Page 55 of Lock ’N’ Load

She grabbed her empty glass and left his office. Staring at the monitors, he reprocessed everything he’d learned today and was just as disturbed by it the second go-around.

The same instincts that had kept him alive in the Middle East during his stint with the Marines, and later with the Alexandria PD, were screaming out a warning to him as surely as if it were painted on the side of a patrol car. Something was very wrong inside Langley.

And Trista still had a bull’s-eye on her forehead.

Chapter Fifteen

For the tenth time that morning, Trista yawned. It was seven a.m., but despite going to bed at ten, she was still wiped out. All because of what she’d discovered in the bottom of the bag.

After slipping on the sexy emerald-green silk nightie Matt had bought for her, she’d run her hands down her body, luxuriating in the sensual slide of the slinky material over her skin. Then she’d imagined the feel of his hands doing the same, and from that moment on, sleep had been slow to come. In fact, she’d tossed and turned half the night.

What was he thinking, buying me that?

Although, she was glad he had. She’d never slept in anything so pretty. Even the charm bracelet had been a welcome surprise, and she’d fallen asleep wearing that, too. She didn’t wear jewelry—her toe ring being the only exception—but for some reason, she loved the silver bracelet.

“C’mon, Poofy.” The Angora mewed, circling her legs, rubbing his head against the back of her calf. With Matt’s promise to keep the house canine-free, Poofy now had the run of the place, and that suited them both fine.

At the bottom of the stairs, she and Poofy paused at the sound of men’s laughter coming from the kitchen. Last night had been fun. The poker part, anyway. The part where Matt had scared the shit—er, pooh—out of her with his description of human charred flesh, not so much. But working with him to reason out what was going on with the CIA and the Russians had been enlightening. Matt was intelligent and quick-witted, and she admired his dedication to his job. Hopefully, that reporter would get back to him today. She’d feel better if she didn’t have to worry about the man’s safety.

“Morning, pixie girl.” Nick vacated his kitchen stool, motioning for her to sit.

Jaime poured coffee into a travel mug and handed it to her, along with the milk carton.

She accepted the mug and poured in a hefty amount of milk. “Where’s everyone else?”

“In the kennel.” Nick tipped his head. “Matt’s outside.”

Capping her coffee, she took a sip, realizing how nice it was to feel comfortable socializing with people. Such a simple thing had always been a major challenge for her. Bonnie and Kevin were the only constants in her social circle. Getting nicknamed “Brainiac” early on in life hadn’t exactly garnered her many friends. No, she much preferred being called “pixie.” Especially by a group of handsome, hunky men.

Why is that?

Her social abilities were definitely evolving since she’d begun staying with Matt and his friends. The stammering thing—even around Matt—seemed to be getting better as well. During their conversation yesterday in his office, she hadn’t stammered once. Although, she had to admit, they’d focused on work matters, an area of her life in which she was totally confident. It was the personal stuff that got her all tongue-twisted.

As Jaime poured himself a cup, she noticed both men were drinking from earthenware mugs. “Why do I get a travel mug?” She lifted the silver cup with the black rubber grip.

“Matt’s orders.” Nick ushered her from the stool toward the back door, opening it. “You guys got a date. Outside.”

Before stepping out, she looked from Nick to Jaime, sensing something was afoot as they both averted their gaze.

“Matt forbade me to go outside.” She narrowed her eyes at them.

“Not in the front of the house facing the road. But you can go into the backyard if one of us is with you at all times.” Nick gently shoved her out the door.

“Hey! Wait, I—” But the door had already shut behind her.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the grass, inhaling the crisp morning air. The weather was finally beginning to cool off, but it was still comfortable. This was her first real look at Matt’s property, and what she saw amazed her.

Some of the lushest, greenest grass she’d ever seen blanketed at least several acres stretching out before her. Surrounding the manicured field were thick stands of evergreens mingled with tall oak trees, the leaves on which were just beginning to turn shades of yellow. The center of the field was dotted with an assortment of ladders, ramps, hurdles, stacked drums, and cinder blocks. On one side of the field, separate from the house, was another building with a sloped, red roof. A door opened, and Matt walked out and began striding toward the equipment, beckoning her to join him.

As she walked to meet him, sunlight glinted off his dark hair, and she wondered if it was as soft as it looked. With his cop haircut, it was short, but she’d bet she could run her fingers through the strands.

Even in something as simple as khakis and a dark-blue polo, the man was all business, but it wasn’t just the clothes. It was in his bearing and his overall demeanor. The man positively exuded confidence in everything he did. She really, really wished she possessed even a fraction of his self-assuredness.

“Morning.” He smiled at her, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her suspicious. “Sleep okay?”

“Great, thanks.” Like shit. There goes my language. When had that started? Probably after someone tried to murder her, twice, so she was entitled to a few curse words here and there.

“Liar.” His gaze drilled into her as he gave her that classic interrogative-cop look she’d seen on too many TV shows. “I can see the dark circles under your eyes. Is the bed uncomfortable?”