Page 16 of Steel Vengeance

“Omari?” She raised an eyebrow.

He grunted. “Nothing to report. Followed him home after the restaurant, but I had to turn back. Too conspicuous.”

She nodded. Omari’s neighborhood was a no-go zone for strangers. Anyone unfamiliar would stand out immediately.

“So that’s it, then? Nothing to report on either side.”

He got up. “I’m going to give you my number.” He picked up her phone from the table and handed it to her. “Unlock it.”

She held her thumb over the button until the screen lit up. He took it back. Since her bed was little more than a mattress on the floor, she was painfully aware that he could see right down her top, but his eyes stayed on the phone as he typed in his number.

He handed the phone back, and she saved the number underStitch.

“Why do you call yourself Stitch?” she asked softly.

“I was a Navy medic, once upon a time.”

“Navy?” She’d been wrong, he was a sailor, not a soldier. Not that it mattered.

He gave a nod.

“But not anymore?”

He shook his head. “No, not anymore.”

He didn’t look much like a medic. The unruly hair, the grizzly beard, the hard, rugged features. There wasn’t an ounce of softness in him. And then there was his size. Medical professionals didn’t look like that. This guy could pass for a professional wrestler, with his massive frame, rock-hard body and broad shoulders. Even the loose men’s clothing couldn’t hide how muscular he was, his thick thighs filling out the baggy trousers.

Sailor? Yes. Medic? No.

“So, what are you now?” she asked.

He ignored the question. “If you need help, or you get into trouble, call me.”

“Okay.” She set the phone on the bed beside her.

How ironic that this rough, mercenary-like sailor was the closest thing to an ally she had. He was the only one who’d given her a contact number in case of emergencies. Not even Matthew had done that.

She looked up at him—his hard, angular face, his shadowy, towering presence, and those massive arms. One thing was certain: if she ever got into a tight spot, there was no one else she’d rather have on her side.

CHAPTER 8

Stitch felt an almost magnetic pull as she stared up at him, her lips parted like she’d been about to say something but changed her mind. Her pale skin glowed in the dim light, dark hair messy and tangled around her face.

And that damn nightgown.

Jesus.

He’d have to come earlier next time. He couldn’t handle seeing her in that slinky thing, barely covering her, her breasts practically spilling out, nipples hard under the gold fabric. It was screwing with his head.

A few inches forward, and he could kiss her. Feel her soft body melt into his.

Shocked by his own thoughts, he took a step back.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Not far. I’ve got a contact here.”

“Do you know Peshawar well?”