Eight #2
“Both. Separately.”
It was funny as hell.
“I assure you, I’m not that kind of landscaper.”
“Don’t be such a prude,” I said, checking the cameras in the backyard. “Shit, I’m gonna have to get up on the roof and reposition one of the cameras, and that’s the same one that nearly killed me the first time.”
“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, his laughter subsiding.
“Cameras don’t go up by themselves, ya know.”
“Wait, you’re not kidding?”
“Why would I be—hey, I gotta call you back. I need Rais to look at these, and he’s calling.”
“Who is Rais?”
“Buddy of mine I work with. He’s our best tech guy after Owen.”
“Who’s Owen?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, okay, fine. But call me back.”
I didn’t ask why because it was nice, but when I tried later, the call went straight to voice mail. And that was all right too.
I had been reorganizing the basement, moving things around, before putting Wink’s harness on him.
Tatum had made me promise I would make him wear it for twenty minutes every day so he would get used to having it on.
So far, it wasn’t working. Instead of walking, he was passively protesting by immediately lying down. He was a little freak.
When I rechecked the cameras, I almost missed seeing a man at the edge of the drive get into a Mercedes-AMG S63.
When I reran the footage, I saw him walking around the side of the house, where he tripped on something, and down he went, face-first into thick mud.
I might have been way off, but I didn’t think scary, lethal sicarios from a cartel in Mexico had guys in their employment who tripped over anything, let alone small, decorative bricks lining flower beds.
I called Rais. “I need you to check something.”
“You can’t even say hello?”
“Hello,” I griped at him. “Now can you do what I need?”
“You’re turning into a real ass, you know that?”
“I know,” I muttered. “I need you to pull up the feed on my cameras from 7:32 this morning.”
It was quiet on the phone, and then, “Who the fuck is that?”
“If I knew, would I be calling you?”
He went silent again and then groaned. “Oh, those shoes are goners.”
“At the end of this, I think you can see the plate on the car, but I’m not sure. It looks fuzzy, but if you’re in the office, you can clear it up. Owen has that filter where he takes out the rain. I can’t do anything with it on my end.”
“No worries, I got it.”
“Thanks.”
“Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why do you sound so pissed off?”
“Nothing.”
“This is me. Speak.”
Over twenty years of friendship came through in his demand, and I thought of all the times I’d saved him, only to have him always show up for me, even when we were separated by the whole world.
There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him, no length too great.
And I knew he felt precisely the same. Having him finally work with me at Torus and being based in Chicago had made me very happy.
“I’m aging here waitin’ on you,” Rais pressed. “Not as fast as you, obviously, but still.”
“It’s the family,” I admitted. “They’ve been through so much. I just don’t want any surprises.”
“Makes sense.”
And because he agreed, I felt better, which of course reminded me that I had missed asking him some questions. “So…is it true that Sienna Donohue will be moving to Chicago?”
Ticks of time went by.
“What?” He sounded like he was about to hyperventilate.
I laughed at him.
“We talked about—stay the hell out of my love life!” he ordered.
“Oh. Love life. Not dating life.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Interesting.”
“Now I remember why I hate you.”
“You only wish you hated me.”
He grunted.
I hoped my laugh sounded as sinister as intended.
“Okay, who the fuck is Richard Conti?”
“What?”
“I traced the plate, and it comes up as a rental that a Richard Conti drove out of the airport parking lot in Seattle yesterday.”
“Conti?”
“Yeah. Why? Do you know him?”
“He might be related to Marcello Conti.”
“Let me…check if—yes. Oldest son of Frank and Giulia Conti.”
“And you said he flew in yesterday?”
“Correct. He came in from San Francisco.”
“Is he staying here or in a hotel in Seattle?”
“He’s staying there at the Eena Motel. Someone went way out on a limb there naming shit.”
“Well, not everyone is gifted with cleverness.”
“Do you need me there when you confront this Richard?”
“I have to do it today, my friend,” I apprised him. “I don’t think I can wait for you.”
“I can be there by––”
“I’ve got this, no worries.”
“Okay. You’ll text me after so I know you’re good.” A statement of what I would do, not a question.
“I will.”
Neither of us hung up.
“So…is she moving to Chicago and getting her own place?” I prodded.
“That would be counterintuitive, wouldn’t it?”
