Page 28 of Light on Love
Brett follows her gaze, “I’m fine,” he reassures her.
“How did it happen?” she asks in a whisper.
Brett takes her hand and lowers his shirt back down. He places a kiss in her palm before responding. “It’s a knife wound. I got a few of the guys from a distance, but some got closer than I’d typically allow. I always had it under control though,” he says, leaning in to kiss her.
Laurel purses her lips and pulls back, “and you’re sure we shouldn’t have taken you to get stitches or something?”
“I’ve had worse injuries on operations without access to a medic. I’m okay, I swear.”
He tries to lean in again for another kiss and this time she allows it, his hands wandering up her sides under her sweater. Laurel’s breath hitches and she arches her back as his thumbs sweep along the underside of her breasts. If he’s trying to distract her from worrying about him, it’s working.
“I want to spend all day exploring every inch of you,” he growls, rocking his hips against her. “But… I’m here because Floyd is bringing down the mail from the captain any minute now. And even though I want to lay you across the dining table right now, I don’t really want to give the old man a heart attack.”
Laurel groans, “I think you just enjoy teasing me.”
“Honey, there are a number of ways I’d like to make you feelfullysatisfied.”
“Is that a promise?” she asks as he slides his hands back out of her sweater, a wicked smile on his lips.
“It certainly is.”
—
“When’s the last time you looked up from those files?”
Laurel inclines her head towards Brett but doesn’t stop reading, “when did you and Floyd leave?”
“Hours ago. You need to take a break, for many reasons. But the one I think you’ll hear,” he pauses, “is that you’ll miss something if you’re reading while exhausted.”
Laurel sets the folder down and looks up at Brett, seeing the concern in his eyes. She doesn’t admit that she read the last few sentences multiple times to try to get them to stick. He walks to the refrigerator and opens the freezer drawer, plucking out two frozen pizzas and holding them up in question. Glancing around now she notices the sun is starting to set and she’s hungry, extremely hungry. She nods at the pizza with wide eyes.
“So, what all did he send you?”
“There’s so much here. Personnel files and other ops in the region for everyone involved in Dark Horse. There’s the team that was on the ground, and then like a dozen others related to command and intelligence off site.”
Brett looks over at her after depositing the pizzas in the oven, “you know you don’t have to solve this in a day, right? You spent over a month picking apart the last round of info. And there’s,” his eyes scan the files quickly, “three times as much now.”
Laurel doesn’t answer, she doesn’t tell him about the panic that seizes her when she thinks of someone attacking him. She doesn’t explain her fear that the longer it takes her to find this mole, the more likely they come back, and he puts himself in danger again. She can’t admit she’s more driven by these worries than her original motivations. Instead, she only sighs, the words staying caught in her throat. He doesn’t push the subject and instead disappears into his office.
Brett returns a moment later, laptop in hand. Wordlessly he sits down across from her, sinking into a chair and opening the computer. They work in silence until the oven timer goes off and Brett places pizza in front of her, the smell drawing her attention quickly.
“Any chance you’re ready to call it a night?” he asks after a few bites.
“I just need to find a good stopping point.”
Brett nods, finishing his slice and standing. “Just please get some sleep tonight,” he murmurs as he kisses the top of her head and disappears upstairs.
Laurel sinks down in her chair, wanting nothing more than to run upstairs after him. Solving this means he’s safe. But it also means her reason for being here ends, and she desperate for more time with him.
It’s just after midnight when she drags herself from the reports and heads to bed. At the top of the stairs, she pauses between her bedroom door and Brett’s, listening for any signs he’s awake on the other side. Logically, she knows he’s asleep, having to wake up before the sun in just a few hours. She opens the door to her room and slides inside, exhaustion crashing down on her as soon as she lets her head hit her pillow.
—
Laurel wakes the next morning and dresses in her favorite straight-leg jeans and another cropped knit sweater. This one cozy, soft, and cream colored. She pulls her hair up in a claw clip and grabs a throw blanket off the armchair in the corner of her room before making her way downstairs. Snatching up a handful of files and a coffee, she settles in at the table on the porch. The fall breeze bites her face, and she knows working outside will help her stay alert today.
A few hours pass before she sits back and admires the two new piles starting to form in front of her. The first is information to review again, the other is pieces she can rule out as irrelevant. Laurel feels a swell of pride in the progress before her, dampened only by the reality of what the work means. Every profile she’s ever done has been important to her, but this time it’s personal. She rubs her hand against the pressure growing in her chest and sets her focus on the next file.
Soon, the sounds of boots climbing on the wooden porch stairs fill the air. Her heart patters with excitement, expecting to see Brett. When she looks up though, it’s Gracie.