Chapter 37 · Ward and Rourke on One Channel

"Don't touch my board."

Dean's hand stopped an inch above the console.

Not because I had a gun on him. He had already knocked that out of my grip and shoved it under the lower panel. Not because I had any room left to threaten him. My back was against the steel cabinet, his body between my knees, and the Faraday seal had turned the bunker into a pressure cooker.

His palm stayed flat beside my head.

"You froze the city," he said. "You didn't stop the second authorization."

"I bought ten seconds."

"You bought ten seconds with every emergency channel in the county screaming at once."

"And you're welcome."

His mouth tightened. The cut under his collar had opened again, a dark line against his skin. I could smell blood through the dead suppressants. Cedar, leather, heat. Too much of him in air that already felt thin.

My fingers shook over the keyboard.

Dean saw it. Of course he did.

"Your dose is gone."

"Your observation skills are adorable."

"Don't joke."

"Then stop standing on my lungs."

He leaned closer instead. His breath struck my mouth, hot and rough. Bone met bone when I drove my forehead into his. The impact snapped his head back, but his grip caught my wrist before I could reach the console.

"Ward."

"Rourke."