They’d made a trail a blind person could have followed from front door to shower. The clothes Jack had discarded on his single-minded drive for the comforts of home weren’t where he’d dropped them. Despite the tea and the shower and the weapons just fucking hanging right there, there was a strong to very fatal chance this wasn’t a friendly incursion. Scrambling out of bed, Jack hunted for something other than his underwear to be caught dead in. Case in point, the queasiness hit right on schedule, burning away the last groggy vestiges of sleep. Notorious assassin, harbinger of chaos and bane of Jack’s stomach lining. A pair of leather dress shoes by the door to the bedroom, suit pants and jacket on a hanger hooked to the front of his wardrobe and a weapons harness draped over the corner of his tallboy, two large handguns still in the holsters. Now, so much later, it was day and soft light filtered in around the blinds, highlighting all the things that hadn’t been there when he’d gone to sleep. He’d fallen face first on the bed late at night, the room blackened by blinds on the windows.
Then he heard the shower and let out an explosive breath of relief. Where was Ethan? What was he doing? Why was he here? When he woke up, it was to the scent of strongly brewed tea…
0 kommentar(er)
