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through me like a warm sip of whiskey.
    Pleasure.
    My body fairly hummed with it.
    I pushed away the traitorous yearning and focused on a safer emotion. Relief. He could pull his weight now. “Excellent. You’re awake.”
    I felt caution return to his body as his mind cleared. “I’m too old for this shit.”
    How old are you? I wanted to ask but it was irrelevant and revealed a weakness I couldn’t afford. Especially now.
    “Thirty-four.”
    He’d done it again. Answered my unspoken question. He removed his arms from my waist, and without the comfort of his embrace, I felt bereft.
    Lucas drew his finger lightly along the curve where my neck met my shoulder. “Holy...heck. That’s where the beacon was?”
    I shrugged.
    Lucas pressed a gentle kiss against my shoulder, reminding me of when my mother used to kiss my aches and pains away with nothing but love.
    The fact that I softened at the brush of his lips was annoying and disconcerting. I couldn’t afford any weakness.
    He stretched, arms over his head, chest hard against my back. His erection swelled against my thinly clad buttocks.
    “Lift your hips up.” The slight rasp in his voice betrayed him.
    I complied.
    He leaned over and pulled himself into the passenger seat. Cloth rustled against skin in an erotic whisper.
    No time for that.
    I focused on the road while Lucas eased the shoulder strap across his body, the click of metal into the buckle loud in the silent car.
    “Buckle up.”
    I shot him an ‘Are you crazy?’ look.
    He grinned, gleaming with amusement. Lucas leaned over, his forearm brushing my breasts as he pulled the belt across my body. I’d fended for myself since I was fifteen. Yet here he was, trying to take care of me. The notion was foreign.
    “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t just dump me while I was unconscious.”
    Yes. He should.
    I already wondered why I hadn’t.
    He stretched again, muscles and joints popping. “You escaped and took out two people after being doped up like this?”
    My blood iced.
    He’d only seen the woman. My right hand eased toward the grip of the Glock.
    “Two?”
    He lifted a brow, an easy smile on his face. “So far they seem to be working in pairs, so I assumed you had a deuce on your tail in the warehouse. Am I wrong?”
    “You were right.” His explanation made sense. Unobtrusively, I removed my hand from the weapon’s resting spot. “How far to your place?”
    He peered at the road. “Where are we?”
    I named the route and gave him our distance to the main highway.
    “Hour and a half, maybe two.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Question time.”
    I’d promised to answer five questions. Didn’t mean I couldn’t pick and choose which five.
    “The NSA doesn’t have field agents. It’s just a bunch of techno-nerds sitting in remote outpost towers eavesdropping on enemies or allied neighbors.”
    If he wanted to believe that then let him. “That’s not a question.”
    “Right.” He rubbed his hands against his eyes again. Probably feeling the effects of the drug. I ignored any sympathy and tamped down on my relief that he was fine.
    “So you’re an NSA field agent?”
    I yawned.
    “I wouldn’t have answered that one either, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
    He was silent for a moment which, I had figured out, meant his brain was ticking along. I forced myself to relax.
    “You aren’t Staci Grant. Her cover is a CIA legend.”
    A legend is a cover story crafted and developed over years.
    Staci Grant was a real person with many layers. On the surface, she was a wealthy woman who occasionally taught college students. Just below the surface, she steered potential recruits toward terrorist organizations. Her position on campus giving her access to young students.
    Another layer down, she worked for the CIA, tracking recruit information. And even further down, she recruited for the CIA. Very few people at the CIA knew she worked for them. Her entire life had