Page 81 of Claimed By The Tracker

Not the stillness of a man enduring an argument.

The stillness of a man running numbers I couldn't see.

When I finished, he waited two seconds.

The same two seconds his eyes had held mine across the lobby.

"Your call," he said. "I'll work with whatever you decide."

His hands flexed once at his sides.

Fingers straightening.

Then settling.

Small.

Contained.

The only sign the words had cost him anything.

I tucked it away with the rest.

A man trained to bury his reactions, working harder at burying this one than the conversation should have demanded.

His wolf, maybe.

Answering mine.

Something pulled tight behind my ribs.

No one had handed me a decision without an agenda attached in years.

Maybe ever.

For one unguarded breath, I imagined what it would be like to be chosen by a man like this instead of assigned to one.

Wanted.

Not weighed.

Then I folded the thought small, the way I folded away everything I couldn't afford.

"The logic holds," I said. "I'll take the cover."

A courier pushed through the service door behind Eduardo's desk, arms full of packages, moving fast toward the mail room.

Gideon's whole body shifted half an inch before I registered the sound.

Weight settling onto the balls of his feet.

One hand already loose and ready at his side.

Gone as fast as it came.

The courier dropped a box on the counter and left.

"Sorry," Gideon said.