In his absence, she was sure to lock the door tightly, to keep the lights low and the curtain drawn. She waited quietly inside for that specific knock of his—two long and three short—after which the peep hole should distort the handsome, reassuring grin of a man who she was now almost certain was there to protect her and to lead her to safety instead of another trap. How could he not? After all their time together, and the way he looked at her and touched her so gently. So lovingly. How could there be anything else but love?

She returned to the bed, sitting next to one of his bags. It smelled of outside—of leather and motorcycle exhaust. It smelled like a man. She’d almost had him in bed with her again. For now, she was even just happy with his things. Gloves, a hat. A smaller bag. An empty gun holster. Their presence alone comforted her and helped pass the time before his return.

She was in no mood for TV. It wasn’t the likelihood of shitty cable that did it, but of her need for quiet. Quiet from their noisy getaway, the wind, the traffic, and the roaring engine beneath her. A quiet that might safely camouflage her in this outdated motel room. Quiet, also, so she could hear his— or anyone else’s—approach to the door.

Occasionally there would be footsteps, a car coming or going. Occasionally she’d hear a voice, an approaching conversation, and the blanket would be squeezed tightly in her little hands until all that remained was the distant droning sounds of the highway.

A knock on her door—rather, the door of the room next to theirs—nearly killed her. It nearly had Laurel reaching around in Matthias’ bags for whatever weapon he’d left behind: 38 Special, taser, sword, hand grenade. Whatever it was, she’d make it work.

So far, aside from his fist-work with her drunk ex-boyfriend, she’d only witnessed Matthias’ skills behind a computer. The hacking he’d been working on . . . It was impressive. And sexy. She was surprised and glad that he’d had such an arsenal upstairs. And downstairs, too, his skills behind closed doors . . . Hell yes he was skilled. And hell yes he was hers, Matthias, the type of man she’d been waiting for. A man so multifaceted, well rounded, and so fucking hot that she’d almost found it difficult to comprehend. Difficult to believe.

Was he real?

Could a man like that really exist?

And if so, how long would it take him to park his fucking bike and come back to her?

Would he return to the motel at all?

Would he return alone and not with someone like Geffen or Mr. Smedley, or whoever had been doing all the wet work back in Atlanta?

Jesus Christ, she was fucking losing it. Maybe she should turn on the TV. Or at least waste some time on her phone. She had been ignoring it and the outside world for almost a full day.

Laurel first checked her pocket for a scrap of paper the front desk clerk had given her, finding and unfolding it to read the ingenious Wi-Fi password of Guest. Then she searched for her phone, patting her pockets and purse for it, until the ringtone alerted her of both its location and an incoming text. She quickly found it under Matthias’ bag, hoping the message was an update from him and not a concerned question from anyone else in her life.

But when she saw the screen, it was neither.

It also didn’t make any sense.

It was a text message from someone named Jackson. Who the hell was Jackson?

Where the hell are you?

And before that: We’ve agreed that Laurel is problematic, but if you’re doing what I think you’re doing with her, then we need to talk a lot fucking sooner than ‘tonight.’

A sharp pain bloomed in her chest, just behind her ribs, her lung, or maybe her heart, something ripping there. It stabbed into her as she took a breath, and as she steadied and talked herself into scrolling up the screen to see what more this painful conversation had to offer.

She had clearly found Matthias’ phone, which was the same type and protected in the same protective black matte case as hers. Matt’s matte helmet and now his matte phone and this horrible conversation he’d been having about her.

Problematic?

It was the type of word evil people might use for their future “suicide” victims. It was how Abe Hudson and Pat were most likely described in some dim, smoke-filled back room. It was the mark of death for them. And now that mark was hers, too.

Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was.

Problematic.

It was hard to move the screen correctly, her thumb not moving properly, until a knock at the door made the phone shoot out of her hands like a frantic, freed dove.

Knock, knock, knock-knock-knock.

At first she couldn’t move.

Why?

What?

What was she supposed to do?

Stay quiet?

What was their plan?

She tried to remember what their plan might have been, a plan she’d agreed to before finding this discussion. But while she sat there, a room key card slid in and out of the door, the lock clicked, and then the door opened as far as the bar latch would allow. A two-inch gap through which Matthias said, “Laurel? It’s me.”

“Hi, Matthias,” she said, forcing her voice to stay calm.

“Yeah, can you let me in?”

She slid off the bed and walked slowly to the door, picking up his phone on her way there.

“Can you please hurry? I feel kinda exposed out here.”

Laurel made her way to the door and leaned against the wall to look through the door crack. Of “You were kinda exposed in here, too.”

“What?”

“You have my phone, right?”

“Yeah, I grabbed it by accident. Open the door.”

“We have the same phone case. Weird, huh?”

“Open the door.”

She closed the door and unlatched the bar. And then opened it.

“What are you doing?” Matthias stepped in and flicked on the light. He wore a sour expression over his once-handsome face. “What’s going on?”

