Free Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) by Emmy Curtis Page A

eyes searched for the wall clock that was invisible in the darkness.
    He clicked his watch. “It’s five past nine. Get some rest—I’ll take the first shift. In two hours, I’ll wake you up.” He turned back to the window and leaned against the frame, looking out into the white oblivion, not wanting to see her struggle with him taking control and wondering how he could get them all the way back to the orphanage without dying.
    “Okay,” she said eventually. He heard her stomp off to the bedroom and close the door behind her. Under normal circumstances, he would follow her, convince her that it would be best if they stayed awake together and did something to pass the time. But for some reason, he found the idea of such a manipulation unsavory. Probably because too much depended on them working together. He snorted a quiet laugh. He still hadn’t entirely bought into her deductions about the sensors and the Russian invasion.
    The snow had stopped swirling like an image on a Christmas card and was now coming down at an angle, reflecting just how hard the wind was blowing. One thing he was sure of: If she was going to drag him out into snowmageddon, he’d better get his winter gear from his place.
    His apartment was cold and dark—unsurprisingly since he’d done no insulating with rugs or furniture. He stopped to put his computer equipment in a gap beneath the floorboards that he’d made the first week he’d been there.
    As he collected his kit bag, he looked around the room again. For an uneasy moment he wondered if he was looking at his life. Barren of comfort, cold and dark. Then he shrugged. Better that than cluttered and messy. Probably.
    By the time he returned to Abby’s apartment, he’d been gone maybe twenty minutes. He opened the door quietly but stopped when he heard her calling his name in a whisper. Was someone else in there with her? Was she trying to get his attention so he could help her? He stepped in, quietly closed the door, and dropped his snow gear silently to the floor. He took the gun from his waistband and peered into the darkness.
    “Malone? Garrett?” her voice came again. Was that a note of panic he heard? Was she crying? Dammit, why hadn’t he paid more attention to the way women sounded when he upset them? Then she came out of the kitchen, her chest heaving beneath a kind of long, thin, misbuttoned cardigan. Her legs and feet were bare.
    “What is it?” he whispered, even though he didn’t know why.
    She jumped and stared at him, panic draining from her eyes. Then she dropped her eyes to the ground and took some deep breaths. “Nothing. I just needed a drink.”
    No, she didn’t. She’d thought he’d left her. She’d gone looking for him and hadn’t found him and panicked. For all her tough talk…“It’s okay. I’m here,” he said in a soft voice, putting his gun on the table and advancing on her.
    Her voice became more certain. “I don’t care. I was looking for a drink.”
    “Sure you were, sweetheart. A drink called ‘Malone? Garrett?’” He raised an eyebrow at her, trying to provoke the fear out of her by mimicking her. He was still closing the gap between them slowly, as if trying not to startle a scared animal.
    She clocked his move before he’d got within arm’s reach. She started backing away from him.
    She cleared her throat. “I was just making sure you weren’t out here. I didn’t want you seeing me with barely anything on.”
    “Yeah, you were terrified of that yesterday.” He shook his head. If he’d choreographed this right, she would get mad again and regain her courage.
    He didn’t stop advancing, even though he could see she was about to find the kitchen wall at her back.
    She found it. He stopped inches away from her.
    “Just because I wanted you to see me naked yesterday doesn’t mean I want you to see me naked today.” She put her hands on her hips.
    It worked. She overcame whatever crisis he’d walked in on, and now she was back