Page 52 of Surge
The Mal jumped over to her, lay down, his eyes not leaving Garrett.
Time to eat satays and talk LD3 containers.
Surge was on to him.
8
CORE, SINGAPORE
Even after brushingher teeth post-shower, Delaney could still taste the curry from the gently spicy chicken satay. It had been good to shower away the tension of tracking those terrorists and two—two!—containers full of chem vials.
She grinned. Garrett had rewarded Surge with one of his chicken satay skewers. Human food was extremely rare for him, but she’d allowed the treat. That sleek jet-black Mal had proven himself.
Proven her.
She’d even earned a “good job” from Garrett. She was more than an outsider to play nice with, at last. Warmth stirred through her, remembering how Garrett had tackled the rideshare driver, fear and protectiveness in his face . . .
That man was real flesh and blood, not some fairy-tale prince.
A couple of days ago, when he’d sat on the couch with her, her hair brushed up against his biceps. His bright amber eyes gazed into hers. Ribbons had swirled through her belly. He’d been stargazing?
Oh, yeah . . . she’d gazed right back.
They had been stargazing.
It was best to stop that right now. She didn’t have any brain space for it. She looked at her watch. It was time for her to rejoin the team discussion.
She unwrapped the towel around her wet hair?—
“Surge! What did you do?” Garrett yelled.
Delaney took off running into the living room.
Surge sat on a pile of men’s underwear in the center of the room, a pair of boxers hanging from his mouth.
Garrett’s sea bag unzipped in the corner.
Zim waved Surge’s KONG in the air. Caldwell held out a bully stick. Garrett squatted with a liver treat, tapping his legs. All three called, “Surge, come!”
Surge just looked from man to man, acting like a king on his spot on the yellow-and-white geometric throw rug.
Oh men of little Surge skill. Delaney couldn’t hold back a chuckle, but she was smart enough not to pull out her phone to take a picture. Barely.
“Surge, leave it. Come,” she commanded.
He huffed, dropped the underwear, and came over to her.
Walker strode over to stuff the pile into his duffel. “Just got these out of the dryer,” he groaned. “Your dog’s a hot mess.”
“He didn’t destroy your . . . stuff,” she pointed out.
Zim plopped in the black leather armchair, nearly cracking his knee on the coffee table. This was one tight living room. Laughing, he proclaimed, “Surge wants to knock you down a peg, take over as team leader.”
Garrett gave him a fake death glare. “Better him than you, Zim!”
She snorted a laugh. Zim and Caldwell were alternately laughing and snorting.
Garrett laughed, held up a hand. “Time to reel it in, get back to it. I’ll put these in the washer. Back in a mike.” He jogged off to the super-tiny laundry room.