Page 22 of Whisper

EXPOSED

I wakeup pressed against the warmest, most solid surface I’ve ever encountered, and for a blissful moment, I forget where I am. Cooper’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in a steady rhythm that’s oddly soothing. His arm remains wrapped around me, holding me securely against him even in sleep. The scent of his skin—something woodsy and masculine—fills my senses.

Reality crashes back as the pipes around us clank and hiss. We’re still in the utility tunnel beneath Georgetown, hiding from people who want to kill me. But somehow, wrapped in Cooper’s arms, the terror of last night feels manageable.

Distant.

His breathing changes, and I realize he’s awake. Probably has been for a while, maintaining that protective hold even as consciousness returned.

“Morning,” he says quietly, his voice rough.

“Is it morning? I can’t tell down here.” I don’t move away from him immediately. The warmth is too good, and the security of his embrace too comforting to abandon just yet.

“0630. Time to move.”

Of course he knows the exact time without checking a watch. The man probably has an internal chronometer.

I reluctantly pull back, immediately missing his warmth as the tunnel’s cold air hits my skin. My neck aches from sleeping in an awkward position, and my legs feel stiff from hours on the concrete floor.

“Where exactly are we moving to?”

“Out of here. Then transport.” He’s already shifting into operational mode, scanning our surroundings with renewed focus. “Phoenix teams rotate shifts at dawn. Window of opportunity.”

“What kind of window?”

“The kind that keeps you breathing.”

Always so reassuring. I stretch as much as the confined space allows, working out the kinks in my spine. “Do I look as terrible as I feel?”

His steady gaze moves across my face, lingering on my hair, which probably resembles a bird’s nest after sleeping in a tunnel. “You look alive. That’s what matters.”

“Such a charmer.” But something in his gaze makes heat flutter in my stomach. Even disheveled and dirty, he’s looking at me like I’m something worth protecting. Worth keeping safe.

“Stay here while I check the route.” He moves toward the tunnel entrance with that predatory grace that grabs my attention.

“How long?”

“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

The thought of being alone in this cramped space, even briefly, makes my chest tighten. “What if something happens to you?”

He pauses, looking back at me. “Then you wait. The FBI will find you eventually.”

“That’s your backup plan? Hope the FBIfinds me?”

“You have a better idea?”

I don’t, which is frustrating. My entire career revolves around solving puzzles. Linguistics and ancient languages are fascinating puzzles, but this situation requires skills I’ve never developed. Physical survival, tactical thinking, trusting someone else to keep me safe—none of these appear in academic training programs.

“Just—be careful.”

Something flickers across his features—surprise, maybe, at my concern for his safety. “Always am.”

Then he’s gone, disappearing down the tunnel with barely a sound. The silence he leaves behind feels oppressive, thick with all the dangers waiting outside our temporary sanctuary.

I spend the time trying to make myself presentable, finger-combing my hair and brushing dust off my sweater. It’s futile. I look like someone who spent the night hiding in a basement tunnel, because that’s exactly what I am.

When Cooper returns, he moves with the satisfied confidence of someone whose reconnaissance confirmed his expectations.