A second later, my phone chimed.

Why would I do that? It’s getting you hot.

What? I turned and stabbed him with an appalled expression, then typed back, my fingers flying over the keyboard:

Wrong kind of hot, mister. This kind of hot leaves bodies in its wake. It takes no prisoners. It’s very… testy.

“The minute you try to get married,” Jessica continued, her rant a never-ending drone of threats and complaints, kind of like I imagined the life of an IRS agent might be, “I will rip your dress to shreds the night before your wedding day and, and —”

Reyes was apparently getting hot as well. He offered me a quick wink, his ridiculously long lashes making his mocha eyes sparkle in the early morning sun, then tossed a deadly glare over his shoulder. Jessica’s eyes widened at his unprecedented attention, and the yapping stopped immediately. Deciding to pout in silence, she let her fiery red hair fall over her shoulders as she crossed her arms at her chest and stared out the window.

With a satisfied smile, I typed,

I owe you.

I know.

Do you take payments?

I have several installment plans. We can hammer out the details when we get home.

My insides jumped in delight. Gawd, it was hard to stay mad at him.

Deal.

“So, where are you from?” Agent Carson asked Reyes. “Originally?”

I whirled around to face him again, this time pinning him with a warning glare. Carson was an FBI agent, but I was all about stealth. Surely she wouldn’t pick up on my silent threat.

He studied my mouth, not the least bit worried about my warning glare, then said at last, “Here and there.”

I relaxed against the seatback. He didn’t say hell. Thank God he didn’t say hell. It was always hard to explain to friends how, exactly, one’s fiancé was born and raised in the eternal flames of damnation. How his father was, in fact, public enemy number one. And how he’d escaped from hell and was born on earth as a human to be with his true love. As romantic as it all sounded, it was difficult to articulate without garnering a visit from men with butterfly nets.

“You been in Albuquerque long?” she asked him.

Now she was fishing. She knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He’d been something of a local celebrity when the state released him from prison for killing the man who’d raised him – raised being an insanely generous term. They’d really had no choice when said man showed up alive and well-ish. Reyes did have to sever his spine, but he was still living and breathing. Through a tube! That was the best part. Still, all the news reports about Reyes’s wrongful conviction were making him pretty popular. Not quite so popular as Heisenberg and Pinkman, but one could hope.

“As long as I can remember,” he said in answer to her question.

“He bought Dad’s bar and grill,” I told her, changing the subject.

“I heard that,” she said. She’d done her homework. She probably knew his shoe size and how he took his coffee.

Coffee.

I started drooling at the thought. It had been several hours since I last had a cup. I’d read a couple of days ago that caffeine was bad for little budding babies and had to psych myself up to quit. I was not going to make it. No way. Nohow. It just would not happen.

“So, you’re adjusting?” she asked Reyes, referring to his life on the outside.

“How about AC?” I asked her, changing the subject again. I’d felt Reyes tense with her prying questions, but she was honestly just curious. Surely he felt that as clearly as I did. Then again, we hadn’t had the greatest morning. Probably best not to push.

“What?” she asked.

“Your name. Special Agent Carson is rather impersonal, considering all that we’ve been through, don’t you think? And you’ve repeatedly thwarted my attempts to change your name to SAC.”

“You’re lucky I caught you. It’s a crime to change someone else’s name without their consent.”

“Details.” I waved a dismissive hand. “What I’m getting at —”

“Kit,” she said, interrupting me.

“Kit?” I asked, rather stunned.

“That’s my first name.”

“Your name is Kit Carson?”

She bit down, her jaw working hard, and said through gritted teeth, “Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No. Not at all.” I rolled it over on my tongue. “I like it. Kit Carson. Why does that sound so familiar?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“So, I can call you Kit?”

“Only if you want to be arrested.”

“Oh.”

Her mouth softened. “Just kidding. Of course you can call me Kit. You can call me George if you want to. Anything as long as you stop calling me SAC.”

“I like George, too,” I said, “but I’ve already named Reyes’s shower George. I’m afraid it would get confusing if I ever asked Reyes something like, ‘Did you clean George’s knobs?’” I raised my brows at her. “You see where I’m going with that.”

A light blush crept over her face. “How about we stick with Kit.”

“Works for me.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, and I followed her line-of-sight to my hands.

I knew it. I looked like I was coming off crack. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I just quit caffeine.”

She blinked in surprise several times before recovering. “Ah, well, that would explain the lack of coffee. It’s weird seeing you without a cup in your hand.”