Like everything about her voice, it was low, melodic, and alluring as hell. He had no doubt that it was Devon. There was no mistaking that voice. Not for him. He’d dreamed of it for three days. Speaking words of comfort, soothing him as he fought through the venom, and even singing softly to him to pass time and distract. He hadn’t needed Carter Spencer to tell him she had spent nearly every minute of the past three days tending to him. He’d known it all along. He had the healed body and soothed spirit to prove it. Liam couldn’t help his curiosity as he came around the frame of the door, wondering what it was that had her pealing out laughter so robust he felt it vibrating sensually throughout his entire body. His appearance caught Devon by surprise, her laughter skidding to an abrupt halt the moment she saw him in the doorway. It was a reaction he wasn’t too certain he cared for. She was braced back against the console, night-vision camera angles panning on bisected screen monitors behind her, and Malcolm Coffey in one of the two station chairs.
