Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
But that time, I knew something was off.
I got up to an elbow and looked to the couch.
No Mo.
This was concerning, though some mornings when I woke up in a way I was awake, he wasn’t there. He’d be using the bathroom or doing a walk-through of the house, and then he’d come back.
I rested on my elbow listening in case that was what was happening, but I heard no noises from the bathroom or the house.
After Mo informed me the guy was there last night, he was so edgy, he was quietly wired, that live wire charging everything anywhere near him.
Even me.
I suspected he wanted to be in on the interrogation, or the takedown, or the search of his house, or whatever they were doing, but he had to stay with me.
We did our normal thing coming home, but when no word came, I’d had to ask him to talk me to sleep with his toes-to-feet-to-knees gig.
Not to get him to help me sleep, but to help him relax so his vibe would leak out of the room and I could go to sleep so he’d at least stop worrying about me.
Listening to his deep voice lull me, I did just that.
Now was now.
If they’d caught him, would Mo leave me?
If they’d caught him, wouldn’t he stay and pounce on me?
Considering I very much needed to have answers to these questions, I threw the covers back, twisted my hips and tossed my legs over the side of the bed.
Since the morning of the egg white omelets, I’d made a habit of wearing my most unsexy nightgowns to bed.
I didn’t have a lot of such items of apparel, though when I was on my period and feeling bloaty and devouring popchips by the bag, I went with one of those.
So this situation was taxing the limits of my unsexy stuff, but it wasn’t for that reason I hoped it was over.
And my sleep drawer included the one I was wearing, which had little straps but the rest of it hung from a high-ish neckline down to my upper thighs and looked like one, wide, white cotton smock with a deep ruffle at the hem.
It wasn’t ugly, as such. But it didn’t make me feel like a bombshell.
I went to the bathroom, the door of which was open.
No Mo.
Okay, I wasn’t liking this.
I crept to the top of the stairs and listened.
The house wasn’t exactly brightening up with the September dawn seeing as Mo still had all the blinds closed.
And they were now closed.
No noises.
Shit, shit, damn.
I hoped the threat was over, I hoped Mo was off somewhere, having a quiet conversation or tying up loose ends.
But I should be prepared.
And with him gone, I had to admit, I was a little freaked.
He’d never leave me, unless it was safe to do that.
Still, he’d been around every day. I was used to him. I liked being used to him. And the situation was fraught.
So yeah.
I was a little freaked.
I moved silently back to the bedroom and assessed my options for a weapon, just in case.
I could use a shoe, though if I did actually have to use it, that would include getting in close proximity of someone I thought was a bad guy.
I didn’t want to do that.
So no shoe.
I had a can of Mace, but that was in my purse which was on the seat of the hall tree downstairs.
I decided to buy some Mace for my nightstand.
And I went with hairspray. A shot in the face might incapacitate somebody long enough I could run away.
I had three different kinds (light hold, medium hold, and super hold).
I decided on super hold.
I uncapped it, put the cap on the counter, stole out of the bathroom and skulked down the hall, then the stairs, thanking God I’d had a thick, buttery-cream carpet runner installed in both.
It was when I hit the wood floors at the bottom I was glad my feet were bare.
I turned, moved through the arch into the living room and stopped dead.
This was because the lights were on in the kitchen and there was a very tall, very muscled dude (not taller or more muscled than Mo, but then again, not many were) standing at my Nespresso machine. He was wearing olive drab cargos and a white T-shirt.
His head was turned to me.
Thick head of silvery-gray hair, even though I could tell by his face he hadn’t lived the years to earn that color.
Too far away to note the color of his eyes.
Totally not too far away to see he was gorgeous.
Undoubtedly one of Hawk’s dudes for no man who looked like this could be a crackpot, or at least I hoped the laws of the universe weren’t that twisted.
“What’s with the hairspray?” he asked.
“To incapacitate you so I can run away,” I told him. “I had a selection and went with super hold.”