her hand around the Glock, checked the clip and chamber. Loaded and ready. Now, where was Thomas?
Leaving the sofa, she listened closely to the sounds outside. Shadows closed in around her as she tiptoed toward the kitchen, heading for the back door.
Tires squealed at the end of the block. Soft light filtered through the kitchen window. No Thomas.
Gripping the butt of the gun, she shimmied up to the window, staying out of sight and peeked at the yard and street. Taillights disappeared around the corner. Nothing else moved. No one’s here. Not anymore.
And then, movement out of the corner of her eye. A man’s shadow crossed the yard, right under the window. Ronni jumped back, holding her breath, counting to three. She peaked out again.
Definitely male…definitely moving around the perimeter. Definitely carrying one big-ass gun. The man was shirtless, his shoulders and well-defined back muscles rippling under the moonlight.
Thomas?
Ronni bolted for the door, threw it open. He was gone. What was he doing out there? Had the Cadillac returned?
She’d heard the engine, seen the taillights. Truck, not car . “Thomas?” she called quietly into the night.
Another shadow, low to the ground and moving fast skirted the bushes near the house. Her instincts had her gun up before her brain registered animal .
“Ronni?”
She spun at the sound of her name, gun aimed at the man easing out of the shadows on her right. He stilled, raising his hands. “Whoa, there, Agent Punto. Don’t shoot your partner.”
Thomas .
Relief.
He’d changed into sweats and left off a shirt. Her gaze feasted on his chest and taut stomach. Slowly, she let the breath she’d been holding ease out. Lowered her gun. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
His eyes, dark and guarded, slid over her body, her gun. He lowered his hands, let his Beretta rest next to his thigh. “Stalking the neighbors, what else?”
A flippant comment didn’t cover the fact he was still tense. On the ready. For what? “Who was in the truck?”
He glanced at the street, back to her. “Let’s go inside.”
Questions burned in her mind, but she kept quiet until they were inside the kitchen, door closed and locked. Thomas didn’t turn on any lights, didn’t say anything for a minute. Ronni waited…waited…waited.
From the faint glow of light through the window, she could see the stillness of his body. See the tension tightening his face. His head was cocked, listening.
Wait…was he listening or was he staring at her?
She slowed her nervous breathing, listened to the night as well. An occasional traffic sound rose and fell in the distance. A light breeze rustled palm trees in the dividers between the streets.
No startling noises, no sense of danger. At least not from outside.
His eyes were shadowed circles in his face. She could feel his gaze on her. Hot, lingering.
“You’re safe,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “The truck was an informant. Name’s Diego and he had dirt on a scumbag Cooper’s been chasing for weeks. It wasn’t Adam.”
“Oh.” Why did that deep voice of his make her so nervous? Definitely watching me. “Does Diego always deliver intel at four in the morning?”
“Guy works nights.” He laid his gun on the counter without taking his eyes off her. “How’d you sleep?”
Sleep. Why did the word sound so sexy coming out of his mouth? Why did her fingers itch to touch his chest, trace the barely-there line of hair down his stomach and into his waistband? “Is there a reason we’re standing in the dark?”
“Sounded like you had bad dreams.”
She backtracked. Her breath caught. “ Sounded like?”
“You talk in your sleep. Must have been some nightmare.”
“I don’t talk in my sleep.”
His brows arched. “Your boyfriend never told you?”
“Boyfriend?” A bead of sweat ran down her cleavage. “I don’t have a boyfriend and you know it. Stop playing games.”
“I had to be sure.”
“Of
Leaving the sofa, she listened closely to the sounds outside. Shadows closed in around her as she tiptoed toward the kitchen, heading for the back door.
Tires squealed at the end of the block. Soft light filtered through the kitchen window. No Thomas.
Gripping the butt of the gun, she shimmied up to the window, staying out of sight and peeked at the yard and street. Taillights disappeared around the corner. Nothing else moved. No one’s here. Not anymore.
And then, movement out of the corner of her eye. A man’s shadow crossed the yard, right under the window. Ronni jumped back, holding her breath, counting to three. She peaked out again.
Definitely male…definitely moving around the perimeter. Definitely carrying one big-ass gun. The man was shirtless, his shoulders and well-defined back muscles rippling under the moonlight.
Thomas?
Ronni bolted for the door, threw it open. He was gone. What was he doing out there? Had the Cadillac returned?
She’d heard the engine, seen the taillights. Truck, not car . “Thomas?” she called quietly into the night.
Another shadow, low to the ground and moving fast skirted the bushes near the house. Her instincts had her gun up before her brain registered animal .
“Ronni?”
She spun at the sound of her name, gun aimed at the man easing out of the shadows on her right. He stilled, raising his hands. “Whoa, there, Agent Punto. Don’t shoot your partner.”
Thomas .
Relief.
He’d changed into sweats and left off a shirt. Her gaze feasted on his chest and taut stomach. Slowly, she let the breath she’d been holding ease out. Lowered her gun. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
His eyes, dark and guarded, slid over her body, her gun. He lowered his hands, let his Beretta rest next to his thigh. “Stalking the neighbors, what else?”
A flippant comment didn’t cover the fact he was still tense. On the ready. For what? “Who was in the truck?”
He glanced at the street, back to her. “Let’s go inside.”
Questions burned in her mind, but she kept quiet until they were inside the kitchen, door closed and locked. Thomas didn’t turn on any lights, didn’t say anything for a minute. Ronni waited…waited…waited.
From the faint glow of light through the window, she could see the stillness of his body. See the tension tightening his face. His head was cocked, listening.
Wait…was he listening or was he staring at her?
She slowed her nervous breathing, listened to the night as well. An occasional traffic sound rose and fell in the distance. A light breeze rustled palm trees in the dividers between the streets.
No startling noises, no sense of danger. At least not from outside.
His eyes were shadowed circles in his face. She could feel his gaze on her. Hot, lingering.
“You’re safe,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “The truck was an informant. Name’s Diego and he had dirt on a scumbag Cooper’s been chasing for weeks. It wasn’t Adam.”
“Oh.” Why did that deep voice of his make her so nervous? Definitely watching me. “Does Diego always deliver intel at four in the morning?”
“Guy works nights.” He laid his gun on the counter without taking his eyes off her. “How’d you sleep?”
Sleep. Why did the word sound so sexy coming out of his mouth? Why did her fingers itch to touch his chest, trace the barely-there line of hair down his stomach and into his waistband? “Is there a reason we’re standing in the dark?”
“Sounded like you had bad dreams.”
She backtracked. Her breath caught. “ Sounded like?”
“You talk in your sleep. Must have been some nightmare.”
“I don’t talk in my sleep.”
His brows arched. “Your boyfriend never told you?”
“Boyfriend?” A bead of sweat ran down her cleavage. “I don’t have a boyfriend and you know it. Stop playing games.”
“I had to be sure.”
“Of
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