Page 158 of Dark Angel
He wrapped her close, kissed her. “Hurry back.”
Another mind-numbing kiss from her sexy man before she retreated into the bathroom. There, she removed the large claw clip securing her taut bun. Most days, that hairdo gave her a splitting headache, but today she had one for a completely different reason. She ran her scalp massage brush through her long hair, washed her hands, and plucked out the tinted contacts before returning to the kitchen.
Gabriel was busy setting the table.
“One quick text to my brother, and I’ll help you,” she said.
“I got this,” he replied.
How’s the finger coming?
Is that a riddle?
She laughed. Gabriel glanced over.
Need ASAP
7 tomorrow morning
See you then
She set her phone down. “My brother made me a latex finger so I can get into the ambassador’s laptop.”
“Nice,” he said as he plated their dinners.
She sidled close. “That’s not all for me, is it?”
“Too much?”
She picked up the empty plate. “That can be for you.” She served herself. “This looks amazing.”
In the dining room, he sat at the head, she catty-corner.
“Thank you for this. Today was stressful.” She drank half the glass of chilled water. And that’s when she realized she was trembling.
Get it together, Devereux.
She steeled her spine, sat on her hands, and breathed deep.
He glanced over at her. “No good?”
She reached for his hand. “Say grace with me.”
He held it.
“Heavenly Father, thank you for our lives, for our new love, and for this amazing homemade meal. Please bless Angelo’s family. Help us find his killer. Amen.”
“Amen.” Gabriel crossed himself, raised his glass. “Amare.”Love
Joy filled her heart. “Amare.”
They toasted, sipped the water.
“What happened today?” he asked.
“The Russian businessman—Dmitri Petrov—the one who bullies the ambassador, told him that Bob Smith—Donskoy—was murdered at a private club by an armed militia. Petrov is asking around. Someone will probably tell him about me. He’ll pass that description to the ambassador. Or worse, if someone snapped a pic, the gig is up. I’m not safe there?—”
“Can you stop working?”