A twinge of guilt ran through her at how quickly she’d come to the conclusion again that he was not to be trusted. “I saw something I probably wasn’t meant to.”

“Okay. What?”

“A text. From someone named Jackson.” She handed him his phone and walked away. “It’s been a fucking long day, and so before I lose it, I should probably just shut up and let you explain it.”

Matthias looked down at his screen, swiping through, and then sighing. In his other hand was a brown paper bag.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Wine,” he said even more sourly.

Fuck.

Matthias took another deep breath, still reading through his texts. It felt like she hadn’t seen him in hours, though it had probably only been twenty minutes.

“It scared me.” She returned to the bed, sitting. “Can you explain it? Who’s Jackson and what the hell are you guys talking about?”

“Jackson’s my boss,” he said, finally putting the phone away, and then finally looking at her. “You know what that’s like, right? Having to deal with a boss?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being questioned. Having to explain things. Having to take risks for what you believe in, even if he doesn’t.”

“Matt . . . Just tell me.”

“I believe in you.”

She could feel it. Despite maybe not knowing what he was talking about, and what he and his boss were talking about, she could still feel it. She believed in him, too.

“He still thinks you’re a suspect.” Matthias slipped off his jacket on the way to the table-side window. He hung it over the chair and then dropped the bottle with a sad little thud. “I tried explaining it to him, but he needs more. I haven’t had a chance to send him my files. He’s got his own investigation, him and Tansy, looking into you and Sentry. But the important thing, no matter who gets there first, it’s going to be to the same conclusion that you’re innocent. And that you need help.” He started walking toward the bed. “We were arguing about it. About you. It’s no big deal.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. “Matt, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it looked weird.”

He stood close enough to her, within arm’s reach. So she moved in for him, holding his hands, bringing him close enough so she could wrap her arms around him. “I’m just scared,” she said into his shirt, into his abs.

“You don’t have to be scared for much longer. Once I convince Jackson, or once he convinces himself, things will get a lot easier. I promise they will.”

“I know.”

“You’ll be a witness. And we work damn hard to protect our witnesses.”

“I know.” She nuzzled in deeper. “You’ve been working so hard.” Laurel took another deep breath of him. She got his body, now. His musk. A need inside her grew, a need for more deep inside.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

She pulled her face back away from him, looking up his body, his chest, his face. He smiled at her. A little smile. When it went away, his face still held that sureness, the confidence that everything would indeed be alright. Despite Caitlyn, and Sentry, the crooked cops and whoever was probably looking for her at that very moment. At that moment, any worries she had about any of it just slipped away. She believed in Matthias and the safety he’d promised and already provided. And now she wanted to repay him, at least a little bit. Just a little, with her fingers crawling underneath his shirt and up over his smooth stomach, his abs flexing, his body still warm from his walk back to the motel. She wanted to be nice to him. Very nice. She wanted his pants off, and quickly, her hands already there and doing the work, sloppy and rough, unfastening and then tugging everything down so that his hot erection sprang free, just where she’d wanted it. She bent down and sucked him into her mouth, his hard, pulsating cock gliding deep along the top of her tongue. She took him in and swallowed his taste, his wonderful smell, swallowing, consuming. She sucked him like that, hungrily wanting him, devouring until she felt his legs quivering. And then a new taste. A slippery and salty taste, pre-cum spilling slowly as she pulled back, teasing the sensitive underside of the head with her tongue.

“Oh my God . . . Laurel . . .”

She sucked harder, up and down over the ridge of his head, his erection strengthening in her mouth.

“. . . feels . . . so good.”

His words sounded distant and slurred. His body swayed with her work, his whole strong body, controlled by her now.

“. . . mmm . . . ah, yeah . . .”

When she left him, her suction at the tip of his cock made a quiet, satisfying pop. Her hand replaced her mouth, tugging over the wet and hard girth of him, controlling him more forcefully now as she stood up in front of him, kissing him. He didn’t protest as she spun him around and then pushed him over the bed until he tripped backward onto it. She stripped for him there, before him and the bed, leaving every article of clothing by her ankles before tugging his pants completely off and then climbing aboard, onto the solid muscled mass of his body. A beautiful and toned body that, until only days ago, she had only experienced on the covers of steamy romance novels. But there he was, in the hot and sticky flesh. Matt stripped off his shirt, exposing more of his body to her hungry eyes. Exposing it to her tongue, Laurel tasting him, licking from his belly button to between the pecs, and then kissing his flat nipple, biting like he’d done to hers. He laughed and squirmed under her, trying to flip her underneath him, but she resisted, holding and pinning him down like a wrestler, his cock rubbing along her thigh. It was still hard and wet from her mouth. She wanted to wet it again. She needed to, her core aching and hollow without him. She wiggled down until she reached the perfect height, the perfect spot, his perfect cock sliding inside her swollen wetness. Without thought, he slipped inside her. Without any of the turmoil beyond their motel room door. Just here, Matthias inside and throbbing into her, just now. Together.