Pivoting on her heels, she snorted, mumbling something he could have sworn sounded like “pigheaded men.”
He turned away and tried not to listen to the sound of rustling sheets. Good God, how long would it take the woman to find a comfortable spot? A second before his sanity snapped, the sounds quieted.
“Good night, Hank.”
Her voice carried across the room with an unmistakable intimacy.
He cleared his throat and forced words free. “G’night, Ginger.”
He tapped keys on his BlackBerry and lucked into a solid Internet connection. At least he could do some research on the two terrorist groups that had made the death threats. Was there a significance in the date, this season of unity and hope?
Or was he chasing shadows? He’d been so certain there had been gunshots coming at them from within the protective detail. Everything had happened so quickly, he hadn’t recognized each of the faces well enough to know if the shooters were from local forces or their own. He could have sworn at least two of the people who should have been protecting Ginger had been aiming at her.
Hank kept tapping through his Internet search, fruitless though it might be, but at least he was doing something. Inaction wasn’t an option.
Especially once those sheets started rustling again. And again.
He glanced over his shoulder. Ginger thrashed in her sleep. Her feet kicked at the covers as a low moan slipped from her lips.
Hell. No question, this day was the stuff nightmares were made of.
Hank holstered his BlackBerry and shoved to his feet. Four long strides took to him to her side.
“Ginger,” he said softly, cupping her shoulder in a careful hand, not wanting to startle her awake. “Ginger, honey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
Her eyes stayed tightly shut, another moan slipping free. Apparently the nightmare had deep talons. He knew the sort well from years of combat.
Waking her wouldn’t help. She would only remember the horrors all the more vividly. If he could soothe her back into a deep and peaceful sleep, with luck she wouldn’t remember the terror come morning.
He hadn’t been able to take her to safety yet, but he would give her a serene night’s rest. He could help her ease the tight grip of her manicured hands on the sheets. Hank couldn’t help but stare at her bare ring finger where Benjamin’s family diamond set had once rested. Now she only wore a simple band on her right hand, a ring with her children’s birthstones.
Right now he would sacrifice anything to lie there with her. His want warred with his need to continue researching on the Internet, hoping to luck in to some answer.
Ultimately though, as she thrashed from side to side, her comfort was too damn important to him.
Mission set, he stretched slowly beside her, his back against the headboard. He slid an arm along Ginger’s shoulders and sure enough, she curled against him with a sigh and stopped kicking. He couldn’t ignore how right it felt to hold her there, her soft cheek on his chest, her breath against his neck.>Why did he keep thinking of his dead wife today? It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about her. But as the years went by, he found he could make it through days, then weeks without thinking of her. She would always be a part of his past and a part of him, but his life had gone on.
A week ago, he simply would have turned to Ginger and asked her something about Benjamin, worked the conversation around to how she dealt with it all. Ginger had always been someone he could talk to.
Just ask her, damn it.
Except suddenly the snow parted in a swirl and his chalet appeared, a holiday fresco painted on the outside. The gabled inn was small and snow-covered and welcome as hell.
Ginger shifted in the leather seat next to him, her exhale rattling along with the engine shutting off. “Not exactly how I planned to spend my Christmas week.”
He eyed the chalet where he would be sharing a room with his best friend, his hot best friend.
“Don’t give up on Christmas yet. With luck we’ll only have to hide for one night.”
This big fluffy robe sure didn’t hide as much as she’d like.
Ginger stood in the bathroom doorway, gripping the tie around her waist. It certainly was a long sprint from here to the sleigh bed where she could dive under the plump comforter to wait for her underwear to dry. Oh, but the bed looked inviting and warm where she could sleep with the sound of the fire snapping, the smell of the evergreen garland decorations reminding her of home as she drifted off…
Except Hank sat on the edge of the bed. All six foot three inches of him taking up most of the mattress, his BlackBerry held in his hands as he typed away, oblivious to her.
Wait.
His BlackBerry!