“Show me! Show me!” She practically bounced she was so excited.
“You have to get close. Closer.” He pulled her toward him. “Grip tight.”
“Here?”
He felt her smaller hand on his arm. “Yeah. Tighter. Now step in and—”
In the next moment he was flying through the air and landing with a thud on the deck, staring up at her.
“Oh my gosh! Maybe I am good at this. Maybe I’m a professional cage fighter. Maybe—”
He swept her leg and brought her down—hard—landing on top of his body.
His hands cradled her ribs, and he could have sworn he felt her shiver. He wanted to hold her tight and keep her warm, but he just said, “You aren’t a cage fighter.”
She looked down at him from beneath the curtain of honey-colored hair. “Well, my job is definitely dangerous with a lot of authority. Like FBI agent. Or junior high school principal.”
“Yeah.” His hands itched to slide—to move. He watched her lips as she licked them. “That’s probably it.”
Slowly, she pushed away. But instead of crawling to her feet, she settled down beside him, her head on his shoulder like he was a soft place to land.
She actually nestled a little closer as she said, “Maybe tomorrow you can teach me how to kill a man with a telephone cord.”
“A telephone cord?” He forgot to bite back his laugh.
“Yeah. You could do that, right?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “Of course, but—”
“And an ink pen. Or a shrimp fork. Do you think we can sneak one out of the dining room to—”
“No.”
“Okay. Regular fork it is. Maybe a hand towel? Can you kill a man with a hand—”
“That would be better for defense, but—”
“Right. We’ll get you a knife and me a towel and—”
“No.” He didn’t know he was rising, rolling, pinning her beneath him on the cold deck until he was staring down at the way her hair fanned out around her like a halo. “Don’t joke about that. Never joke . . .”
“I know.”
“This isn’t a game, Zoe. It’s not a joke.”
“I know,” she said, softer.
“I don’t want you to ever have to kill a man—to live with that. But, sweetheart . . .” Her eyes went wide at the word, but it was too late to take it back. It was more important to make her see. “If that ever happens . . . if it’s ever you or them and I’m not there . . . Then you need to promise me, Zoe. Don’t wound. Kill.”
Sawyer didn’t realize how cold he was until he felt her warm hand on his cheek, brushing away the tears that were never going to be there. The part of him that could cry had died a hundred years before. It was the first part to go and the last part he’d miss.
“I promise.”
The world was suddenly too cold and too quiet and too still, so he rolled away, but not far enough because he could feel the back of her hand against his—a gentle brush—and they lay sprawled on the deck for a long time, looking up at the sun that was setting in the distance. He wasn’t sure what time it was. He didn’t even know where they were. But the scariest part, Sawyer had to admit, was that he didn’t care. Which was how he knew he had to leave her. Soon. Before he got any sloppier—before they both got killed.
“Hey, Sawyer,” Zoe said, her voice breaking through the peaceful calm. “Thank you. In case I haven’t said it, thank you for saving my life and giving me the bed and letting me try to kick you where it hurts.”
Her hand slipped into his, and his throat burned a little when he said, “Any time.” Then that hand oh so gently squeezed, and he didn’t want to let her go.
He had to let her go.
Because he had to keep her safe and he had to find her sister and he had to get the drive and stop the bad guy and figure out why Alex ran—from the CIA and from him. He had so much to do but the only thing he wanted was to lie there, holding her hand, and that was the scariest thing of all. He would have stayed there forever if she hadn’t let go and climbed to her feet.
“Now if you’ll excuse me . . . It’s formal night, so I’m going to go take a very long, very hot shower and put on a very slinky, very fancy dress.”
He tried not to grin. “I’ll be down in a bit to help you zip it.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” She pulled her hair into a knot on the top of her head, exposing the long, graceful line of her neck. “This one is really stretchy. And super low cut, so . . .”