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“Trace…”
“It’s time to stop for a while.”
Bridget sighed. “You’re right. We can’t afford to miss a clue.” Her eyes lifted to his. “I’ll make you a deal.”
This might be interesting. “What’s that?”
“I’ll rest if you will.”
“I’m fine.”
“Let’s keep working, then.” She placed her hands on the keyboard again.
“Hold up. What happened to you admitting to fatigue?”
“If a super soldier can go without sleep and press on, so can I. All I’ve done since you whisked me out of Chile is nap.”
“I’m not injured,” he pointed out.
“Maybe not, but you haven’t slept, either. I know you didn’t sleep on the plane because every time Sam came in to ask me questions, you were awake. I’m betting you didn’t sleep the day before you found me. That means you’re operating on fewer hours of rest than I am. I’ll sleep if you will.” Stubbornness practically oozed from her pores.
Trace couldn’t remember the last time a woman had worried about him. Should he tell her that he could operate on much fewer hours of sleep? If he did, Bridget wouldn’t sleep and she needed it. “You’re right. I could use a couple hours of downtime.” Might help him think better, too.
He shut the laptop lid and set it aside. After swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Trace headed for the cot Sorenson had brought in for him.
“Where are you going?”
He glanced back. “The cot. You need room to spread out.”
She eyed the cot. “Looks uncomfortable.”
Trace shrugged. “I’ve slept on far worse. I’ll tell you about it later. Sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s news.”
“Promise?”
“Word of honor.”
With a nod, she tugged the blanket up to her shoulders.
Trace waited until her breathing changed before closing his eyes. Knowing his teammates and Maddox were near allowed Trace to let go enough to fall into a light sleep.
Two hours later, Trace’s internal alarm woke him. Although he didn’t want to admit aloud, he felt better. Guess that made him an official, card-carrying middle-aged man.
He frowned. Was 34 years old considered middle-aged? Whatever. He didn’t bounce back as fast as when he was eighteen. Trace and his teammates were also ready for another rotation off duty. It had been a long month in the muck and jungles of South America, tracking terrorists and freeing hostages. The best assignment had been rescuing a four-year-old girl and her mother from the hands of a drug lord in Argentina. The op had gone according to plan for once and the little girl had been the cutest kid Trace had ever seen.
He glanced at Bridget, gratified to note she was still asleep. Hopefully, she’d wake headache free or with the pain greatly diminished. He slipped from the room.
Brent looked up from his laptop. “How is Bridget?”
“Asleep. Her head hurt bad enough to derail her concentration before I gave in to blackmail and took a short nap with her.”
Amusement lit his boss’s eyes. “Blackmail, huh?”
Trace shook his head, still surprised by her concern for him. “She would only agree to sleep if I did.”
“Confusing, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
