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said, referring to the unzipped sleeping bag he’d set on the floorboard. She dragged it up to her neck and snuggled into it.
    “Recline the seat. Take a nap. If you’re hungry, there are egg, bacon, and salsa burritos in the bag. Coffee with way too much cream and sugar—just the way you like it—is right here.”
    Instead of looking at the cup he pointed to, Layla kept on looking at him. “Are you okay?”
    He took a sip of his overly hot black coffee. “After last night? I’m better than okay. I haven’t felt this good in years.”
    “Liar.” Her exhale was audible. “What is this going to do to your career, Bri? How much trouble are you going to get into for this?”
    “I’m not worried about it.” Not absolutely true, but mostly so. He’d invested a lot in his job. Shit, he had lost her over it. But that old argument between them had been about his life being on the line. Now, they were talking about hers. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice to keep her safe.
    “I am.”
    “Don’t be.” He glanced at her. “The only thing you need to be concerned with is following my directions.”
    She nodded, but still looked troubled. He wasn’t worried about her making his job harder. She knew the drill and she was an intelligent woman. She might give him a hard time about everything else, but when it came to his job and her safety, she’d do what needed to be done.
    Silence followed, but when he looked at her, she was still watching him.
    “Tell me about your dream last night,” he said.
    She shook her head. “It was morbid.”
    “I don’t care. It might do you good to talk it out.”
    “I doubt it.” Her lashes lowered over her eyes. “Just remember you asked for it.”
    With a sigh, she began. “You died in the car bombing. Everyone died except for me, and I was screaming at your corpse, telling you I’d known it would happen. That I knew you’d leave me behind. I was so mad that out of all people to be the sole survivor, it had to be me.”
    “Jesus,” he breathed, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
    “I’m sure I had that dream because I was so damn happy to see you yesterday. I stepped out of the safe house and saw you and . . .” Her eyes fully closed on a harsh exhale. “I was too happy. You were running toward me and I thought it was for a different reason at first. Then, everything blew up and you hit the ground face-first at my feet. And I couldn’t cry about it, because I was too pissed off at you.”
    Brian rolled his shoulders back, remembering the wounded animal noise she’d made while asleep.
    “As you can see, I have issues,” she muttered, snuggling deeper into the sleeping bag.
    Layla may have been ticked off at him in her dream, but the way she’d externalized her emotions wasn’t with anger. She had reached for him and held on as if she would never let go. Then she’d seduced him. Shredded him. Stripped him down to nothing but his need for her.
    “It’s okay to be pissed off at me, baby,” he said. “I’m pissed off at myself. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.”
    “It was for the best. We were both strong enough to break it off when we needed to.”
    “Stubbornness isn’t strength. It’s fucking stupid. Living miserably without each other is stupid.”
    “Have you been miserable, Bri?” She was looking at him again; he could feel it. “You asked me if I had anyone in my life, but you never said if you did.”
    Glancing at her, he said, “You know better than to ask me that.”
    “Because it’ll just make me jealous? I’ll get over it.” Her face gave nothing away. That was new for her. She’d once been so expressive, so open. But she’d been innocent then and life had dealt her some painful blows.
    “There’s nothing to get over.”
    “Still lovin’ and leavin’ ’em?”
    He caught her gaze and held it. “No.”
    Her lush mouth twisted wryly. “Sorry. Fuckin’ and leavin’ ’em?”
    “No, damn it.”
    “Fine.