clothes are under the bed.”
“Slide the bag out with your foot where I can see it.”
He did so, careful to move slowly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been forced to put my clothes
on
at gunpoint.”
“First time for everything.”
He toed open the zipper flap, keeping his eyes on hers. She didn’t so much as glance at the duffel bag. He didn’t regret his professionally unwise tussle, and doubted he’d do things differently if given another chance. Well, he might kiss her first next time. If he lived that long.
“Move the bag back toward the wall next to you and slowly pull out the bare essentials. Try anything funny, and I’ll shoot the first body part I can aim this gun at.”
He didn’t believe her. She wasn’t going to shoot him. She didn’t seem to want to hurt him. A broken nose was the least of the damage she could have inflicted on him, but she hadn’t even done that.
No, she apparently wanted him whole and healthy. For what, he had no idea. He didn’t need to be the one on top to get his answers.
“And let me guess,” he said as he shoved the bag toward the wall with his foot, “you were first in your class at the firing range.”
“I was the range instructor.”
He slowly bent down, keeping his eyes on hers, and felt around for his jeans. “What force were you with?”
“One item at a time, and I want to see it.”
He didn’t expect an answer, but it was worth a try. He pulled a pair of worn blue jeans out and straightened.
“Toss them to me.”
“I took all the string and frogs out of my pockets already, Ma.” They landed on the bed beside her. Shescooped them up one-handed and draped them over her shoulder, feeling the pockets and seams before tossing them back to him, never once breaking eye contact.
He caught them. “Do you want to feel up my underwear too?”
“Just get dressed.”
Fairly confident she wouldn’t put a bullet in him—yet—he broke eye contact and bent to his bag. He felt her watching him as he pulled out briefs and a thickly woven, deep green rugby shirt.
“Give me the shirt. Put on your underwear and pants. No socks.”
“Barbarian. My feet are still cold.” He tossed the shirt to her, and she patted it down as he pulled on his other clothes. He caught her return toss and pulled the shirt on, leaving it untucked, the long tails hanging down to his thighs.
“Going barefoot in the snow was your own brilliant idea.”
He smacked his forehead. “Gee, what was I thinking? I could have stayed in my nice, warm bed, strapped in all nice and cozy. Silly me.”
“We can return to that arrangement, but that means another needle.”
He barely covered a flinch. “Thanks, but no.”
She waved her gun at him. “Walk, hands at your sides.”
She stayed a good ten feet behind him. Very well trained, he thought. With her reflexes, even a rear flying kick from that distance would probably miss her. A bullet from the same distance would not miss him.
“Stand beside the couch. There,” she said, pointing with her free hand.
“You missed your calling, you know,” he said, following directions as casually as he thought he could get away with. His nonchalant attitude irked her, even if she didn’t show it. It was a small weapon, but over time it could be very effective. He wondered how much time he had.
“Put these on.” She pulled a pair of standard issue handcuffs from her bag and tossed them to him. “And what calling was that?”
He hadn’t expected her to follow up. “Curiosity, Detective Princess?”
“Analysis, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not a lieutenant. I’m a bartender, remember?”
“You’re a lot of things, Blackstone. Right now what you are is under my protection. Put on the cuffs.”
He put the cuffs on, eyeing her with a taunting smile as he pushed them to a fairly tight slot.
Her only reaction was to toss him a pair of ankle cuffs with a long chain between them. “These too, Houdini. Chain over the
“Slide the bag out with your foot where I can see it.”
He did so, careful to move slowly. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been forced to put my clothes
on
at gunpoint.”
“First time for everything.”
He toed open the zipper flap, keeping his eyes on hers. She didn’t so much as glance at the duffel bag. He didn’t regret his professionally unwise tussle, and doubted he’d do things differently if given another chance. Well, he might kiss her first next time. If he lived that long.
“Move the bag back toward the wall next to you and slowly pull out the bare essentials. Try anything funny, and I’ll shoot the first body part I can aim this gun at.”
He didn’t believe her. She wasn’t going to shoot him. She didn’t seem to want to hurt him. A broken nose was the least of the damage she could have inflicted on him, but she hadn’t even done that.
No, she apparently wanted him whole and healthy. For what, he had no idea. He didn’t need to be the one on top to get his answers.
“And let me guess,” he said as he shoved the bag toward the wall with his foot, “you were first in your class at the firing range.”
“I was the range instructor.”
He slowly bent down, keeping his eyes on hers, and felt around for his jeans. “What force were you with?”
“One item at a time, and I want to see it.”
He didn’t expect an answer, but it was worth a try. He pulled a pair of worn blue jeans out and straightened.
“Toss them to me.”
“I took all the string and frogs out of my pockets already, Ma.” They landed on the bed beside her. Shescooped them up one-handed and draped them over her shoulder, feeling the pockets and seams before tossing them back to him, never once breaking eye contact.
He caught them. “Do you want to feel up my underwear too?”
“Just get dressed.”
Fairly confident she wouldn’t put a bullet in him—yet—he broke eye contact and bent to his bag. He felt her watching him as he pulled out briefs and a thickly woven, deep green rugby shirt.
“Give me the shirt. Put on your underwear and pants. No socks.”
“Barbarian. My feet are still cold.” He tossed the shirt to her, and she patted it down as he pulled on his other clothes. He caught her return toss and pulled the shirt on, leaving it untucked, the long tails hanging down to his thighs.
“Going barefoot in the snow was your own brilliant idea.”
He smacked his forehead. “Gee, what was I thinking? I could have stayed in my nice, warm bed, strapped in all nice and cozy. Silly me.”
“We can return to that arrangement, but that means another needle.”
He barely covered a flinch. “Thanks, but no.”
She waved her gun at him. “Walk, hands at your sides.”
She stayed a good ten feet behind him. Very well trained, he thought. With her reflexes, even a rear flying kick from that distance would probably miss her. A bullet from the same distance would not miss him.
“Stand beside the couch. There,” she said, pointing with her free hand.
“You missed your calling, you know,” he said, following directions as casually as he thought he could get away with. His nonchalant attitude irked her, even if she didn’t show it. It was a small weapon, but over time it could be very effective. He wondered how much time he had.
“Put these on.” She pulled a pair of standard issue handcuffs from her bag and tossed them to him. “And what calling was that?”
He hadn’t expected her to follow up. “Curiosity, Detective Princess?”
“Analysis, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not a lieutenant. I’m a bartender, remember?”
“You’re a lot of things, Blackstone. Right now what you are is under my protection. Put on the cuffs.”
He put the cuffs on, eyeing her with a taunting smile as he pushed them to a fairly tight slot.
Her only reaction was to toss him a pair of ankle cuffs with a long chain between them. “These too, Houdini. Chain over the
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