Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(71)

She raised a brow, and he blew out a hard breath, swallowing convulsively. “Dieu, the guy was so skinny he’d hafta stand up twice to cast a shadow, but he was tough as nails. It took me nearly an hour of interrogatin’ to get any information outta him at all.”

An hour of begging, cajoling, yelling, and threatening before he’d finally been forced to apply a little pressure, inflict a smidgen of pain, and suddenly Joe Bob couldn’t tell his story fast enough…

“Sorry,” she whispered, and he glanced over at her.

Now that’s a mistake, you big couyon.

Because that brief look was enough of an invitation to have her rising from the chair by the window and padding over to him.

Her feet were bare, and her toenails were painted a sweet pink that looked like cotton candy. When she stopped in front of him, he was left with no choice but to look up into her concerned face. There was understanding in the fathomless depths of her dark eyes. Understanding and something he didn’t dare name.

Because they were alone.

In a hotel room.

With a bed…

Merde.

She reached for his hand, chaffing the stupid, shaking thing between her soft palms. “I can’t imagine what it does to you,” she murmured. “Using someone’s fear and weakness against them.”

She didn’t know the half of it. Because it was more than that. A true interrogator could get inside a person’s psyche. And sometimes once you got into a person’s head, it wasn’t always easy to get out. “You get used to it after a while,” he managed.

She smelled so good. Like peppermint and sugar, slightly sweet, slightly spicy…

“Bullshit,” she said, then smiled at the look of surprise on his face. “Yes, I call bullshit on occasion.”

Okay, their conversation had veered off course. And with her standing so close, touching him, his brain was going all fuzzy. Like he’d had one swig too many of the moonshine his Uncle Beauford used to brew. It was time he got them back on track.

Now.

Before he did something they’d both regret.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, softly sliding his hand from between her soft palms, disgusted when his fingers continued to tingle with sensation. “It needed to be done. And now we have two more assassins off our tails.”

“Two?”

“Oui. That’s why Joe Bob was so hard to break. He was protectin’ his brother, Jimmy Don, who was holed up back at their hotel.”

“Joe Bob and Jimmy Don? Let me guess, they hail from Kentucky.”

“Nope. Oklahoma. Indian Territory. The Sooner State.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved off any other titles he might have thrown out there in an attempt to keep their discussion on steady ground. “I get it,” she said, then hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Or maybe I don’t. Why is it called the Sooner State?”

Dieu, she was funny. And pretty. And oh, oh, oh so sexy.

He needed to get away from her. Now. Five minutes ago…

“I’m not sure,” he grumbled, pushing up from the mattress. “I think it has somethin’ to do with the land run. But that’s not important right now. What is important is two more of our would-be assassins are off the street.”

There. All done. Debrief complete.

Now if only she’d take a step back, he could make a break for the sanctity of the bathroom where, undoubtedly, he’d have to spend the next five minutes taking care of the problem in his pants.

Unfortunately, she remained rooted to the spot, blocking his escape.

“Rock?”

His heart stopped dead.

“Yeah, cheri?” Was that rough-sounding voice really his?

“Why do you do it if it bothers you so much?” Her eyes were so big, looking up at him so innocently.

He couldn’t pretend to misunderstand her question. “Because it’s what I’ve been trained to do. And I’m good at it. Really, really good at it.”

She nodded, and he could see the storm of questions swirling around in her head. But she must’ve known by the look on his face that he wasn’t going to give her any more answers.

He’d already revealed more than he should have. “Tete de pissette!” he growled, pushing past her to stalk toward the bathroom.

“I speak French, you know,” she huffed. “And I don’t think I said or did anything to warrant being called a dickhead.”

“I was talkin’ to myself,” he said, turning back to her.

She rolled in her lips, fighting a grin, and the look went all through him.

Merde. What a goatscrew.

***

Johnny reached into Michelle’s refrigerator for another beer but stopped with his hand on the bottle when he heard the sound of a car door slam.

He quickly glanced around the cozy kitchen looking for a place to hide when he spied the large, walk-in pantry. He was there in two strides, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. With his back pressed against a shelf of canned goods, he held his breath, his hand sliding down to his waistband and the grip of his Ruger.

Ten seconds later, the front door opened with a squeak and heavy footsteps sounded in the living room, followed by the television falling silent.

“Yeah, I’m here now,” a man’s deep voice resonated through the louvered slats of the pantry door. “I’m gonna do a quick recon of her place then lock up. I’ll meet you back at the shop in thirty.”