“Dear god, we can’t have that.” She laughs and rises to her feet. “I should probably get going, anyway. Someone will be by later to drop off dinner for you. Any requests?”
“I’m a vegetarian. Anything green is generally a safe bet, though I never turn my nose up at some chips and guac.”
“Got it.” She scribbles a note on the small pad she seems to carry everywhere. “I’ll be back in touch when we have an update on the Petrov situation. In the meantime, just sit tight and try not to go too stir crazy.”
“No promises.”
“Here’s my card.” She slips a small white rectangle from her purse and sets it on the end table. “If you need anything, you can call me.”
“Thanks, Agent Sykes.”
“It’s Lucy.”
I smile softly. “Oh. Well, then… goodbye, Lucy.”
She walks to the door. “See you soon, Shelby.”
I manage to keep the smile on my face until it clicks closed at her back, leaving me alone once more in the dingy motel room.
* * *
I waketo the sound of a keycard beeping.
Sitting straight up in bed, my covers go flying as I watch the door swing inward. A large man’s silhouette fills the frame, massive enough to send my heart lurching into my throat. Before he can take a single stride into the room, I’m out of bed — leaping off the mattress, grabbing the lamp off the bedside table, holding it aloft like a baseball player stepping up to home plate.
Just try me, bucko!
The overhead light flickers on. I blink my eyes as they struggle to adjust to the brightness. When the room comes into focus, I feel my cheeks flame the same color red as the gaudy motel sofa.
Conor is standing in the threshold, his hand still poised on the light switch, his lips twitching like he’s about to burst into laughter.
“Hey, batter batter.”
With as much dignity as I can muster, I lower the lamp and set it on the table.
I hear a low chuckle a few seconds before the door swings closed. Avoiding his eyes, I tug my sweatshirt down so it covers my underwear a bit more thoroughly and smooth a hand through my sleep-mussed brown waves.
“What are you doing here, Gallagher?”
“Bringing you this.” He sets my duffle bag on the sofa — the one I packed the first day we met. It feels like years have passed since then. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m a light sleeper.”
“Clearly.”
I finally look up. He’s leaning against the wall across from me, his dark eyes totally alert as they sweep me from head to toe. They linger on my bare legs for a second longer than strictly necessary.
My chin jerks upward in a stubborn move. I wait for him to say something, but he’s silent as a freaking grave. After a long moment of frigid silence, during which my hands curl into frustrated fists and my teeth begin to gnash together with rage, I finally realize he’s not going to speak at all.
“Well. If that’s everything you came for…” I look pointedly at the door. “I’ve got some vital beauty rest to get back to.”
He doesn’t move a muscle. “You angry at me about something, Hunt?”
“Why would I be angry?” I snap.
“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.” His eyes narrow on mine, hard as lapis and twice as blue. “You’re not acting like yourself, that’s for damn sure.”
“And how am I acting?”