He took another sip of coffee, seeming totally calm. Patient. As though nothing could ruffle him. She’d bet very few things ever did. He’d never realize it, but Briar had studied him carefully back in New Orleans. A few times up close when she’d had the occasion to actually speak to him in person, but other times from afar. Something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself with that calm self-assurance, drew her. Having observed him that intently, she could see why he’d been such an effective sniper and why he’d wound up in command of the HRT.
“You said you live in New York State. Whereabouts?” he asked, digging subtly enough that it didn’t feel like he was interrogating her.
She hesitated a moment, then surprised herself by answering, deciding to trust him that much. “Small place in the country.”
His lips twitched at her evasive answer. “Been living there long?”
She shook her head, for some reason not annoyed by his fishing. “Few years.” Almost two and that meant it was time to move again soon. Staying in one place too long was dangerous for someone in her line of work, as were personal attachments. Another reason why she didn’t mind telling him, since she wouldn’t be with him for more than a couple days and she wasn’t staying in New York much longer.
He reached out to adjust a heat vent in the dashboard, his long fingers pushing the button upward. He’d touched her so gently when he’d changed her bandage and covered it. She couldn’t help but wonder what those fingers would feel like all over her naked skin. “You have family there?” he asked.
“No. No family at all.” He turned his head to look at her but thankfully didn’t press for more. To deflect the question and show basic manners, she lobbed it back to him. “What about you?” As soon as she said it she inwardly cringed. The man had lost his wife. She shouldn’t have brought up his family.
“My parents and an older sister. A whole bunch of aunts, uncles, cousins and my in-laws. Pretty tight-knit family, on both sides. My job doesn’t let me see everyone as much as I’d like, but we all keep in touch.”
Briar found it telling that he still had such close ties to his in-laws.
He was silent for a long moment, swallowing a sip of his coffee as he stole another glance at her. “How old are you?”
“How old do you think?”
Rather than dodge the question like it was some sort of landmine, he studied her for a few heartbeats. The feel of that intense green gaze on her sent a wave of warmth over her skin, pooling deep in her abdomen. It was disconcerting as hell. “Twenty-five.”
“Nope. Twenty-nine. People always think I’m younger than I am.” She eyed him. “How old are you?”
He raised his eyebrows at her in silent challenge. “You read my file but didn’t bother with that part?”
She shrugged, wanting to see if he’d tell her.
“Forty-one.” He lifted his ball cap off and ran a hand over his chocolate-brown hair, revealing the slight graying at the temples. “So what branch did you serve with when you first started out, anyway?”
She shifted in her seat, covering a wince as her stitches pulled. Maybe she should have taken the no-talking option. Except then she wouldn’t have gotten to learn more about him and enjoy his deep voice as he revealed more of himself to her. So worth it. “It’s…complicated.”
DeLuca never looked away. “I’m sure it is, and I’ll bet it’s one hell of an interesting story. Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime.”
Briar didn’t dare look at him. The man affected her more than any other had in years. She had the feeling he could uncover all her secrets—that he could make her want to divulge all her secrets if she wasn’t careful. “Maybe.”
When silence spread between them this time it was devoid of the lingering tension that had been there initially. She smiled to herself. He was much more personable than she’d realized. He had a way of making her at ease, to feel less awkward than she usually did around people. Hell, now he had her wanting to keep talking. No easy feat. “Bet you’re good at interrogation.”
“I’m not bad,” he said with a shrug and looked her way again. “But with you I’d rather find out what I want to know without having to resort to coercion.”
Something about the way he said coercion held a sexual undertone even she couldn’t miss. Subtle, and far more intriguing than if he’d been more heavy-handed or obvious about it. She had no trouble imagining that when he used his brand of coercion on a woman, she’d be putty in his hands. Even she wasn’t immune to his quiet, confident charm.