Page 17 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

Samantha

What a jerk. Bad enough I’m stuck here with him, but he’s just as vindictive as I thought he’d be.

No shower. Lights on. Is he trying to make me as uncomfortable as possible?

Except… the socks.

I twist my mouth to one side. And maybe the food.

And, admittedly, the old TV show he picked was pretty funny.

Shaking off the thought that he’s not one hundred percent jerk, I check to see if my underwear is dry enough to wear again. I should’ve guessed—it’s still damp. Without thinking, I grab the hair dryer off the wall, yawning as I switch it on. It’ll take longer than a real dryer, but at least the memory card will be safer tucked in my bra than stashed in my bag again.

I don’t even get the chance to make progress before the door flies open and Mick yells over the whir of the dryer.

“Turn it off!”

To provide evidence of what I’m doing, I dangle my bra in his face.

“I’m drying my underwear.”

His face twists, and he leans back as if the lace is on fire and he might get burned from a spark.

“It’ll dry overnight.”

“But—”

His chin drops, and he leans in closer, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you trying to get on my last nerve? Because it’s working.”

“No,”

I snap.

“I’m trying to avoid chafing.”

His lips compress, and his jaw works as he processes that.

“Quit stalling. I’m tired and have no idea what kind of trouble we might be up against tomorrow.”

I pull my arm back, no longer focused on the task but on what daybreak might bring. I swallow. My mouth runs dry as I slowly lower the dryer.

“But we’re safe here?”

He exhales, his face tightening.

“Safer than we were at the marina.”

It’s a nonanswer but just what I’m coming to expect from him.

“But no one knows where we are?”

“Only people I can trust.”

My fingers curl around the handle of the hair dryer.

“Hightower?”

He gives his reply quickly, and his expression shows no hint he’s lying to me.

“They have… resources.”

They do if they can pluck a nurse out of thin air.

“Resources and muscle,” I say.

Mick chuckles, shaking his head and grinning at my lame joke, making my stomach somersault.

“Yeah. Caleb has that in spades.”

I open my mouth to say he’s not lacking in that area, but slam it shut so fast my teeth click.

His eyes lock onto mine, and the space between his eyebrows crinkles. “What?”

I clutch the hair dryer to my chest and shake off the thought.

“Nothing. I’m… You’re right. We should get some sleep.”

He angles his head, and his eyebrow arches.

“No more games?”

“None.”

He draws back, his eyes never leaving my face.

“Make it quick.”

Nodding, I close the door in his face and let out a sigh that reeks of despondency. Silently, I hang the hair dryer, put my bra back on the shower rail, and unwrap a toothbrush from its plastic wrapping. As I squeeze the toothpaste out of the tiny tube, I glance at the sewing kit. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t touched it.

Mick might have a lot of faith in these Hightower people, but he can afford to. He’s armed, his entire future isn’t hanging in the balance, and his insurance policy isn’t currently wedged into a flimsy piece of cardboard that could easily be thrown in the trash.

I finish up, avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror, and exit without switching the light off. Mick is waiting for me, standing beside his half of the bed, but he doesn’t look prepared for sleep. He looks like he’s preparing for battle.

“One more thing,” he says.

“What?”

His eyes drift over me.

“I need to pat you down.”

My eyes pop as he steps closer.

“You are not going to frisk me.”

His face clouds.

“You hid a gun. I won’t take the chance you’ve hidden another weapon on your person.”

I choke out a laugh.

“On my person? And where exactly on my person would I have hidden it?”

I pluck at the ridiculously oversized pants to emphasize my point and then yank my cardigan off.

“I have no pockets and no capability of carrying anything, let alone a weapon.”

His hand slides over his face.

“Look, just put your hands on the wall, please?”

Glaring, I pivot and slap my palms on the wall, looking at the ceiling as he approaches. I should have guessed this was coming. I already know he’s a hypocrite, and he’s going to prove it by groping me. Disappointment settles in my midsection and solidifies my resolve to get out of here as quickly as possible.

If he wants to make it easy for me, fine. I’ve dealt with worse. So much worse.

Tensing my muscles in preparation, I close my eyes and try not to hold my breath when I feel his hands on my arms. He starts with my shoulders and gently pats in random places, not following any real system, so I open one eye, wondering if he’s even looking. Twisting my neck as far as I can turn, I snort when my suspicions are confirmed.

He’s patting me down by feel, but he’s staring at his feet.

“Turn around,”

he growls.

Covering a laugh with a cough, I do as he says. Mick Weston is confounding. Any other man would have been all over me by now.

So, why isn’t he?

I chew my lip to stave off a nervous giggle.

“FYI, your eyes do need to be on my person.”

His hands leave my shoulders and run the length of my spine.

“Had a lot of experience with clothed body searches, have you?”

At the humor in his voice, I smile.

“Enough to know you’ve missed a few areas I could be hiding something.”

He grunts a response.

“Yeah, well… we usually have a female deal with… female persons.”

Oh. I see. He’s still trying to be professional. Now that’s got to be a first.

Without thinking, I turn around, catching him off guard.

“Then allow me.”

I flatten both my hands over my chest and pat down every part he’s avoided. “Voilà.”

His eyes meet mine, and his chest rises and falls too fast. There’s a hint of color in his cheeks, and his voice lacks the hard edge that was present beforehand. “Thanks.”

I respond far too breathily for someone facing her enemy.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Right… I should…”

His eyes slide to the bathroom.

“I just need to remove anything sharp from the bathroom.”

Panic ignites in me at the caution stamped on his face, which I immediately tamp down. He’s hardly going to consider a sewing kit a lethal weapon.

“Go right ahead.”

His brow crinkles, and he slowly shakes his head at me before turning on his heel and stalking into the bathroom.