Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

"Yeah. Evelyn."

Of course. I'd already suspected she'd found the case. It wasn't difficult--almost any article on the Franco incident mentioned my past.

I rubbed my throat. His gaze went there, and stayed there. I yanked my hand away.

"That's where you got it," he said. "Isn't it?"

His fingertips brushed the faint scar on my throat.

"N--no," I said, backing up and instinctively ducking my head, covering the mark. "That's just--Kids' stuff. You know. Goofing around, doing what our parents always tell us not to do. I learned my lesson. Anyway, I'm sorry I woke you and--"

"Papers don't say anything about you."

"Papers?"

"Your cousin's murder. The articles. Said you escaped unharmed."

"Amy--" I swallowed. "She was prettier, more mature. So he picked her first and..."

"Left you alone?"

I met his gaze. "Yes."

In the silence that followed, I sat there, mouth slightly open as I struggled for slow, easy breaths. He stared out across the room, and rubbed his lower lip. Twice his gaze swung my way and I froze, certain he was going to ask another question.

The third time, his gaze came to rest on my throat and I struggled to keep my chin up, letting him look.

"What'd you do?"

"Wha--?" The word came out as a squeak. I coughed. "What?"

"The scar. Looks like a knife wound."

I managed a laugh, a little too high-pitched, but he didn't seem to notice, his expression unchanged.

"If anyone asks, that's exactly what it is," I said, forcing a smile that felt like baring my teeth. "It'll give me some street cred. Truth is, I sliced it open climbing a barbed-wire fence."

"Huh."

"Stupid kid tricks, huh?"

I pried my grip from the bottom sheet, twisted to sit up more and found myself caught in the covers. I looked down to see them tangled around my bare legs, my oversized T-shirt bunched up around my stomach, underwear on full display.

I yanked my shirt down. "I think I need more roommate-friendly sleepwear."

He didn't answer. Just sat there, studying me, then after a moment, his gaze dipped away and he shrugged, gesturing at his bare chest. "I'm not any better."

"Well, between the two of us, we're fully dressed."

"Yeah."

He stayed there, gaze fixed on something across the room. I tried not to stare...but, well, he was sitting right there, in front of me, so he was all I could see, his head tilted slightly, face in shadow, strong jaw set, dark beard stubble somehow emphasizing the planes of his face, making it rougher, sexier. Yes, sexier, as much as I hated to admit it, even to myself. He looked damned good half naked, with the muscled chest and arms of someone who stays in shape because he has to, not necessarily because he wants to. Nothing showy, just lean and hard and sexy as hell.

And here I'd been lying in bed beside him, my shirt riding up around my stomach, more than half naked, and he hadn't so much as snuck a second look...if he'd even noticed at all. That stung.

As I pulled back and tugged the covers over my legs, he looked over sharply, as if startled.

"You tired?" he said.