Sunlight streams through the windows when Shayne wakes me.
“Come on, Li. We have work,” he mutters, shaking my arms.
“Okay,” I mutter.
“Get up,” he sighs, pulling me up into a sitting position.
“Alright, alright,” I say, climbing up from the bed, stretching my arms.
“Leevens paged me,” he says, struggling with his jeans.
“What did he say?” I straighten my jumper and head into the en-suite bathroom to brush my teeth.
“That he had a lead and to get over to the office as quickly as possible,” he yawns.
“Let’s go then,” I say, leading the way out of the house.
“You shouldn’t be walking,” Shayne tells me, frowning as eh catches me up.
“Then carry me,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. He scoops me up into his arms.
“That was me being sarcastic,” I say slowly.
“This is me being serious,” he retorts.
“Please stop carrying me around. I’m not a doll,” I complain. He dumps me into his car and closes my door behind me.
“It’s either me or the wheelchair. Take your pick.”
“I want to walk,” I huff.
“Well you can’t and you need to get used to that,” he says roughly.
“You’re annoying,” I tell him.
“You love me really.” He flashes me such a cute, mischievous grin that my annoyance melts away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stroke my hand over his cheek.
“Ha, I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger,” he says smugly.
“Shut up, Shayne,” I tell him, my annoyance filtering back through.
He bites his lip. “Sorry.”
“Okay.”
“I wonder what lead Leevens has got,” he says, quickly changing the conversation.
“Something good, I hope,” I mutter.
“It must be good or he wouldn’t have called us,” he says.
By the time we get to the office we’ve gotten ourselves pretty worked up.
“What have you got?” I ask Leevens before we’re even through the door.
“You might want to sit down,” he tells me, pushing a computer chair towards me.
“O-K.” I take a seat, back to front on the chair and watch him type away at his computer.
“I, er, I pulled some stuff off of the microdot,” he says.
“What type of stuff?”
“Okay, there’s no way to soften this blow, so brace yourself okay?”
“I’m getting worried now,” I say.
“He’s a drug-lord,” Leevens gushes.
“A what?” I raise my eyebrows.
“The microdot. It has a load of data and information on his clients and crap. They’re known dealers and gang leaders and hit men across the country.” He winces at the look on my face.
