Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) by Stella Barcelona

Author:Stella Barcelona [Barcelona, Stella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

The blustering shitstorm that was Zeus’s Thursday had started the minute he called Sam a coward, made the asinine comment about what she might feel when she masturbated, and drizzled darkness down from there.

After the ominously quiet slam of his bedroom door 0445, he turned off the lamp, but couldn’t sleep. That was a problem, because he damn well needed sleep. At least three or four hours when on a high stress job, and every few nights he needed more.

She’s only having sex with me because I’m good at it?

Could be both a compliment and an insult, but given the tone and words she’d used, he knew her intent, and it pissed him off to no end. Hence his ill-advised masturbation comment.

At 0545, he turned over one last time, face down in a too soft pillow that still held faint traces of her sweet perfume, and gave up. A quick shower, and he was walking into the library at 0610.

Sam was already there.

Good.

He was perversely grateful she hadn’t slept either. He hoped she was as unsettled as he by the parting after-sex fire volleys they’d thrown at each other.

He studied her face. Nope. Ice queen doesn’t seem fazed at all.

She was in the library for work and focused on it. Hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, glasses on, and wearing socks, exercise leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt, she sat at a table with Abe and Charles, immersed in an early morning meeting. She barely acknowledged that he’d walked into the library.

A fire crackled in the fireplace. Agents glanced up briefly to acknowledge his presence, then went back to working quietly on their laptops.

Zeus opened his own laptop and started clicking through email, answering those he could and forwarding some to Sebastian for his attention. For the next couple of hours, he and Sam acted as professionals, as though nothing but the Amicus Team/Black Raven job existed between them. Everyone worked in complete silence. Only the sound of padded footsteps crossing the plush carpet to pour more coffee, the click click click of fingers at keyboards, and the occasional rustle of papers broke the snap, crackle, and pop of the fire.

When he was on his third cup of black coffee, Zeus couldn’t resist sending her a private instant message. We should talk at some point this morning. Without verbal cheap shots.

Her reply came quick, without even a glance in his direction, as she worked at the other table. No.

He zinged another message to her. Won’t stop asking.

Answer won’t change.

If he were the type to get irritated, he’d be pissed off. Officially. And, truth be told, he was getting pissed off. Irrationally, he was pissed off at her, at the world, at Maximov. At Samuel Dixon for hiring him to do the job. At whichever politician—even President Cameron—had dreamed up the idea of this clusterfuck of ITT proceedings in the first place. Most of all, and not irrationally, he was pissed off at himself, for being in this situation.

Should have said no to the hiring call.

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