the blanket, grabbed the door handle, scrambled from the car, and disappeared into the same alley he’d used.
Dante took advantage of her absence to run his hands through his hair. He grimaced. God, he probably smelled really rank right about now.
His glum thoughts were interrupted by Zoey opening the passenger-side door and flinging herself back into the car.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she chanted as she wrapped the blanket around herself again. “It’s
freezing
out there.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
She stared at him incredulously.
“Compared to yesterday. Or the day before.”
She scowled. “You didn’t have to bare your entire rear end to do what you had to do.”
He shrugged.
“It’s not fair,” she grumbled. “Women are at a stakeout disadvantage. All you guys have to do is unzip and take out your—”
Dante smiled and turned the air up full blast.
Zoey was immediately diverted. “Ohhh, that feels so good.”
She leaned into the heater on her side as she had the night before, and Dante again felt a tightening in his gut. Or rather just below his gut. He looked away from the sight of her eyes closed in bliss and tried to control a surge of lust. Maybe it was the husky tone of her voice, or maybe it was the sensual pleasure in the expression on her face. Or, hell, maybe it was just his usual morning woody, pure biological fact, nothing to do with the woman sitting next to him at all. It hardly mattered, in any case. They’d go in today, Headington would debrief him, Zoey would get some protection until this was all over, and odds were that they’d never see each other again.
And that thought shouldn’t be such a depressing one.
“I wish I had a brush,” Zoey muttered. She took off her hat and unwound her red-blond braids. Her hair was messed up from the hat, but gold threads glinted in the morning sun and he had a sudden urge to touch them.
He looked away. “I wish I had a comb.”
“Yeah, you are beginning to look a little scruffy.”
He turned the rearview mirror and looked before he realized she was teasing him.
She grinned finger-combing her hair. “You’re so vain.”
“Am not,” he muttered.
“You’ve got dirt on your forehead.”
“Where?” He looked again.
She started laughing.
He knocked the mirror back into place. Being careful of how he looked wasn’t vain.
Was it?
“So, what do we do now?” Zoey asked. She was rebraiding her hair now. “Should we try the restaurant again, or—?”
Dante glanced at the dash clock. It was only a little after six. They had a couple of hours until the meet with Headington. Even allowing for morning traffic, that left plenty of time. The least he could do was take her to breakfast before they had to drive to the overpass south of Chinatown. Maybe someplace that had both hot oatmeal and bacon and eggs.
He was opening his mouth to invite her when a light went on in the little house they were supposed to be watching.
Dante straightened. Someone was in there, after all.
Zoey had seen him go on alert. “What?” She glanced at the house and her eyes widened. “Hey . . .”
The front door cracked open and a head peered out. For a moment nothing happened, then a slim figure emerged and scurried down the front steps, stooped, and retrieved the morning newspaper, which had been thoughtfully left on the front walk.
There wasn’t much he could do. He was about to hand over the case; it was no longer any of his concern. But even as Dante had the thought, he was putting the BMW into gear and pulling into the empty drive in front of the house.
“That’s not one of the women we saw yesterday,” Zoey pointed out as they got out of the car. “She’s younger.”
“I know.” Dante strode to the front door and knocked.
Beside him, Zoey had her hands deep in her pockets and was rocking a little from side to side. “It’s so darn cold!”
Dante knocked again just as they heard movement from inside.
The
Dante took advantage of her absence to run his hands through his hair. He grimaced. God, he probably smelled really rank right about now.
His glum thoughts were interrupted by Zoey opening the passenger-side door and flinging herself back into the car.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she chanted as she wrapped the blanket around herself again. “It’s
freezing
out there.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
She stared at him incredulously.
“Compared to yesterday. Or the day before.”
She scowled. “You didn’t have to bare your entire rear end to do what you had to do.”
He shrugged.
“It’s not fair,” she grumbled. “Women are at a stakeout disadvantage. All you guys have to do is unzip and take out your—”
Dante smiled and turned the air up full blast.
Zoey was immediately diverted. “Ohhh, that feels so good.”
She leaned into the heater on her side as she had the night before, and Dante again felt a tightening in his gut. Or rather just below his gut. He looked away from the sight of her eyes closed in bliss and tried to control a surge of lust. Maybe it was the husky tone of her voice, or maybe it was the sensual pleasure in the expression on her face. Or, hell, maybe it was just his usual morning woody, pure biological fact, nothing to do with the woman sitting next to him at all. It hardly mattered, in any case. They’d go in today, Headington would debrief him, Zoey would get some protection until this was all over, and odds were that they’d never see each other again.
And that thought shouldn’t be such a depressing one.
“I wish I had a brush,” Zoey muttered. She took off her hat and unwound her red-blond braids. Her hair was messed up from the hat, but gold threads glinted in the morning sun and he had a sudden urge to touch them.
He looked away. “I wish I had a comb.”
“Yeah, you are beginning to look a little scruffy.”
He turned the rearview mirror and looked before he realized she was teasing him.
She grinned finger-combing her hair. “You’re so vain.”
“Am not,” he muttered.
“You’ve got dirt on your forehead.”
“Where?” He looked again.
She started laughing.
He knocked the mirror back into place. Being careful of how he looked wasn’t vain.
Was it?
“So, what do we do now?” Zoey asked. She was rebraiding her hair now. “Should we try the restaurant again, or—?”
Dante glanced at the dash clock. It was only a little after six. They had a couple of hours until the meet with Headington. Even allowing for morning traffic, that left plenty of time. The least he could do was take her to breakfast before they had to drive to the overpass south of Chinatown. Maybe someplace that had both hot oatmeal and bacon and eggs.
He was opening his mouth to invite her when a light went on in the little house they were supposed to be watching.
Dante straightened. Someone was in there, after all.
Zoey had seen him go on alert. “What?” She glanced at the house and her eyes widened. “Hey . . .”
The front door cracked open and a head peered out. For a moment nothing happened, then a slim figure emerged and scurried down the front steps, stooped, and retrieved the morning newspaper, which had been thoughtfully left on the front walk.
There wasn’t much he could do. He was about to hand over the case; it was no longer any of his concern. But even as Dante had the thought, he was putting the BMW into gear and pulling into the empty drive in front of the house.
“That’s not one of the women we saw yesterday,” Zoey pointed out as they got out of the car. “She’s younger.”
“I know.” Dante strode to the front door and knocked.
Beside him, Zoey had her hands deep in her pockets and was rocking a little from side to side. “It’s so darn cold!”
Dante knocked again just as they heard movement from inside.
The
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