Page 77 of Red Fury

“I should have stayed at the club, since there was no sleep to be had back at the hotel,” he says, his voice carrying that teasing tone men get when they’re about to embarrass someone, “Fury, my man, did you take that gorgeous redhead home, by any chance?”

My eyes widen, and I hold my breath. Behind me, I hear Fury clear his throat, but before he can respond, Thompson continues.

“Because I’m pretty sure all those noises were coming from your hotel room last night.” Thompson’s laugh is loud and obnoxious. “I know they were. Your room is right next to mine, remember?” He sniggers.

Heat floods my face so fast I feel dizzy. My cheeks are burning, and I pray to every dragon god that none of them can see my reaction. I walk faster, desperate to put more distance between us.

“Tell us what went down,” Thompson insists when Fury says nothing. “Spill, big guy!”

“Nope,” Fury says almost under his breath.

“Why not?” There’s an edge of frustration to Thompson’s voice. “Come ooooon!” he begs. “We want to know all about it.”

“No can do. A real gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Fury says, his voice carefully neutral.

“Oh, come on,” Thompson persists, clearly enjoying himself. “You and the redhead disappeared at the same time. I’m not stupid. I know you two went at it.” There’s more laughter from the group. “I heard it all for myself. You were going at it already when I arrived back.” He laughs, and the others join.

“Did you get some after all?” Webb asks. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

“He clearly was.” I can hear that Thompson is smiling.

I want to disappear into the floor. My face is so hot I’m surprised I haven’t spontaneously combusted. I need to keep my cool. They don’t know it was me. Thank god they don’t suspect. I was a little worried that someone might.

“That redhead sure has a pair of lungs on her,” Thompson continues, completely oblivious to my mortification. “That shrieking sure was loud.” The others laugh.

“And the way that headboard was banging against the wall.” Thompson laughs some more. “I couldn’t sleep with all that racket. I just had to wait it out…and wait…and wait some more until you were finally done.”

The guys all laugh even more, and I hear Reynolds chime in with something about Fury being a lucky bastard, but I’m trying to walk ahead. Sometimes I wish my hearing wasn’t so good.

“Then, just when I thought it was finally over,” Thompson adds, “round two started up. You’ve got some serious stamina, my friend.” He snort-laughs, and the others join in.

I don’t want to hear anymore.

I practically sprint through the security checkpoint, barely acknowledging the TSA agent who checks my credentials. My overnight bag goes through the scanner while I stand there, my face still burning.

All I can think is, thank god they don’t know it’s me.

By the time I collect my bag on the other side of security, I’m practically running through the terminal. I need to get to my car, get home, and pretend last night never happened. Professional partners. I’ve got this.

I don’t wait for the others. I don’t even look back to see if they’re following. I just keep walking.

The parking garage is a relief; cooler and, mercifully, fairly quiet. I dig out my ticket and pay at the automated machine, making sure to keep the receipt so I can submit it for reimbursement.

My car is on level three, and I’m fumbling with my keys when I notice an elderly woman hobbling along beside the vehicle next to mine. She’s moving slowly, clearly struggling with a large purse and what looks like an overnight bag.

As I pop my trunk and toss my bag inside, the woman loses her grip on her purse. It hits the concrete with a loud thud, contents spilling across the garage floor.

“Oh no,” she says, her voice frail and shaky. “I’m so darned clumsy. Silly arthritis. I just…” she mutters something I don’t quite make out.

“Here, let me help,” I say, abandoning my car to crouch down and gather her scattered belongings. Wallet, tissues, reading glasses, prescription bottles – the usual contents of an elderly woman’s purse.

“Thank you, dear,” she says as I hand everything back to her. “You’re very kind.”

Her scent hits me; it’s overpowering lavender. Perhaps her senses are dulled with age, and she doesn’t realize how heavy it is.

I frown, looking more closely at the woman’s face as she takes her purse back. Something’s off. Her skin doesn’t have the right texture for someone her age, and her hands… They look too young, too strong. I frown, trying to put my finger on it.

“Are you—?” I start to ask, but that’s when I feel it.