Page 56 of Direct Action

“I thought you said you’d cuff me to your bed?” she asked, but there was no heat behind her question.

“I would, if I thought I could get away with it without you hating me when it was over.”

Chloe’s eyes widened for a moment before she recovered, but she continued to stare. We needed to get up the mountain to Pete’s. The sooner we could get this fucked-up shitshow on the road, the better. Hopefully, Pete had heard back from Mercer about our membership requests and Shep was digging into Summit Jets’ flight logs. If we could make a connection with Cynthia or one of the other missing women being on one of his jets, we’d be golden. More hope was that Poppy had the night to think about things and she’d come through with more information. Which meant I wanted to get to Pete’s, but I didn’t rush whatever Chloe was working out.

“My dad has Alzheimer’s,” she whispered. “That’s why he’s there.”

Christ.

As hideous as that was, I couldn’t deny how good it felt hearing her tell me.

I waited for her to give me more. When she didn’t, I watched her tag her skirt off the floor, rummage through the blankets until she found her bra and T-shirt. Then I watched her walk into the bathroom. I did this silently, not pushing for more, letting hope settle that maybe I could unfuck my monumental fuckup.

We were nearing the cutoff to Downrange when Chloe put her phone in her purse and asked, “Are you going to give me back my panties?”

“No.”

I heard her sigh, then shift in her seat, but even if I hadn’t had the audible clue she was staring at me, I would’ve felt it. And, again, I must have been insane and probably the only man alive who was happy to have his woman glaring at him.

Maybe one day, the memory of her lifeless eyes would fade. Maybe one day, the vision of her looking at me from across the lobby of the nursing home where her father lived, and the sheer panic and grief I felt coming from her, would lessen. However, today was not the day, and I welcomed her glare.

“You know that’s gross.”

“Trust me, baby, it’s not.”

I made the turn onto the dirt road and slowed my speed.

“I wore them.”

She sounded horrified. Which made me want to smile, so I did, knowing that would earn me another annoyed sigh.

She didn’t disappoint and added a disgruntled, “Totally gross.”

“I’m not going to sleep with them under my pillow—”

“Oh my God—”

“Or smell—”

“Stop talking,” she groaned.

I gave her that play but did so smiling.

We were nearing the Downrange Ranch sign when Chloe muttered, “You’re giving me whiplash.”

“Not sure you can get whiplash on a dirt road when I’m going less than fifteen miles an hour.”

“I’m not talking about your driving. I’m talking about your multiple personalities. Which I have to tell you I wasn’t aware you had. You hid them well.”

Instead of calling the kettle out, I asked, “How many personalities do you think I have?”

“Well, let’s see,” she started. “There’s the Ryan my boss, who’s calm, levelheaded, always in a good mood, and great with the staff.” It was good to know she thought I was always in a good mood and great with the staff, but I had a feeling her descriptions were going to disintegrate and those traits would do me no favors. “Then there’s the . . . um . . . charming, flirting, sexy Ryan.” She said that like it was a mortal sin. “Though I will note that charm was only used to coax barflies out the door, so I only had secondhand knowledge, but still it counts because I witnessed it firsthand.” Fuck. “Then there’s the new ones I’ve met in the last forty-eight hours, which include Emperor Privacy Invader, King of Bossiness, the Big Kahuna of Nosyland, and my least favorite—His High-Hand Highness.”

Only Chloe could make me want to laugh while she was insulting me.

“So six,” I noted.

“No, there’s more. Also the ones I like, but since I’m still pissed you changed my payroll status without speaking to me about it, planned on lying to me while scheming to get me to quit my job, and butted into my business in a way that’s so invasive I’m holding that grudge until the day I die, I don’t feel like sharing them. Oh and threatening to cuff me to your bed if I didn’t bow at your command.”