character. She just hoped for both their sakes' that his loyalty didn't prove to be misplaced.
Damian caught her stare. He passed her the plastic bottle, mistaking her attention for a wordless request for more water.
"We won't sleep in the car again tonight," he promised her. "We'll find proper accommodations."
"I didn't mind," Alexa admitted.
Damian cut a quick look her way, probably to gauge whether or not she was coming onto him again. She most assuredly was not—and, she privately asserted to herself, she would not be drinking a single drop of alcohol for the remainder of her partnership with Damian Stone. Not if she was going to embarrass both of them with the result.
But that didn't change the fact that she hadn't minded falling asleep in his arms. She had awoken to find herself turned over once more, and had gazed up at him for longer than she was willing to admit until the man stirred. That was when she had still been trying to convince herself that she didn't find him desirable. She was resigned to it now.
"All the same," Damian responded, "Backseat sleeping quarters weren’t what you were expecting when you entered into our program."
"If you're afraid I'm going to lodge a complaint—"
"You deserve better. With the trial against your father coming up in the next few days, you need to be well-rested. It won’t be easy."
"I know it won’t be easy," Alexa snapped irritably. "He's my father." Every so often, Damian’s words came out patronizing, reminding her of his fourteen-year-old comment. She was a grown woman, and she was too mixed-up in her own thoughts about the man seated beside her to maintain her temper.
“There must have been good times. For you to be so loyal.”
“Mostly when I was young and he would visit me during breaks from boarding school. He was adventurous back then. Less responsibility. Easier to move around, unnoticed, I guess. We went skiing in the Alps. Hiked the Columbia River Gorge. He taught me about his homeland, the extreme poverty of being so hungry that your stomach loses the ability to handle food. Said there was no humanity in anyone suffering like that. He promised to help as many of the families from his country here in the US as he could, however he could.”
“That where your pro-bono impulses come from?”
“I suppose.”
“That time with him? Sounds nice.”
His words caught her off-guard. That his perception of her father could ever be less than venomous spoke volumes about how far they had come since the diner conversation. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why did you become a cop?”
“My father was a police officer. His father before him.”
“It’s in the blood.”
Damian’s near-perfect lips stretched into an easy smile. “Something like that.”
“You know, we’re not all that different. Raised by fathers with strong beliefs. Loyal to a fault, perhaps. Just so happens we’re on opposite sides of the spectrum.”
“There’s one important difference.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t pledge loyalty to the wrong side.”
Alexa didn’t argue; she didn’t have it in her to fight. She turned her head toward the world outside her passenger window, the private victory of common ground as fleeting as the passing landscape.
***
"I don't like the look of those clouds," Damian muttered.
Alexa, who had been dozing in the passenger seat for the past few hours, stirred. The car radio was on, though dialed down so low as to be inaudible. She knew he had done so out of consideration for her. She craned forward in her seat and lowered her borrowed sunglasses, before removing them altogether. There really was no point. Damian was right about the sky outside. They were traveling an empty stretch of highway, headed toward an ominous dark-gray horizon.
"Maybe we should listen to the radio," she said quietly.
Damian reached forward to twitch the volume on the stereo. The weather report predicted rain, but didn't mention
Damian caught her stare. He passed her the plastic bottle, mistaking her attention for a wordless request for more water.
"We won't sleep in the car again tonight," he promised her. "We'll find proper accommodations."
"I didn't mind," Alexa admitted.
Damian cut a quick look her way, probably to gauge whether or not she was coming onto him again. She most assuredly was not—and, she privately asserted to herself, she would not be drinking a single drop of alcohol for the remainder of her partnership with Damian Stone. Not if she was going to embarrass both of them with the result.
But that didn't change the fact that she hadn't minded falling asleep in his arms. She had awoken to find herself turned over once more, and had gazed up at him for longer than she was willing to admit until the man stirred. That was when she had still been trying to convince herself that she didn't find him desirable. She was resigned to it now.
"All the same," Damian responded, "Backseat sleeping quarters weren’t what you were expecting when you entered into our program."
"If you're afraid I'm going to lodge a complaint—"
"You deserve better. With the trial against your father coming up in the next few days, you need to be well-rested. It won’t be easy."
"I know it won’t be easy," Alexa snapped irritably. "He's my father." Every so often, Damian’s words came out patronizing, reminding her of his fourteen-year-old comment. She was a grown woman, and she was too mixed-up in her own thoughts about the man seated beside her to maintain her temper.
“There must have been good times. For you to be so loyal.”
“Mostly when I was young and he would visit me during breaks from boarding school. He was adventurous back then. Less responsibility. Easier to move around, unnoticed, I guess. We went skiing in the Alps. Hiked the Columbia River Gorge. He taught me about his homeland, the extreme poverty of being so hungry that your stomach loses the ability to handle food. Said there was no humanity in anyone suffering like that. He promised to help as many of the families from his country here in the US as he could, however he could.”
“That where your pro-bono impulses come from?”
“I suppose.”
“That time with him? Sounds nice.”
His words caught her off-guard. That his perception of her father could ever be less than venomous spoke volumes about how far they had come since the diner conversation. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why did you become a cop?”
“My father was a police officer. His father before him.”
“It’s in the blood.”
Damian’s near-perfect lips stretched into an easy smile. “Something like that.”
“You know, we’re not all that different. Raised by fathers with strong beliefs. Loyal to a fault, perhaps. Just so happens we’re on opposite sides of the spectrum.”
“There’s one important difference.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t pledge loyalty to the wrong side.”
Alexa didn’t argue; she didn’t have it in her to fight. She turned her head toward the world outside her passenger window, the private victory of common ground as fleeting as the passing landscape.
***
"I don't like the look of those clouds," Damian muttered.
Alexa, who had been dozing in the passenger seat for the past few hours, stirred. The car radio was on, though dialed down so low as to be inaudible. She knew he had done so out of consideration for her. She craned forward in her seat and lowered her borrowed sunglasses, before removing them altogether. There really was no point. Damian was right about the sky outside. They were traveling an empty stretch of highway, headed toward an ominous dark-gray horizon.
"Maybe we should listen to the radio," she said quietly.
Damian reached forward to twitch the volume on the stereo. The weather report predicted rain, but didn't mention
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