Objekt 825 (Tracie Tanner Thrillers Book 9)

all night, or do you think the neighbors have gotten enough gossip material to keep them busy for the next few weeks?”
Tracie laughed. “Who cares about them?”
She pushed out of Marshall’s arms and then stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. Before it ended she found herself pressed into his body again as if trying to mold her small form into his much larger one.
“This is heaven,” she mumbled, and it was his turn to laugh.
“You won’t get any argument from me,” he answered, holding her even more tightly.
After a period of time that was simultaneously everlong and instantaneous, she said, “I suppose I should probably invite you in, since you went to the trouble of coming all the way over here and interrupting me while I was in the middle of accomplishing a bunch of important stuff.”
He snorted. “Thanks for clearing your busy schedule for me. Now, not only am I going to come in, I expect you to make me a drink.”
They finally moved inside, and Tracie eased the door closed. She stared at his retreating form as he moved into the living room, remaining inside the small foyer while he lowered himself onto her couch. She realized she was standing unmoving, with a loopy smile on her face, and decided he probably thought she’d suffered brain damage in her car wreck.
That thought reminded her of the shaved side of her head, and the ugly stitches that were going to leave an even uglier scar, and without thinking she turned to face the front door, reflexively removing the damaged side of her head from Marshall’s line of sight.
She’d never been vain, had certainly never given a second thought to anyone else’s opinion of her looks. Or her personality, for that matter. But right now, it felt critically important Marshall not see her in her current condition. The physical damage represented a vulnerability she did not want to reveal.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.
She tossed a sidelong glance across the room and saw Marshall watching her, arms folded, a fond smile on his face.
“You look beautiful,” he said, speaking slowly, drawing the words out. “Good enough to eat.”
Her hand flew to the side of her head, almost of its own volition, and she cursed inwardly and lowered it to her side.
Then she shook her head. “Well, I know that’s not true.”
“I love the new hairstyle, too,” he said, ignoring her words. “I didn’t think it would be possible for you to look any cuter, but you’ve managed to pull it off.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Marshall. I know you got a good look at the side of my head when I opened the door.”
“I did.”
“Well, there you go.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I can think of a million descriptions for the mess that is the right side of my skull, but ‘cute’ wouldn’t be included in any of them, and ‘beautiful’ wouldn’t even reside in the same zip code.”
“So you presume to know what I find attractive then?” Marshall’s Louisiana drawl always did something to Tracie, and she found her insides slowly melting. Still, she’d studied her injury in the mirror and knew just how hideous it looked.
“Well,” she said, “I think it’s safe to say only Dr. Frankenstein would find this attractive.” She whirled and pointed at her shaved skull.
He smiled again and shook his head. “Did you know you’re one of the most intelligent and intuitive people I’ve ever met?”
Tracie blinked. “Uh…thank you, I guess. But what the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Just this: for such a sharp cookie, you sure can be dumb sometimes.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” he said, standing and moving next to her, “that this little area,” he indicated her shaved head, “represents no more than the tiniest portion of you. And we’re just talking about the physical portion. The young lady I care about is so much more than this little area.” He traced his index finger lightly in a circle around the sutures, being careful not to touch them.
She started to answer and he shushed her, moving his finger to her lips. “I’m not finished,” he said gently. “You’re so much more than one side of your head. This injury is irrelevant to my feelings for you, and if you think otherwise, you’re being extremely unfair to me.”
There was that drawl again, doing its thing to her insides.
And he was right, of course. Tracie felt the tears gathering in her eyes. How could a physical presence as massive as Marshall possibly be so…gentle? That paradox was one of the things she loved about Marshall Fulton, even though she knew she would never quite understand it.
“And there’s something else,” he continued.
“Of course there is,” she mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.
“Whether there’s a scar there or not doesn’t matter, because before long that magnificent hair will grow back out and cover it, and no one will ever have to know about it unless you choose to tell them. Your problem is that you’re too damned impatient for your own good.”
“Thanks for pointing out my problems,” she said, scuffing at the worn carpet with the toe of her shoe.
“Now, now, no need to thank me. It’s all part of the service.” He laughed and began backing up, knowing what was coming.
Tracie punched his arm as his calves struck the couch and sent him tumbling onto the cushions. Then she leapt into his lap and kissed his forehead before saying, “So you acknowledge it, then.”
“Acknowledge what?” he said warily.
“That I’m the most intelligent and intuitive person you’ve ever met. You said it, there’s no taking it back now.”
“I said one of the most intelligent and intuitive people. One of. I’m not that discerning, so it’s actually quite a large subset.”