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His nose scrunches in an uncharacteristic response from the normally bland man.

“Agreed, not good. Okay, I'll keep brainstorming.” Careful to not wake my two friends, I drop the phone to my lap and lean back in the chair. Swiveling an inch one way and then the other, I purse my lips and hike both brows high in an expectant expression. “Did you need something, Agent Smith, or just wanted to chitchat?”

There’s half a second of hesitation before he nods and steps deeper into the room. Hands clasped behind his back, he widens his stance. I give him a calculating once-over, taking in his “at ease” type stance.

“SEALs,” I state. One of these times I’ll be right, damnit.

“The door was locked.” I shift in the chair to see around him to the door at his back. “The balcony doors, ma'am,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right.” I knew that. Clearing my throat, I twist the pen on the desk until it spins on its own. “I'm inclined to believe you, Cold One.” He shakes his head in what seems like exasperation at my nickname game. “You're right, that one doesn’t work either. You're a tough one.”

“The doors, ma'am.”

“Please drop the ‘ma'am’ bit.”

“No.”

“Fine, Monster it is, then.”

His lip arches in a snarl as a growl rumbles through his chest. “Fine.”

I beam at the small victory. “As I said, I believe you.” The unspoken “but” hangs between us.

“I was unavailable.”

Therein lies the reason for the suspicion now shadowing the agent. It wasn't until hours after the incident that they were able to locate Agent Smith. Not a trace of where he was during the altercation, and he still hasn’t presented T with an explanation for his disappearing act.

“I was off duty, ma—” I cut a no-nonsense glare his way. “Randi.” The word rasps from his throat like it was painful to speak. “I was preoccupied and unaware of the situation.”

“You're defending yourself like a guilty man,” I muse, going back to twisting in the chair as I consider him.

“I am not.” He stops himself from saying more and inhales deep. A quick flash of pain breaks his normally stone features with a grimace before he settles his face back to looking bored with the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Both palms seal to the top of the desk as I make to stand.

“Fine.” Narrowing my eyes, I scan his chest, searching for what could be ailing him enough for him to wince like that with a simple breath. “Randi,” he snaps, breaking my attention from my visual inspection.

The two on the couch jolt awake at Agent Smith’s loud voice. Trey sits up and blinks several times as he squints from me to Agent Smith and back again.

“What’s going on?” Tank asks, sleep clogging his throat and making the words more of a croak. They have to be exhausted. All the guys, for that matter. It was a long night for everyone. Hell, I haven't even slept yet.

As if the thought triggers the reminder of my lack of sleep to my body, I yawn wide, my jaw popping as it stretches to its max behind my palm.

Three sets of eyes narrow at the action.

“You need to sleep.” Trey grunts, standing and approaching the desk like he intends to take me to the bed whether I’m willing or not. “Have you even eaten?”

“Yes,” I snip.

“A donut.”

I shoot a glare at Agent Smith for his less than helpful detail on said breakfast.

“And orange juice,” I add like it made the sugary breakfast a bit healthier. “I thought about eating more, so there's that.”

“Thinking about it and doing it are very different things,” Tank admonishes.

“Will you three busy bees just get out of my office?” Falling into the chair, I yank my glasses off and toss them to the desk to massage my nose where the plastic was digging in. I've gotten so used to contacts that wearing glasses is a pain in the ass—or head, if you want to get literal.