muscles jumping in his jaw.
"It occurred to me that we should trace Ernie's last steps," Hannah added, sharing her recent insight. "I don't know if you've picked up on this, but Valentino's not going to help you put Lovitt behind bars, not until the Individual is arrested. That's why the FBI didn't investigate Emie's death, at least not overtly. Some guys in suits cleaned out his office, but I'm not sure who they were," she added, frowning.
Luther dropped the rag in his hand, sat back, and crossed his arms. Biceps bulged beneath the smooth tanned skin of his upper arms. Hannah swallowed, recalling how gently those arms had cradled her.
"First we'll look through records at Spec Ops," Luther decided. "If we can piece together Ernie's research, then there's no need to retrace his footsteps. If not, we'll look into it. What do you know so far?"
"Not much. Only that he was on a so-called vacation in a place called the Northern Neck, three hours from D.C. His car was discovered just outside of Sabena, Virginia. He'd been ran off the road." She blinked away the vision of Ernie crushed between his seat and the steering wheel.
"If we have to, then we'll go to the Northern Neck," Luther agreed. "I know where it is."
Hannah nodded. Their gazes locked. For a long while, no words were spoken. Hannah was the first to look away, her eyes drawn once more to his upper arms. "No tattoos?" she asked, curious to know more about him. "I thought all you Navy guys had tattoos."
"I've got two," he admitted. Humor flickered in his eyes like fireflies at dusk.
Her eyebrows rose. "Two?" she said disbelievingly. "Where are they?"
He shrugged. "Stick around long enough, maybe you'll find out"
Her heart beat faster at the loaded statement. Awareness crackled between them. "Where are you from?" she asked. "I don't hear an accent when you talk. You sound like a Harvard graduate."
"I was accepted to Harvard," he admitted without arrogance. "But I went to Texas A&M."
"You are not a Texan," she insisted.
"Indeed I am. Born and raised."
"Indeed I am," she repeated, mocking his upper-middle-class accent-from-nowhere.
"My mother's an English professor at the University of Houston," he enlightened her. "She brought us up to speak a certain way—no dialect, no slang, no cursing. I'm a slab of white bread, boring as hell," he mocked himself.
"You just cursed," she pointed out. "And you're not boring." If anything, he was amazingly complex, a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth, apparently, who'd chosen a rigorous, not to mention deadly, occupation in order to keep the world safe.
"You've heard Westy talk," he added. "That's what I'm supposed to sound like."
Hannah looked around. "I don't see your mother here."
He tapped his forehead. "She's here. Every time my grammar slips I get a lecture."
Hannah laughed, amused by his predicament. "So where was your mother when you were getting your tattoos?" She raised her eyebrows at him.
"I knew you'd get back to that."
"I'm as tenacious as a pit bull," she admitted. "My brother could tell you that."
"Then you'll just have to learn some patience," Luther countered. This time there was caution in his eyes, as if he was growing wary of the frisson between them.
"Were you married to Veronica?" Oh, Lord, she couldn't believe she'd just asked that.
He looked at her, his eyes like dark blue marbles. "You keep your ears open, don't you?"
"I told you, I can't sleep," she said, breaking eye contact .
"She was my fiancée," he surprised her by admitting.
"What happened?" she dared to ask.
"We weren't compatible," he said, simply. "Call me old-fashioned, but I expect fidelity in a relationship."
"Of course," she said. She couldn't imagine any woman wanting to cheat on Luther, but the word "compatible" reminded her that she wasn't exactly wife material either. She pushed her chair back, determined to get some sleep before dawn cracked. "I'd better sleep while I can," she said.
He made a point to catch
"It occurred to me that we should trace Ernie's last steps," Hannah added, sharing her recent insight. "I don't know if you've picked up on this, but Valentino's not going to help you put Lovitt behind bars, not until the Individual is arrested. That's why the FBI didn't investigate Emie's death, at least not overtly. Some guys in suits cleaned out his office, but I'm not sure who they were," she added, frowning.
Luther dropped the rag in his hand, sat back, and crossed his arms. Biceps bulged beneath the smooth tanned skin of his upper arms. Hannah swallowed, recalling how gently those arms had cradled her.
"First we'll look through records at Spec Ops," Luther decided. "If we can piece together Ernie's research, then there's no need to retrace his footsteps. If not, we'll look into it. What do you know so far?"
"Not much. Only that he was on a so-called vacation in a place called the Northern Neck, three hours from D.C. His car was discovered just outside of Sabena, Virginia. He'd been ran off the road." She blinked away the vision of Ernie crushed between his seat and the steering wheel.
"If we have to, then we'll go to the Northern Neck," Luther agreed. "I know where it is."
Hannah nodded. Their gazes locked. For a long while, no words were spoken. Hannah was the first to look away, her eyes drawn once more to his upper arms. "No tattoos?" she asked, curious to know more about him. "I thought all you Navy guys had tattoos."
"I've got two," he admitted. Humor flickered in his eyes like fireflies at dusk.
Her eyebrows rose. "Two?" she said disbelievingly. "Where are they?"
He shrugged. "Stick around long enough, maybe you'll find out"
Her heart beat faster at the loaded statement. Awareness crackled between them. "Where are you from?" she asked. "I don't hear an accent when you talk. You sound like a Harvard graduate."
"I was accepted to Harvard," he admitted without arrogance. "But I went to Texas A&M."
"You are not a Texan," she insisted.
"Indeed I am. Born and raised."
"Indeed I am," she repeated, mocking his upper-middle-class accent-from-nowhere.
"My mother's an English professor at the University of Houston," he enlightened her. "She brought us up to speak a certain way—no dialect, no slang, no cursing. I'm a slab of white bread, boring as hell," he mocked himself.
"You just cursed," she pointed out. "And you're not boring." If anything, he was amazingly complex, a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth, apparently, who'd chosen a rigorous, not to mention deadly, occupation in order to keep the world safe.
"You've heard Westy talk," he added. "That's what I'm supposed to sound like."
Hannah looked around. "I don't see your mother here."
He tapped his forehead. "She's here. Every time my grammar slips I get a lecture."
Hannah laughed, amused by his predicament. "So where was your mother when you were getting your tattoos?" She raised her eyebrows at him.
"I knew you'd get back to that."
"I'm as tenacious as a pit bull," she admitted. "My brother could tell you that."
"Then you'll just have to learn some patience," Luther countered. This time there was caution in his eyes, as if he was growing wary of the frisson between them.
"Were you married to Veronica?" Oh, Lord, she couldn't believe she'd just asked that.
He looked at her, his eyes like dark blue marbles. "You keep your ears open, don't you?"
"I told you, I can't sleep," she said, breaking eye contact .
"She was my fiancée," he surprised her by admitting.
"What happened?" she dared to ask.
"We weren't compatible," he said, simply. "Call me old-fashioned, but I expect fidelity in a relationship."
"Of course," she said. She couldn't imagine any woman wanting to cheat on Luther, but the word "compatible" reminded her that she wasn't exactly wife material either. She pushed her chair back, determined to get some sleep before dawn cracked. "I'd better sleep while I can," she said.
He made a point to catch
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