“Don’t know. Just heard the nurses talking.” A pause and he shifted, moving against my hip as he leaned toward the door.

I put my ear to the wall, but heard only pipes gurgling. The small closet made for very tight quarters. Warm, too. Much longer in here and we’d be putting our deodorant to the test.

The room already stank—of bleach, as if there was an open container or a small spill—and between the smell and the heat, my head started to spin.

“Hold on,” Jack whispered. Like I was going anywhere.

The soft grate of a doorknob turning. A splinter of light lit Jack’s face. He pressed his cheek against the gap, then pulled back. The light vanished and the door clicked shut.

“Nothing.”

“You get some of Moreland’s hair?” I whispered.

A shake of his head. “Don’t need to. It’s a match.”

“Wha—?” I bit off my near-yelp of surprise.

“That’s why Feds are here. Got a tip. Hair matches Moreland’s DNA.”

“Shit. So it was a plant.”

“Yeah.”

The word tickled my ear. He shifted, and his hand went to my hip for balance. As he breathed, that faint scent of the earlier cigarette wafted over me, and my pulse quickened. I told myself it was the smell of nicotine, but I suspected it had more to do with having a man pressed up against me, hand on my hip, breath against my hair…Like I’ve said, it’d been awhile.

Jack pressed closer as he shifted again, trying to get his balance or get comfortable. I could feel the heat of his fingers through my skirt. He leaned forward, listening, cheek a hairsbreadth from mine. I could smell him—the cigarette plus something faintly spicy: soap or shaving cream. He smelled very…male. When he moved again, his hand slipping on my hip, my imagination followed through where his fingers didn’t: down my skirt, catching the edge—

I jerked upright. “Sounds quiet. We should go.”

“Yeah.” A moment’s pause, then. “Nearest exit—”

“—is a staircase two doors on the other side of the meeting room, leading down to the first floor. There’s an emergency exit right there, but it supposedly triggers an alarm. If possible, it’d be better to cut back across the first floor to the main doors. The only alternate route I see is to head into the basement and cut across to another stairwell.”

A soft chuckle that reverberated along my back. “Good work. Basement’s it, then. Hold on.”

Putting his free hand on my other hip for balance, he opened the door and leaned into it. The sliver of light grew to a handsbreadth. Then he twisted back toward me, mouth lowering to my ear.

“Clear. Wait.”