José looked at the woman. “I’m not prepared to comment on—”
“So you’re not denying there is another missing officer—”
“No,” the guy said firmly. “I’m not commenting on rumors. Any other questions.”
As the news desk reappeared on-screen, the anchor stoked the flames of conspiracy theories and Butch muted it all with a look of disgust.
While V lit up another hand-rolled, his roommate eased back and got pensive. Then he looked over and—
“No,” V muttered. “The answer is no.”
“How do you know what I’m going to ask?”
Vishous exhaled a stream of smoke. “Because I’m your fucking roommate, that’s how.”
Lucan woke up in the Executioner’s bed. As his eyes struggled to focus, he nonetheless located Rio immediately. She was sitting about ten feet away, her back to him as she bent over the table and scribbled on something.
Before he could say her name, she seemed to sense his stare.
Straightening, she looked over her shoulder. “Hi.”
Getting up from a meal that had been brought in by someone, her brows were drawn and her hands fidgety as she came across to him. For a moment, he took her in as if it had been weeks since he’d seen her, noting her pale face, her determined jawline, her strong body in the wrinkled clothes she’d had on for how long now?
She was beautiful to him, in a way that had nothing to do with her physical appearance.
Clearing her throat, she said, “How are you—”
“Hungry.”
“Oh, I got this.” She seemed excited, like helping his recovery was a test she wanted to pass. “Here.”
She moved so fast as she reached for the tray that she spilled some Coke he assumed she’d been nursing, swiping the can with the back of her hand. With a curse, she mopped things up with a shirt that was draped on the back of a chair—and then she got the tray and brought it over, setting it on the floor by the bed.
Kneeling down, she took a can of Sprite and popped the top.
“How did you know?” Damn, his voice was rough. “That I’m not a Coke fan.”
“I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. It’s all we got.”
He struggled to sit up, and when he did, she gave him the soda and started plumping the flat pillows he’d been resting on—although she didn’t get very far with pouffing, and not because the bedding was for shit.
“Are you . . .”
Lucan finished the sentence for her. “I’m okay now.”
Her eyes ducked like she didn’t want him to know she’d been worried about him. “I guess the gas or whatever it was backfired on you.”
“Gas? What are you talking—oh, right.” Jesus, he forgot that she didn’t know his true nature. “Yeah. Flames.”
Fuck. What a mess this all was.
“That was so scary,” she murmured. “I thought . . . well, it doesn’t matter. It worked out.”
Time to change the subject. “Where are Apex and Mayhem?”
“Just outside the door.”
Thank God, he thought as he took the Sprite to his lips—with surprisingly sturdy, steady hands, as it turned out. Guess he hadn’t lied to her about being better. And when the test sip went down just fine, he gulped the whole thing on a oner.
“Is there another?” he asked with an ahhhhhh.
“Absolutely.” She went back to the table. “Here, I’ll open it for you.”
There was a schhht, and then he was on to number two. More than food, the sugar and the liquid were exactly what he needed, and his eyes finally came back online fully when he was halfway done with the second.
“You look tired,” he said—then caught himself. “Good. I mean. You look good.”
Her smile was wry as she sat down next to the tray on the bald floor. Pushing at her hair, which was standing up at odd angles, she looked . . . well, he could only describe it as “adorable,” even though that was not a word he associated with her strength, her directness, her sexiness.
Shaking her head, she murmured, “I can only guess what I’m like right now—”
“You’re perfect.” As she glanced at him sharply, he took another drink. “We’re more than even after what you did, Rio. You saved me out there.”
“Nah, Mayhem was the one with the code. He opened the door.”
“You picked me up off the ground and carried me inside. I don’t know how you did it.”