a deep breath, she tried to get a grip on her out-of-control hormones. She was wet between the legs, as she was most of the time when Walker went all alpha male on her. As much as she wanted his hands on her, she had a feeling if she could just wait until he was ready, he’d make it more than worth her while.
Chapter Eleven
As much as Trigger had enjoyed waking up with Gillian in his arms—she’d refused to go to her bed, opting to stay with him on the couch the night before—he knew they had shit they needed to get done. He had to get her up, get some coffee in her, and get her to the courthouse downtown to meet with the DEA and FBI.
They’d talked about it a little last night, and he knew Gillian still had no idea in her own mind who the seventh hijacker might be. She was leaning toward it being Leyton, but his actions could be explained away by shock over what was happening. She was nervous about the interrogation she was sure she was going to be put through, even though Trigger had tried to tell her it was just a meeting, not an interrogation.
He wouldn’t be allowed in the room, even with his level of security clearance; this wasn’t his investigation. It was frustrating, but he hadn’t expected anything different. The only thing he could do was try to take as much of the stress off Gillian as possible.
She was quiet that morning, and it wasn’t normal. He’d spent enough mornings with her now to know that she was naturally chatty and didn’t shy away from talking about whatever came to mind after they woke up. But this morning, she wasn’t her usual lively self.
Hating that she was worrying about the meeting, but not able to do much about it, Trigger simply held her hand as he drove them into downtown Austin. Traffic sucked, as usual, but because they’d left plenty early, neither of them were stressing about it.
After he’d parked in a garage near the courthouse, he turned to Gillian. “You holding up okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I just…I keep trying to figure out who could’ve been in on it. And it seems impossible that anyone could’ve been in cahoots with those killers. Everyone I saw was crying or acting like zombies because of shock over what was happening. Even the men. Okay, they weren’t crying, but it was obvious they weren’t happy. They were the ones who had to throw the first-class passengers’ bodies out the hatch when we first landed in Venezuela, and it was just awful. It’s hard to believe that anyone was that good of an actor. Maybe Brain and the other officials translated the conversation between the other hijackers wrong? Maybe there isn’t someone else involved?”
Trigger wanted to agree with her, but he couldn’t. He shook his head sadly. “There was no mistaking what they said, Gilly.”
“I hate this,” she whispered.
Without a word, Trigger let go of her hand and climbed out of his car. He quickly walked around to her door, opened it, and, instead of helping her out, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She melted into his chest, holding on to him with more desperation than he’d felt in her since he’d first taken her in his arms on the tarmac in Venezuela.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured.
“I know,” she replied.
Trigger gave her another few moments, then pulled back and put his hands on her shoulders. “Your job is not to figure out who the bad guy is here. All you need to do is tell the investigators everything you can remember. Don’t analyze anyone’s actions. They’ll take your information and compare it to the data they’ve dug up from the other hostage interviews, and hopefully come to a conclusion. It is not your responsibility to tell them who you think the seventh hijacker is. They’re the experts, not you. Understand?”
Gillian took a deep breath, then nodded. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
Trigger leaned forward and kissed her gently, then said, “Good. Ready?”
“Ready,” she said in a stronger voice.
He couldn’t not be proud of her. She hopped out of his Blazer and he locked it as they walked hand in hand out of the garage toward the courthouse.
Gillian sat in the chair the DEA investigator gestured to and wiped her sweaty palms on her khaki slacks. She tried not to live her life