“Is that a threat, Gallagher?”
“A promise, Hunt.”
Our gazes hold, full of heat, and I know we’re both thinking about that elusivelater, counting the hours until we’re back in bed with nothing to concern us but moans and sighs and bare skin.
“Keep looking at me like that, I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” he mutters.
“Is that supposed to deter me?”
“Only if you’d like me to actually catch Petrov and his boys before they do more damage to our lives.” His brows lift. “If not, by all means, let’s tell the world to go to hell and go back to bed.”
“Fine.” I sigh melodramatically. “I see your point. I suppose I’ll let you off the hook so you can go save the world now. Butlater…”
“Later,” he echoes.
We both grin like two giddy kids.
First step: save the world.
Next step: all the scorching hot sex we can handle.
I must say, I’m not entirely hating this plan…
“Hey.” My head tilts as a thought suddenly occurs to me. “How’s Sykes? Any change in her condition?”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” He kisses me on the forehead. “Grab your coffee and come debrief. We’ll fill you in on everything that happened while you were sleeping.”
“Psh! A gal catches six measly hours of shut eye and she misses everything…” I grumble as Conor turns and walks back into the living room. I watch him go, my eyes glued to his ultra-fine ass. Say what you will about the man — he fills out a pair of jeans like nobody’s business.
Coffee mug in hand, I follow after him. The men are gathered around the coffee table — laptops open, thick manila folders scattered across every square inch of the glass surface. Catching my eye, Conor jerks his chin toward the open cushion beside him. I sink down onto it, take a large sip of my coffee, and peer at the bevy of documents. There must be thousands of printed pages here.
“What is all this stuff?”
“The Petrov case files,” Conor tells me, flipping through the folder on his lap.
“Allof this is about Petrov?!”
Evelson glances over. “There’s more back at the Bureau — this is just what we thought might be important to revisit now that he’s in the country. Key intel on his business operations, his past criminal activities, the work your husband did for him…”
I tense up a bit at the mention of Paul.
“Speaking of your husband…” Conor looks at me. His eyes are suddenly remote, unreadable. “That was part of what we wanted to brief you on.”
“Is he…” I trail off, bracing myself for bad news.
“Kaufman,” Conor prompts. “Show her.”
The blond agent leans forward and hits a few buttons on his keyboard. A second later, a series of images pop up onscreen. “These were taken by a traffic camera in Brookline late last night.” He hits zoom on one of the photos, and it comes into clearer focus. The quality isn’t great, but I manage to make out three figures on the sidewalk, exiting a white van. Two are quite large and almost identical.
The Evanoffs.
As for the third figure… They appear to be carrying him between them, his feet dragging along the ground as though he’s unconscious.
Paul.