“I imagined a lot of things, but you punching Giselle wasn’t on the list of possibilities. Also, I can’t believe you had our daughter in a sling the whole time or how she slept through it all.”
The tea was hot, fragrant, and perfectly sweetened. Did he remember how she liked it, or was he just lucky? Her first sip ended with a sigh. The second sip transported her to a calmer place.
“Yes, well, the witch was going to shoot you, and I just reacted.” She shrugged off her act of great daring as though it didn’t matter. “As for the baby, she likes the sling, and is used to activity. I tend to move a lot.”
“You jumped in front of a loaded gun. Remember me whining about feeling emasculated when you paid for our date? Well, times that by a million,” he drawled with cheeky conceit. His voice was deep and velvety. “And about your love of activity, the way you dance and move is etched on my brain.”
Quickly glancing away, she fussed with the tea, her hair, a string hanging off the hem of her shirt—anything not to look at him.
His soft snicker made her toes curl. “Is it so hard to look at me?”
Arrogant as a standalone description had plenty of uses. Cocky arrogance took it to an eleven and perfectly described the man staring her down. She clenched her jaw. The gleam in his blue eyes made her want to scream, so it was no wonder she made a verbal attempt to kick him in the shins.
“And who is doing the asking? Hmm? Arnie? Darnell? Agent Wanamaker?”
Thinking she had him by the short hairs, Summer expected a contrite answer followed by a lengthy explanation.
“Actually, babe, it’s special agent but only when the Bureau is yanking my leash.”
She blinked. When he didn’t continue, she scowled to make her displeasure abundantly clear.
“May I sit?” he asked with a pointed nod at the empty space beside her.
He got bonus points for asking rather than assuming it was okay. She waved her permission. When he sat, she had to give her inner bad girl a harsh scolding for urging her to jump on him like a carousel pony and go for a ride.
Sniffing away her stupidity, she got grumpy and demanded he start talking. “Explain the name game, please. Who exactly am I speaking to?”
He grinned. She chomped on the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting to the devilish smirk.
Taking out his wallet, he picked out a card and handed it to her. It was his New York driver’s license.
“Legal name. Darnell Templeton Wanamaker the third.”
She studied the picture, memorized the address in case he disappeared again, and handed it back.
“Is Arnie a nickname?”
“No,” he answered far too quickly.
She sat back, a little stunned by the vehemence in his voice, and raised her brows.
He reacted to her astonishment. “Sorry. Let me rephrase, okay?”
Nodding, she tried to read between the lines by watching and carefully listening.
“According to my father, there was never any doubt what name his firstborn son would have. My grandfather, his dad, is Darnell Senior. My dad is junior, but he goes by Ned. My mother was a good-natured realist and went along with the family tradition. The first time she held me, though, she called me Arnie.”
His shrug was not indifferent—it was an indicator of deep feelings.
“We only had a few days together, and through it all, she only called me Arnie. When she was gone, Dad shut down. He wouldn’t allow anyone except a rare few who loved my mother to use the name.”
“Ah, this explains why your stepmother called you Darnell.”
“Yes. Exactly,” he somberly concurred. “Over time, once I was old enough to have input, it became the name I used with friends. Is it a professional pseudonym? Depends on the timeframe. The government has a thing about name and rank, but NIGHTWIND doesn’t give a shit what I call myself. You have no idea how sorry I am for the name roulette confusion.”
“The hotel had no idea who Arnie Templeton was.”
“I heard you tell the detective.” He cringed. “And my security designation prevented your friends and brother from digging.”
“You knew?”
“Only recently. And before you say anything else, I should tell you I’ve spoken with Reed.”
She jerked with surprise. “What? My brother?”
“The very same. Captain Reed Warren.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“Why?” It was difficult to fathom what he was saying.
“It was the right thing to do. I wanted him to hear what happened from me.