Out of Uniform (Wingmen Warriors 14)

He shifted his weight to one leg. Why not let her think she’d won? He could move her after she zonked out, probably less than sixty seconds from now. “Okay. Have it your way. Enjoy the couch.”

“Thanks. I will.” She lined her shoes with precision beside the sofa. After a self-conscious glance over her shoulder, she whipped the sweater over her head, unveiling the T-shirt beneath.

Carefully she folded the sweater into an exact square and put it on top of her pile of meager possessions. Seeing her take such care with cast-off clothing, Jacob wanted to buy out Macy’s.

Dee slid beneath the sheets, tugging the blankets up to her chin. He watched her eyelids flicker. Just sixty seconds and temptation would be deeply asleep.

Jacob shoved away from the archway and flipped off the light switch, leaving only the fluorescent bulb over the stove on. Moonbeams filtered in through the skylight over his bed.

Sixty seconds suddenly seemed like a hell of a long time.

Burrowing deeper under the blankets, Dee flattened her spine against the sofa back. “Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll be sleeping in my own bed. Or maybe I’ll be curled up in some bay window, watching the snow and drinking hot cocoa. I think I like hot chocolate with whipped cream. It sounds good, anyway.” She sighed, a heavy sound full of resignation. “Someone’s got to notice I’m missing soon. A person can’t simply disappear without somebody noticing.”

“Sure,” he lied. He’d seen enough cruelty in the world to know otherwise.

“My family must be so worried.” Her words slurred together.

“Of course.” Lord, he hoped so.

“We’ll call the station again in the morning before we set out for the hospital.” Her breathing grew slower, deeper with each word.

“First thing. Bet you’ll be glad to see the last of that cleaning bucket.”

She seemed to have drifted off, so he eased forward a step. Dee burrowed her head into the pillow, and he hesitated.

“What did he look like?” she whispered.

“Pardon?”

“The man who left me here. What did he look like?”

Jacob called to mind the face of the man who’d signed the register, a scumbag he very much wanted to deck. “About five foot ten. Medium build. Midthirties with blond hair.” He struggled to remember more about a guy he’d seen for all of about five minutes. “His clothes looked expensive, good quality Gore-Tex as if he knew what he needed for this kind of weather. And no wedding ring.”

Now that he thought about it, he remembered glancing at the guy’s finger since he’d checked in as a Mr. and Mrs. “I wish I could give you more.”

Especially since it was her only hope for a link to her old life. Even if the link sucked, big-time.

“I guess it’s too much to hope for that he got lost looking for morning coffee.” Her voice faded into a final shaky sigh.

A tiny, scared sigh that stabbed clean through him.

“We’ll find out who you are,” he vowed.

No answer.

Jacob stepped away from the kitchen counter.

Sixty seconds complete. Dee’s chest rose and fell in the even pattern of heavy sleep. He ambled over and knelt beside her.

Only in his life for one day and he would never forget her. What made her so special? Sure she was pretty, but not a knockout by technical standards. And she was so delicate—but stubborn.

She had a fire and grit he respected. No whining or clinging-vine crap; she’d pulled herself through a day that would have sent most people diving into a bottle of Valium.

Jacob eased his arms under her, slowly, watching for signs of stirring. There weren’t any. She’d fallen asleep hard and fast, her slender body deadweight.

Dead? His gut fisted. He’d been so concerned with concussions, he hadn’t considered foul play.

He should have considered that straight up. Jacob forced himself to recall every detail of “Mr. Smith’s” face, his vehicle. Hopefully the Suburban plate number could be traced. He had it on file.