“She’s an heiress or something.”
“I’m well aware.”
I cleared my throat. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Her parents really like me. So do her sister and brother.”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“I just thought, you know, rich people.”
“Yeah, but you’re reasonably intelligent, not bad-looking, and wear a suit well.”
“Fuck. Off.”
I was laughing when he hung up.
Grabbing the keys from the hook, I was heading toward the garage when the door opened to three loud staccato beeps, followed by a robotic announcement.
I couldn’t help copying it. “ Garage door open, back door open, front door open. ”
“Where are you going, and why are you talking like our alarm system?” Luke asked as he walked into the mudroom from the garage.
Our. Not my alarm system, but ours . As in his family’s, which included me. Did he even hear himself when he spoke?
It was stupid, but I could feel the smile on my face as I stared at Luke Duchesne. I didn’t recall the jeans being that tight when he walked out the door earlier in the morning, but I noticed now. Those legs of his had to be something under the buttery denim.
“Nash?”
I lifted my head quickly, mortified he might have noticed me, and felt my cheeks heat like I was twenty-two, not fifty-two. “Sorry, I—the voice is the same on the alarm I have at home, so I think it’s drilled into my psyche at this point.”
He nodded, shut the door behind him, then closed the distance between us, studying me, scrutinizing me, then reaching out and taking hold of my hips. I had to wonder if he knew he did that. A lot. I was guessing no.
For the past eleven days since he got home, twelve counting today, he had constantly been in my space.
He bumped me, touched me, held my jacket so I could put it on, opened doors, and more than anything, took hold of me and steered me places.
My initial thought had been that he did it to everyone.
But the people I saw him with—neighbors, friends, coworkers—none did he stand so close to, put his arm around the back of their chair, or take hold of.
It seemed I was the only one he was touching possessively, other than his kids.
He would grab Griff’s shoulder, Tatum’s hand, Darwin’s arm the same way he did with me, like I belonged to him.
And I loved it, of course I did, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t messing with my head.
“You must not have fallen,” he said, and I noted how dark and warm his eyes appeared. Like looking at me was making them heat. “I’m happy about that.”
“What?”
“You said you were going up on the roof to move a camera.”
“Oh no, I haven’t done that yet.”
“Well, maybe you wait on that.”
Instead of committing, I said, “What’re you doing home?”
“Getting hit on by new transplants to town was my single appointment for the day, so I’m working from home now.”
“That’s great. Now I can run some errands and you’ll be here to accept deliveries.”
“Deliveries?” he asked, letting me go but remaining close, in my space. I could feel the heat rolling off him.
“It’s a lot of kids,” I reminded him, “so it’s a lotta food, right? I didn’t have room in the Jeep for everything. But the store said they could get everything over here by?—”
“What’re you talking about?”
I grinned at him. “You’re fucking with me.”
“What? No. We have three kids. That number hasn’t changed.”
We have . God. He was killing me.
The issue was simple to understand. Day in and day out, a kind, sexy, funny, drop-dead-gorgeous man was giving me all his attention, and I didn’t simply like it, but had already gotten used to receiving it.
And I told myself it was fine because I was leaving fairly soon, but really, for my sanity, the week after Thanksgiving couldn’t come soon enough.
“Explain,” he prodded me, bringing me out of my head.
“You weren’t listening to me.”
“When?”
“You know when.”
“What?”
He was so busted. I smiled at him.
“Fine. I was tired and may have been nodding off.”
After all the homework had been completed, after Griff and I ran together, once all the screens were off, instead of going to bed to watch TV alone, Luke now sat in the living room with the rest of us, reading and talking, until about a half hour before the last bedtime, which was Griff’s.
Tatum went to bed at eight thirty, so she had to be upstairs and under the covers by eight, but everyone was allowed to read in their bed, just no screens.
Darwin’s bedtime was nine, so when Tatum, in theory, was falling asleep, he had to be upstairs.
Griff’s was at ten thirty, so he had to be up in his room by ten.
Everyone had to be showered and ready to sack out.
I thought Griff would still be fighting sleep to the last moment, but he was eating better because he was cooking, he ran with me, lifted weights with his father, woke up every morning at a quarter to seven, so really, at night, he was out like a light.
The fact that it was dark so early was also a big plus.
The summer, I was betting, would be more difficult.