Chapter 9 #3
“Fine. Rest.” He toyed with her skin on her shoulder. So smooth. So soft. Touching her was like therapy. All his tension fell away, and the heat from their lovemaking kept their bodies warm.
He cracked his eyes open. Serena’s head tilted toward his, her cheek in full view.
One of her hands lay splayed above her head, and soft puffs of breath blew through her nose.
She needed rest. Even if only a few minutes .
. . an hour tops. She’d slept only four hours in the last forty.
He let his eyes close and concentrated on the cadence of her breath.
“Get up!”
A rough shake made his head slump off the pillow at an awkward angle. He groaned and rolled to his stomach as Serena untangled her legs from his.
“Milo. Get. Up.” She enunciated each word. “We slept five hours!”
He jerked up his head and the events of the last several hours hit him with the force of a freight train. He stumbled off the bed and dove for his phone on the end table. Brock had called three times. He’d had the device on vibrate and hadn’t even heard the damn thing.
“Shit.”
Serena whirled on him, her pants now covering her delicious ass and her arms frozen through the straps of her bra. “What?”
“Brock called.”
Serena pressed her hands to her forehead. “Oh my god. He’s downstairs, isn’t he? He knows we had sex.”
Milo went to the attached bathroom, wet a cloth, and cleaned off the remnants of their sex. He was beyond caring if Brock knew they’d slept together, but he hated that she was embarrassed.
“Milo!”
He poked his head around the corner. The pink tint of embarrassment that had colored her cheeks seconds before was gone.
“Dani gave me a hint,” she said. Her eyes were wild and as radiant as if she’d slept twelve hours and not five.
He frowned and accepted the jeans she hurled at his chest. He stepped his feet into the legs. Fuck, he needed caffeine. His brain was spinning like the tires of a vehicle stuck in the snow. “What?” The syllable dragged out like the drunken call of an owl.
She scooped her shirt off the floor near the door. “I’ll tell you downstairs. Brock needs to hear this too.” She shoved the shirt over her head, opened the door, and finished dressing as she exited.
Milo grabbed his shirt and followed. By the time he’d reached the stairs he was fully clothed. Brock’s voice carried from the kitchen.
“Did you guys sleep?”
“We, uh . . . yeah. Well, I passed out and—”
“Serena has intel,” Milo said, as he grabbed one of the mugs Brock had taken from the cupboard. He didn’t waste time perfecting his coffee with cream and sugar. He needed the miracle elixir like an addict needed heroin.
“I’ll have one of those too,” Serena said, spreading her hands wide on the island. She moved her gaze from Milo to Brock. “This is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.”
Milo raised his eyebrows and poured their coffees.
“I think she tried to hint at the job she was planning.”
He lifted his gaze. Coffee sloshed over the lip of the mug and onto his hand. He cursed, shook his fingers, and grabbed a towel from the counter. “What makes you think that?”
She sandwiched her hand in her hair. “When I spoke to her, she sounded off.”
He and Brock stared at her.
She stared back defiantly and drew her arms in front of her chest. “Dani said some weird things. At first, I thought she was delirious, or maybe had a concussion, but I couldn’t put them out of my mind.”
Beside him, Brock’s body tensed. “What did she say?”
“She said ‘I love you, even though you stole my ex.’”
Milo lifted an eyebrow. That didn’t sound promising. Serena let out an exasperated breath.
“I know. It doesn’t make sense.” Her puffed chest deflated, but the delicate lines of her face remained hard, her eyes as focused as a sniper’s.
Brock’s body slumped and Milo winced. He hated to take the wind out of her sails. “Babe, I don’t know if that’s a good hint to go on. Sounds like she was confused, or . . .” He didn’t want to say “drugged” or “has a head injury,” so he scratched his head.
“That’s not all. She also said she should have listened when I tried to tell her this job was too big.” She dropped her stare to the counter and then lifted it again. “Look, I know this isn’t concrete. But it’s the only thing we have. I think I know what she’s trying to tell me.”
Milo scratched his thumbnail over the groove in his chin. “‘Stole my ex?’ I don’t see how that could relate to the job she was planning.”
“She always named her heists. Plan S, Plan 8. Always random letters or numbers. Maybe ‘Stole my ex’ means X as in Plan X.”
Brock remained quiet but met his gaze. The idea that Dani’s rambling could be a clue was a stretch, but not inconceivable. He wanted to believe her, but the likelihood that Dani had sustained a head injury was strong.
“Why would she do that? Hint about the job? Wouldn’t she try to tell us who took her?”
Serena shook her head. “Maybe we’re right and whoever took her is connected to the job she was planning.”
“That could be a possibility,” Brock said. “How the hell are we supposed to get a hold of her plans?”
Serena pursed her lips. “I’ve got her computer upstairs.”