need paper.” Urgency colored her words, and her tension clawed his spine.
He shook his head. “No paper, honey.”
She growled—it really sounded like a growl—and looked frantically around. “Pen or pencil. Anybody?” Her voice rose shrilly.
Ronan looked around from the pilot seat, reached in his rear pocket, and threw back a partially chewed black marker.
Faith looked around again and zeroed in on Grace. “I need your shirt.”
Grace glanced down at her white T-shirt, her eyes wide. “Huh?”
Promise grabbed the bottom of Ivar’s shirt and yanked hard enough that he ducked to give it up. She tossed it at Grace. “Put this on.”
Adare was sitting next to Grace, his eyebrows raised. Without a word, he partially turned to block his mate. Her shirt soon sailed over his head, and Promise grabbed it, her body vibrating. She dropped to the floor, flattened the shirt, and started diagramming equations. “Yes, that’s it,” she said, her shoulders still shaking.
Faith leaned over to watch her. “Fascinating. I wish I could stick her in an MRI machine right now.”
Promise drew out complicated equations, but Ivar thought he recognized a couple pertaining to string theory. But then she went far afield, writing quickly, mumbling to herself as she worked.
Man, she was impressive. Cute and fascinating. Now that they were safe, somewhat, he sat back and enjoyed just watching her mind at work.
“No—no.” She scratched out part of the equation, digging deep with the marker. “Damn it.” She moved to the side of the shirt, her pen working so fast it caught on the cotton several times. “That’s it,” she muttered, making what looked like a checkmark. Then numbers started appearing along with parentheses and more.
Faith scratched her head and looked toward Ivar, who shrugged. It was new math to him.
A gust of wind battered the helicopter, and Promise fell over. He slid down the bench, grasped her shoulders, and put her between his knees. Then he spread out the shirt in front of her and placed his boots at the very edges of the cotton to hold it in place.
“Thanks.” She leaned forward, her shoulders protected by his calves, and kept diagraming.
They landed with a soft bump, and he scooped her up, T-shirt and all. She protested, but he ignored her. Ducking his head over hers, he protected her from the rain and ran inside the demon headquarters, straight for the room where he’d had her whiteboards moved from the cabin. A row of computers on a wide desk took up one wall of the room.
Her sigh was one of relief as she jumped down and leaped for the nearest marker.
Faith stood to Ivar’s side and shook out her long auburn hair. “Man, I want a look inside her head.”
“Doesn’t look very comfortable,” Ronan said, putting his arm around his mate’s shoulders. “Faith? You wanna get that button camera from her?”
“Nope,” Faith said.
“I’ve got it.” Ivar angled around a desk and reached his mate, flipping the camera free while she continued to write furiously on the whiteboard. He tossed it to Ronan, who caught it easily. “Get those downloaded, please. I’d like a printed picture of the woman.”
“Why?” Ronan asked.
Ivar turned and studied the equations. “Something tells me we’re going to be able to visit your brother soon.” It had to be Quade she’d painted.
Promise paused, and they all turned to look at her. She partially pivoted. “Faith? I need the results of the MRIs. All of them.”
Faith nodded and hustled for one of the computers, typing quickly. A printer soon shot out reams of paper.
Promise leaped for them, throwing several on the floor. “There it is,” she muttered, taking one sheet back to the board to start formulating equations again.
Ronan shook his head slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Faith pursed her lips. “Agreed. She might be here for a while. You guys want to grab something to eat? I’m starving.”
Promise made a frustrated sound that had them all pausing again. She fumbled behind herself for a yellow marker, rushed to a far board, and diagrammed something with Hope Kayrs-Kyllwood’s name on top. “Later. Get to this later,” Promise muttered, throwing the yellow marker over her shoulder and returning to the main board and her black marker.
Ivar leaned back against the wall, bemused.
“Food?” Ronan asked, his gaze remaining on Promise.
“You guys go ahead,” Ivar returned. “I want to watch this.” He couldn’t look away. The idea that he’d have to leave her soon hurt somewhere he hadn’t realized existed. Even if she didn’t realize he was there,