Page 51 of Hunted to Be Mine

“And then what? There’s no voicemail. It’s a burner.” I pulled away and tightened my grip on the phone. “If it’s Mattie and we don’t answer—”

“If it’s Oblivion and we do, we’re dead.” He reached for it. “Give it to me.”

I yanked it back.

He gave me a look that iced the space between us. “What if it’s a trap? Did you forget everything about op sec?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you finish your PhD in paranoia when I wasn’t looking?” I rolled my eyes and held the phone out of reach as it buzzed a fourth time.

“It’s called staying alive, Doctor.” He made another grab. “Something I’ve managed for a while.”

I sidestepped. “By never answering phones? Ordering pizza must be a nightmare.”

“You’re impossible.” His jaw set, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“And you’re absurd. What’s Mattie supposed to do in an emergency? Send a pigeon?”

It buzzed again. Five rings.

“Mattie wouldn’t call unless it mattered,” I said, the phone insistent in my palm. “What if they’re in trouble?”

“What if answering gets us killed?” He reached around me. I tucked the phone behind my back. “Give me the phone, Selina.”

“You’re not the boss of my telecommunications,” I said, ducking him. “And I like my friends alive.”

“Friends are luxury items right now.”

“Says the man with zero friends.”

“I have you,” he said.

“I’m not your friend. I’m your…” Not knowing what else to say, I finished weakly, “…Doctor.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” His mouth curved, barely.

I glared. “The phone is still ringing, in case you missed it.”

“Fine.” He held out his hand. “I’ll answer. On speaker.”

“Why you?”

“Because I’ll hang up faster if it’s a trap.”

I handed it over with a mutter. “Your control issues are showing.”

“It’s not control, it’s—”

“Risk assessment. I know.” I moved close as he hit answer and toggled speaker.

“Hello?” His voice went flat.

“Jesus Christ, finally!” Mattie blasted through. “What took you so long? Were you two making out or what?”

“Mattie!” I snatched the phone back. “We were just discussing security protocols.”

“Is that what the kids call it?” Damon’s dry baritone drifted in from the background.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” Mattie said, way too cheerful. “Damon insisted. Because normal phone calls are too mainstream for the spy crowd.”