Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

through her mind. Angel . She sighed, enjoying the endearment way too much. She shouldn’t like the pet name at all. It was just a word, nothing special to him. He no doubt called all his—
    Ah…strike that thought. No sense going there. It didn’t matter what he called other women. Rikar’s personal life was just that… personal . In other words? None of her flipping business. But even as she cemented the “he’s not mine” in her mind, the hair on the nape of her neck stood straight up, like a she-lion’s might when another lioness encroaches on her territory.
    Raking a hand through her wet hair, Angela took refuge behind her no-chance-in-hell attitude. She wasn’t at Black Diamond to hook up. All right, so Rikar was gorgeous. So he was gentle, caring, and willing to give her space. None of that mattered. She had a job to do, one that entailed killing a certain Razorback, so, yeah, the whole attraction problem could take a backseat. In another country. Or universe. Wherever…just as long as it stayed the hell away from her.
    Angela nodded. Excellent plan. On to the next issue. Rikar and his disappearing act.
    Freaking guy. She could just picture him, tiptoeing past her and out of the room.
    She’d made it easy for him. Curling up in his spot on the bed while he showered behind a closed door. Using his pillow, burrowing so deep his scent rose from the sheets, enveloping her in a masculine richness that was all Rikar. Allowing the splashing sound of water and the warm quilt to cocoon her until…
    Yeah. Classic rookie mistake.
    She’d taken her eyes off the target. Literally. Allowed them to close instead of keeping them glued to the damned door. Now—courtesy of her additional four hours in la-la land—he was gone. No explanation. No first assignment. No clue about how, when, or where. Just a neatly folded pile of clothes at the end of the bed and an empty room.
    Which she appreciated. Really, she did, even though she wanted to stay pissed off. But as far as gestures went, the tank top, track pants, and Lululemon hoodie was a thoughtful one, particularly since naked wasn’t something she needed to be in a lair full of man-dragons. Add that to the fact the hoodie was her favorite color—a green so dark it reminded her of a forest full of evergreens—and well…Rikar had scored a few points. Enough maybe to get off with a verbal thrashing instead of a smack upside the head with her shiny new Glock.
    Reaching out, Angela turned the shower off. Time to get out. Time for some reconnaissance. Time to help Mac.
    She cranked the door open, stepped out of the shower, and onto the bath mat. Her mind raced as she flipped a towel off the heated wall rack, sorting through the possibilities. Which emergency room had he been taken to…the Seattle General hospital? Swedish Medical? She frowned. Probably the latter. Most cops ended up there when injured in the line of duty or—
    Nope. Not going there. Her partner wasn’t dead. No way. Not Mac.
    Fear for her partner rose fast as she toweled off. The new clothes went on in record time. Finger-combing her hair, she zipped up the hoodie, slipped her feet into a pair of girly-girl flip-flops, and grabbed her Glock. As she headed for the exit, she slid the gun into her waistband, cranked down on the handle and, swinging the door wide—
    Got an earful of baby sounds: soft gurgles of happy cooing.
    Angela frowned as she pivoted toward the bed.
    “Hey, you’re finally out,” a soft voice said. “I thought you’d melted in there.”
    Habit made her slip her hand around the Glock secured against the small of her back a second before she spotted the owner of the voice. Blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, Myst Munroe sat cross-legged in the center of the king-size monstrosity. Serious blue eyes met hers, concern and more in their depths, and Angela cringed. She couldn’t stand the pity or the certain knowledge she saw in Myst’s gaze. Both made it hard to hide: to throw her shoulders back, put on a brave front, and pretend that she was all right.
    She tried anyway, deflecting Myst’s concern. “Hey…are you okay?”
    “That should be my line.” Myst worried her bottom lip as though she had something important to say but couldn’t decide how to say it.
    Angela swallowed. Oh, so not good. She didn’t want to talk about the shipyard. About their capture, attempted escape, or…what had happened to her afterward. The topic wasn’t up for discussion. Not that