When Misha raised his head again, though, any speculation about what-the-devil he’d been up to while Riley had been out cold withered under the man’s gaze, sharp and so intense Riley’s pulse sped up considerably.

“How’s your head?”

The honest answer would’ve been “itchy,” because McClane was inching around in his skull, taking away the remains of Riley’s headache, making sure everything was in working order in there. Judging from the alien’s muttering, there had been damage, but nothing McClane couldn’t repair.

“It’s fine.” Riley realized he’d relaxed his stance a little, put at ease by Misha’s carefully non-threatening demeanor. It also finally registered that he was naked and half-hard. It was the latter observation that made him step back, away from the killer sitting so calmly on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Misha licked the blood off his lip and scowled. “Getting slugged for saving your ass,” he grumbled, but there was no heat in his voice. He was damn near devouring Riley with his eyes, fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch, his pants tented suspiciously, but he stayed where he was when he added quietly, “I missed you.”

That was the last thing Riley had expected. He blinked, struggled to process, and failed. It didn’t make sense. Riley was a witness, a liability.

“What?”

“I missed you,” Misha repeated, something soft and yearning in his gaze that hit Riley like a punch. It looked so real. Wasn’t, couldn’t be, but for a moment, Riley almost believed it. Then Misha added, “You didn’t have to run. I wouldn’t have hurt you,” and that was such an outrageous lie Riley nearly choked on it.

The urge was strong to give in to the devil on his shoulder (and the one wrapped around his bones) and kick Misha after all, but in the end Riley couldn’t bring himself to add to the blood he’d already spilled. He’d never taken pleasure in hurting other people, and the idea of hitting Misha when he wasn’t about to fight back made him feel sick, especially knowing that with McClane’s enthusiastic assistance it’d be way too easy to shatter Misha’s skull. He took a step back, trying to distance himself from the man and the hurt.

“What do you want from me?”

If he had it, he’d give it to Misha, whatever it was. Anything to get the bastard off his back. With everything that was currently going down in his life, Riley simply couldn’t afford to fight on yet another front. His cynical

attitude toward people and relationships had been reaffirmed; no reason to prolong the experience.

“Is it your bag? Take it, it’s in my truck.”

“You kept it.” Misha sounded much too pleased about that, but waved it off before Riley could come up with a good explanation. “Forget it. It’s not about the damn bag. It never was about the damn bag or the damn—

May I get up?”