“I’ll have your back, Blake.”

“I’m not worried that you’ll get me killed.”

She frowned again. “Then what are you worried about?”

I looked into those dark brown eyes, that earnest face and said, “I’m worried you’ll get yourself killed.”

There was no more girl talk after that. We just got ready for bed. I went into the bathroom to get dressed. I had packed my weapons, but not my clothes. Nathaniel, one of my live-in sweeties, a wereleopard and my leopard to call, had. He was the most domestic of us all, and I was fine with the jeans, T-shirts, boots, and jogging shoes, but the pajamas, well, I’d be talking to him about the pajamas. It was a camisole and boy shorts except they were both black lace and stretchy fabric that fit like a second skin. There was enough lift to the fabric that the camisole actually supported my breasts enough for it to fit right. The skimpy pj’s looked great on me, but were so not appropriate marshal jammies. But they were the most appropriate of what he’d packed. Soooo going to talk to him about that.

When I came out, Karlton said, “Nice pajamas. Sorry to disappoint that you’re not bunking with the boys.”

I didn’t bother to glare at her. “My boyfriend packed my clothes while I packed the weapons.”

“You let a man pack your clothes?”

“He’s usually pretty good at it, but I think he picked the pajamas for what he wanted to see.”

She snorted. “That’s a man.”

I sighed. “I guess so.”

The oversized T-shirt she was wearing had someone I didn’t recognize singing into a microphone stand. I slid between the covers, and the sheets were the cheap cotton that had been in every hotel or motel on this trip. I missed the silk sheets of Jean-Claude’s bed, and the highthread-count cotton of the bed that Micah and Nathaniel and I shared. I was sheet spoiled.

“Do you always sleep with that many weapons?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t entirely true.