Page 5

CHAPTER THREE

Laryn was dreaming that she was somewhere in Africa after being kidnapped, standing in front of a pile of miscellaneous car and airplane parts.

She was ordered to put them together to make a helicopter.

All the while, the elders of the tribe were beating drums behind her while they prepared a huge bonfire to use to cook her if she didn’t succeed in two hours.

Gasping, she sat upright and blinked. Her apartment wasn’t too dark, so it hadn’t been very long since she’d collapsed onto her couch and obviously fallen asleep immediately. But that dream was fucked up.

It wasn’t until she’d blinked a few times that she realized how hot she was. The blanket that had felt so good earlier now felt as if it was suffocating her. And the drums she’d heard in her dream were actually the beats of someone knocking persistently at her door.

Annoyed, and still feeling off-kilter from just waking up and from the crazy-ass dream, she abruptly stood and stalked over to the door.

She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be too damn late for someone to be knocking so obnoxiously.

She didn’t have visitors. Ever. So it had to be someone trying to sell something.

She didn’t know her neighbors, so she didn’t think it could be them.

And if there was an emergency at the base with her choppers, someone would’ve called. Not come over in person.

That’s why she didn’t bother to look through the peephole in the door.

With the way she was feeling—irritated and needing another fourteen hours of sleep—she wasn’t thinking about someone being there to do her harm.

She unlocked the bolt and slid the chain off before wrenching open the door and blurting, “What?”

It took her brain a moment to catch up to her eyes.

What in the world was Tate doing on her doorstep? Panic immediately swamped her.

“Tate! Are you all right? The others? Are we being deployed? You haven’t had a chance to test the chopper yet! It’s not ready?—!”

“Breathe, Laryn. I’m fine. Everyone is fine. We aren’t being deployed, not yet, that will wait until after the trials. And I have no doubt whatsoever that the chopper is absolutely perfect. How could it be anything else when she had you working on her?”

Laryn blinked in confusion. “Then…what are you doing here?”

To her surprise, Tate looked a little nervous. Had she ever seen him anything other than confident? She didn’t think so.

“Why do you call me Tate when everyone else calls me Casper?”

“What?” She was having a hard time understanding exactly what was happening.

“Sometimes—usually when we’re around my friends—you call me Casper, but most of the time it’s Tate. Not that I mind. I kind of like it, actually. Hardly anyone around here uses my real name. I was just wondering.”

If she hadn’t just had a nightmare, if she wasn’t still half asleep and exhausted, Laryn probably would’ve shut the door in his face and gone back to bed.

But since she was still off-kilter, she shrugged and gave him an honest answer.

“You don’t seem like a Casper to me. You’re tan, and Casper the cartoon ghost is white.

And so friendly. And smiley. And you aren’t like that. ”

Tate chuckled. “I should probably be offended, but I’m not. You’re right. I’m not like that at all. But you know I got the call sign because I’m like a ghost in the sky. Showing up as if out of thin air to cause havoc on the bad guys.”

Laryn rolled her eyes. “Duh. Of course I knew that.”

“Can I come in?”

Her brain was having a hard time following his fast change in topics. “Why?” she asked.

“Because.”

Too damn tired to exchange quips, Laryn took a step backward.

Tate took that for the consent he was looking for and stepped over the threshold into her apartment.

As soon as she shut the door behind him, Laryn knew she’d made a mistake.

Having the man she had a huge crush on inside her apartment would forever change the space.

She’d constantly envision him there from now on.

Walking through the tiny foyer into the living area, turning to lean against the counter that separated it from the galley kitchen, Tate stared at her for a long moment without saying a word.

“What?” she asked a little defensively. Looking down at herself, Laryn saw she was still wearing the coveralls she always had on while at work.

Hell, the wrench she’d stuck in the pocket along the thigh was still in there too.

Her hair was probably no longer in the neat and tidy bun she always wore to keep it out of the way while she worked.

She felt grubby next to him, and that irritated her.

“You fell asleep as soon as you got home, huh?”

“Yeah. And I’d still be asleep if you hadn’t rudely woken me up,” she said a little peevishly. That was a lie. That dream had definitely woken her up even before he’d started knocking on her door.

“Right. Sorry about that.”

