossing his ankles.

“I think so?” Kerr piles on.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a criminal mastermind, you know? I didn’t expect to blow up a house. I might have touched them at the fireworks stand, or handled the duct tape without gloves, but I was wearing gloves when I taped them to the propane tank. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Dem shakes his head. “The tank didn’t blow, but it caught fire. We’ll have to check it out tonight when we go clear the cameras. Maybe we can collect the evidence before forensics does?”

“Have we called this in?” O’Dell asks Dem. “Maybe we can get the Feds to persuade local LE to slow-roll their investigation.”

Dem nods. “They know the house exploded, and that it was empty when it did. I neglected to mention our mystery guest. I figured that could be a surprise for later. They expect us to do a bit of investigation as we scrub the scene before heading home. I’m leaving the call to Townsend to you, our fearless leader.”

“Fuck,” O’Dell grumbles, pushing off the wall and pulling his phone out of his cargo pocket. “This is going to be painful.”

I watch as he walks out of the room. “Now what?”

Dem exchanges a look with Kerr. Jesus, how do these guys do that? With one look they speak telepathically. It’s fucking frustrating! Then, Dem gives me a friendly nod and walks out of the room, leaving the door open.

Kerr smiles, scooting back to lean his shoulders against the wall, mimicking my posture. “So, Kyra. You’re quite the fighter. It takes a lot to stand toe-to-toe with me, and you definitely did. Where did you train?”

“Penelope Pemshaw is my Sensei.”

“Ms. Pemshaw? She’s really good.” The look on his face tells me he knows exactly who she is and what she’s known for, which also means he knows why I’d train with her.

I square my shoulders, uninterested in his pity. “Yeah, she is. She taught me how to give you that pretty black eye.”

He grins, and man, he has a sexy smile. It’s full of promise and intention. “I’ll wear it like a badge of honor.”

I smile and glance down at my body, only now realizing it’s covered with dead grass and dirt. “I guess you guys aren’t going to let me go home?”

Kerr only shakes his head.

“Can I at least clean up? I have a bag of workout clothes in my car.”

Narrowing his eyes, he stands up and offers me his hand. “Sorry I had to put your face in the dirt a couple of times.”

“Sorry I threatened to divorce you from your balls.”

His aqua eyes sparkle, but he dips his head, leading me out of the bedroom into a small hallway. “I’ll go get your bag. You can wash up in there.”

“Thanks.”

I close the door behind me, noticing there is no window that could aid in my escape—not that I have my car keys anyway—and resign myself to my immediate fate.

Will they turn me over to the authorities? Probably. How can they not? Of course, they haven’t told anyone else about me yet—at least that’s what Dem said. I wonder why not? They said they are private contractors working a joint task federal operation, but what does that even mean?

There’s a knock on the door. “Your bag, Kitten.”

Kitten? Something warm ignites in my belly as I open the door. “Thanks.”

“Here are some towels, too. In case you want to take a shower.” Kerr offers me cleans towels and then takes a step back. “We’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.”

Ready? Ready for what?

I close the door and rifle through my bag, finding my collapsible baton and knife missing. Well, damn. Not that I feel the need to use them against these three, but I hate not having them. They are kind of like my security blankets. Fighting isn’t going to stop my future introduction to law enforcement. I mean, I did blow up a house, so I guess I deserve whatever punishment is coming my way.

I strip off my clothes and catch a look at myself in the mirror. Bruises on my arms and legs, random patterns that look no worse than a vigorous afternoon sparring at the dojo. There’s a red mark around my neck, probably from when O’Dell wrapped his big meaty hand around my throat, and there are dirt smudges and a few scrapes on my cheeks and hands. Nothing that won’t heal quickly. Considering I could’ve blown up while dicking around inside the trailer, I suppose I should be thankful these guys showed up and chased me out of there.

Good God. I should be dead right now after doing something stupid like trying to scare Bobby Lash into leaving me alone. That certainly puts a new spin on my situation. These three sexy strangers saved my life, whether or not they meant to.

---