Page 22 of Shades of Mercy

He did understand. “Is that how you felt when you were catching terrorists?”

“Yes. We need to stay focused on keeping you safe.”

She leaned back into the seat, closing her eyes for a moment. She was drained—more than drained. She was worried about Mateo and perplexed about whether she could handle being around Jag for any length of time.

The rhythmic thrumming of the tires on the road lulled her somewhat.

“Nice dress,” he said in a teasing voice.

She looked at the torn fabric and sighed. “Sure. It’ll look very nice in the trash.”

He laughed. “Mateo didn’t tell me how you managed to escape Cross’s clutches. I’m curious.”

“Through an air vent.”

“That took a lot of guts.”

“Even selfish people can be brave,” she said, cracking an eye and looking at him snidely.

“I’m not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“Probably best. Are you still single?” She plucked at a loose strand of sequins on her gown.

“Still very much single.”

“Odd, I would have thought some woman would have come along and sunk her claws in you and made you her husband.” She was fully aware how jealous she sounded.

“Only you would be someone who’d want to talk about relationship status after nearly being killed. Marriage isn’t in the cards for me.”

“You’re not still drooling over that snob, are you? The one who cheated.” Mercy remembered the first time he brought the fashion model home for Thanksgiving and dinner. The snooty blonde with perfect hair and makeup hadn’t said a word to anyone, and at dinner, she ate a whopping two bites of turkey and asparagus, refusing mashed potatoes and stuffing because they had too much starch.

“Steph? No.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he droned. “Marriage was never in the cards for her and me, and she didn’t cheat. She was out for a stuffed bank account, and I didn’t fit the bill.”

“Shocking.”

“I’m sure. If I remember, you had a fondness for her.”

She snorted. “About as fond as I am of fried liver.”

“What did she do to you?” he asked.

“She existed.” Realizing how horrible her words sounded, she backtracked. “That’s not fair, but she sat at our Thanksgiving gathering for two hours and kept her nose glued to her phone for nearly the entire time. She also had this strange throat-clearing habit that was as annoying as her eye-rolling. Do I even dare mention how she nearly choked you with her tongue? She brought PDA to a new definition.”

“She was very affectionate,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’m sure she was.”

“You’re starting to sound bitter, Mercy.”

“No, just honest. Anyway, have there been any close calls since Miss Tonsil-Licker?”

He shook his head. His hair was longer than he usually wore it. The coal-black, silver-streaked ends nearly touched the collar of his T-shirt. A tuft of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and she ached to brush the strand away.

“No close calls. I’m not exactly what you would call relationship material.”