Laryn stared at Tate, waiting for him to explain why he was there. When he didn’t, she tilted her head in confusion. “If we aren’t about to be deployed and everyone is okay, why are you here, Tate?”

He ran a hand through his hair, and Laryn was surprised to see his cheeks heat.

Tate Davis was blushing. Blushing . It was confusing and…adorable.

When he met her gaze, his hair was mussed and his brows were furrowed.

“I had this whole story about my car making a funny noise and wanting you to check on it, but the last thing I want is for you to tromp downstairs and work on something, only to find out that it’s nothing important.

And you should know that I told Chuck I needed your address so I could talk to you about something being wrong with the hydraulics on the last test flight, that I hadn’t told you about. ”

“Wait—what?” Laryn asked incredulously. “Something was wrong with the hydraulics? On the fast-rope rig? I didn’t notice anything when I was working on that today.

Why didn’t you tell me before? Shit. Now I need to go back to the hangar and see if I can figure out what’s up before the next test flight.

If you lose hydraulics in the middle of an op, that could have serious ramifications for everyone. I should?—”

She didn’t finish her thought, because as she rushed to walk by Tate to grab the boots she’d left against the wall, he took her upper arm in his hand and stopped her. “I said that’s what I told Chuck . But it was a lie. The hydraulics are fine. As is everything else.”

All Laryn could do was stare up at Tate as she struggled to process what he was saying .

He loosened his hold on her arm but didn’t let go. Even through her coveralls, her skin seemed to tingle where he was touching her. This was bad. Very bad. She needed to put some space between them. But she was frozen. Wanting him to keep touching her and hoping he let go at the same time.

“Are you all right?” Tate asked. “You’ve been working extremely hard. And please know everything you’ve done for us, for me, has been noted and appreciated. But you shouldn’t work yourself into the ground.”

“Are you drunk? Or high?” Laryn whispered.

His faculties being altered felt like the only explanation for this abrupt change in behavior.

He’d never really asked if she was all right before.

Not like this. Not by taking time out of his day, finding out where she lived, and just randomly stopping by. Something had to be wrong.

But he chuckled. “No. Nothing of the sort. I’m just worried about you.”

He was worried about her? “Why? Did I do something wrong? Did I screw something up?”

“ No ,” Tate said again, this time sounding more like himself. A little irritated. Abrupt. Although, also a bit out of sorts. “Can’t I come by to check on a friend? Especially when she’s been working fourteen- and sixteen-hour days to retrofit the helicopter I’ll be flying on a mission in a week?”

Laryn had a feeling her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn’t help it. Tate Davis had called her a friend. It was more than she’d ever expected, and so much less at the same time.

“We are friends…aren’t we?” he asked.

Similar to his nervousness when he stood at her door, he now had a note of uncertainty in his tone. This was a man who was confident in everything he did. He had to be, in order to be a Night Stalker pilot.

“Yeah, of course.” The words were affirmative, but she had a feeling her tone wasn’t quite as believable .

He winced.

Yeah, she’d never been a good liar. Her dad had always seemed to know when she was stretching the truth.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

Laryn shook her head. “No. When I got home, I was too tired.”

“Why don’t you go change. I’ll see what I can find to make us.”

Her mouth was open again. Laryn couldn’t help it. “You’re going to cook?”

“Well, that depends on what you have. But I was thinking more of putting something together, like sandwiches. But if you have something you want me to cook…casserole, steaks, grilled chicken and veggies…just let me know.”

“I might have stuff for sandwiches,” Laryn told him, quickly trying to do a mental inventory of what was in her fridge.

“Good. Go on. Take a shower. Change. Relax. I’ve got this.”

But she still hesitated. This was such a bad idea.

The worst. She still wasn’t really sure why he was there, but she couldn’t kick him out.

She’d dreamed about this for years. Having Tate in her apartment, in her kitchen, making her dinner.

Okay, maybe she hadn’t dreamed this , but having him talk to her as if she was a normal woman, and not simply the mechanic responsible for the helicopters he flew? Yes.

“It’s fine, Laryn. Good. Promise.”

It was as if he could read her mind. He slowly released his hold on her upper arm, and for a second she wished her arms were bare so she could feel his calloused hand against her skin. What his touch would feel like on other, more intimate parts of her body.