Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(89)

“Just signal,” Macy said. The signal was kicking her leg up backward—the heel-to-butt signal, they called it.

“I got it.” Angel turned and headed for the guy, empty drink in hand. He watched her steadily as she approached.

His hair was just long enough that he had to tilt his head a little bit to keep it out of his eyes, like a clean-cut haircut gone to hell. His scruffy beard hadn’t seen a razor in days.

She smiled as if her pulse weren’t going haywire. Tipped her head. “I’m Angel.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“That’s your real name?”

“That’s right, baby,” she said, playing the pouty hooker.

“Hey—” he motioned to the waiter who was passing by. “Drink?” he asked, eyeing her empty glass.

“Gin and tonic,” she said.

Their fingers brushed as he took the glass from her, creating a frisson of electricity that shot down her center. He set it on the waiter’s tray. “Thanks,” he said to the waiter.

The waiter left them alone.

He took up extra space even beyond where he stood. It was something a guy like this did. He would take, take, take, but she’d still want to save him.

Up close you could see his faint freckles and the pain and the fire in his eyes. He felt so familiar to her—that’s what was scary. She’d never met him, but she knew those eyes, that expression. He was drowning in something. She knew things like that about guys like this. Things on a primal level.

She forced herself to stay cool. Did he suspect them? That was what she needed to figure out.

A rogue lock of hair had fallen over his glasses and he flicked his head, sending it away, as though he wanted nothing to obstruct his view of her. “Now what are we going to do with you?” he asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

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