“Except for the fact that you have to worry about people shooting at you.”
He smiles. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. We’re not police officers out on the streets dealing with criminals. We’re mostly working behind the scenes.”
“Then why is someone trying to break into your warehouse?”
He shrugs. “We’re not even sure somebody was trying to do that. It could have been someone trying to break into a random warehouse because they thought something valuable might be inside, and not necessarily something aimed at us. Crime at the port is kind of a given. And like I said before, I was just being extra careful with you because you’re not part of the team; you’re a civilian, and you’re May’s sister. She’d kill me if anything happened to you while I was supposed to be watching out for you.”
I laugh. “And you’re afraid of my sister?”
He holds up a hand. “Hey. Don’t laugh. And do me a favor . . . don’t underestimate your sister like I did.”
He’s serious, and I’m definitely intrigued. “I sense there’s a really good story here.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You got a couple hours? Because I have some stories for you. Things you won’t believe.”
I shrug, feeling more awake and less interested in getting tipsy than I was before, but not wanting to seem overeager. He did lock me in a panic room today, after all. “Well . . . I was going to take a bath, but I decided that it was a bad idea and took a nap instead. So now I’m never going to get to sleep on time. I guess you might as well stay for a little while and share some of those stories with me.”
Dev’s eyes go to my refrigerator. “You got anything to eat in there?”
I look at the fridge and then at him. “We just ate, like, two giant bowls of jambalaya each a few hours ago. How can you possibly be hungry again?”
“Have you seen this?” He gestures from his toes to the top of his head. “It takes a lot of calories to keep this machine running in top condition.”
I laugh, feeling my cheeks go a little pink in embarrassment. I have noticed that his body is in top condition; that’s what’s making it so difficult being in the kitchen with him and feeling comfortable about it. I need to move this party into the family room, where we can have more space between us.
I nod. “Okay, yeah, I get it. Unfortunately, I cleaned out my fridge last weekend, so there really isn’t much in there.” I won’t mention that my pay and Miles’s sporadic child support doesn’t leave a lot left over for extra snacks. My mortgage is ridiculously expensive.
He pulls out a cell phone. “Do you mind if I order a couple pizzas?”
I’m a little surprised that he seems to think he’s going to camp out here long enough to have a meal, but then I figure, What the hell; it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I wave at his phone. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”
I grab our wineglasses and secure the bottle under my arm. “Come on. Let’s go in the family room, where we’ll be more comfortable.”
“Good idea. I’m right behind you.”
Leaving the kitchen, I head out into the hallway. An image flashes out of the corner of my eye, and I hesitate. My head swivels to the right to see what it is, and I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. Holy shit. I look like Death warmed over.
“Oh, my freaking god.” I whisper. I’m still sporting the zombie look! Holy crap! My hair! My face! How embarrassing!
I turn to look at Dev over my shoulder, trying to figure out from his facial expression if he noticed. He gave me no signs at all in the kitchen that he did, which is completely and totally weird. Does he think this is my normal look? That I did this to myself on purpose? He’s still on his cell, probably trying to find the phone number of the pizza place.
I rush down the hall and into the family room. I slam the bottle down on the coffee table, almost dropping it on the floor in my hurry to release it. The glasses go down next, and then I’m standing straight, but turned away from him as he enters the room. I pretend my curtains need a serious looking-over.
“I’m just going to run upstairs for a minute,” I say, sidestepping toward the hallway with my back to him. “And put on some clean clothes.”
“You don’t have to change on my account.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out too shrill to sound natural. “Ha, ha! No! That’s okay! It’s no big deal. I get smelly when I sleep, and I had that nap . . .” Oh, Jesus Christ, did I just say that out loud? What is wrong with me?
He laughs. “Did you say ‘smelly’?”