Twenty-Four #5
“Well, if she had told Dane about Caleb, not gone to jail for him, and protected you and Dane…maybe she would’ve had that chance with him that she was looking for.”
“But she thought she had already lost Dane.”
He leaned forward, staring at me across the counter, him in the kitchen cooking, me sitting on a barstool watching him. “But she still had you, and having you…she would’ve gotten Dane eventually. All she had to do was protect you and she would’ve had your brother in the palm of her hand.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No,” he said, passing me a plate with a very large cheese-and-ham omelet on it.
“I just want you to get it finally. I want you to realize that you are not a superhero, you are not bulletproof. You need me to protect you, and I need to do it. All I want is to stand between you and the world… Please just let me.”
I nodded.
“You agree, but then you just go off and do whatever the hell you feel like.”
But I had learned my lesson. I was tired of being scared. I would let Sam take care of me.
“So what?”
“Give me another chance, okay?” I asked him. “I promise to start making phenomenally good choices from here on in.”
He squinted at me. “Who are you kidding? I just want you to let me know what’s going on so I’m not blindsided and so I can be there every time to dig you out.”
I let out a deep breath. “Absolutely.”
He shook his head like I was exhausting. “You want salsa on that?”
“Yes, please.”
Later, I cleaned the kitchen as he went and collapsed on the couch.
“Oh, by the way,” he called over to me. “I got a call from vice today, from a Detective Adams.”
I turned from wiping down the stove and looked at him.
“Do you know who that is?” he asked, leaning over the back of the couch to look at me. His smile was sly, and I had no idea what was causing it.
“No.”
“Think hard.”
“I have no idea.”
He grunted. “What if I told you that his first name was Carrington?”
“Oh.” I smiled at him. “You got it wrong. The detective’s name is probably something else, and he was calling you about Carrington Adams. He was the guy that got out of jail with me.”
“You mean he was the guy you got out of jail.”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh. Well, guess what, baby? That guy was a cop.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Yeah, he was. Turns out he was undercover. He’s a vice detective investigating several different pimps in the city, and you got him out of jail.”
It took me a minute to process what he was saying. “Oh shit.”
He grinned at me.
“So he was never in any real danger.”
“Nope.”
“Oh shit.”
“I think you owe, like, a dollar in the swear jar.”
I leaned back on the counter. “So where did he… I saw him get on a plane.”
“You saw him walk through the door to a jetway, you never saw him get on a plane.”
“He must think I’m, like, a total idiot.”
“Nope, he thought you were undercover too—maybe vice, possibly on a task force, but he was sure you were on the job.”
“Hilarious.”
“He said that Rego James is on his way to prison.”
I nodded.
“He also said that you took quite a hit from him that day.”
“I don’t remember.”
“The hell you don’t, you just don’t want me to get mad about something I can’t do anything about.”
Precisely.
“You know, Detective Adams said you were really brave and really hot.”
I laughed as I came out of the kitchen, turning off the light as I crossed to the couch to stand over him. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he said.”
He put his hands on my hips and pulled me down on top of him, easing me into his lap. “Okay, so maybe he left out the hot part, but he did say you were brave and that he felt like you would have protected him with your life. He was really impressed, Jory, he said it over and over.”
I straddled his hips, pushing against him as he pulled my sleep shirt off over my head and tossed it at the chair beside the fireplace.
“You did an amazing job with everything, you know. I don’t think I told you enough, but you were really something the way you figured things out. I think I might talk to you when I can’t solve something. Maybe you can help me with my cases.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I grumbled, even though I was loving the way his fingers were tracing over my spine.
“I’m being serious,” he told me, staring into my eyes. “But we gotta talk about this later.”
“Why?”
“’Cause right now I can’t think.”
And just that statement and the way he was looking at me heated me right up.
When he lifted me, stripped off my sweats, then pinned me under him on the couch, his lips on my neck, his skin against mine, his hands sliding all over me, I wondered how I had ever thought of living without him.
I wondered what I would have done if he had given up on me and gone away, as I’d told him to so many times.
“I was never gonna give up,” he told me.
“What?”
“You just asked what you would have done if I’d given up.”
“I guess I was thinking out loud.”
His smile was gentle as he eased me forward. “Baby, I was never going to give up on you. You belong to me. You’re mine.”
And the possessive declaration was something I loved to hear.
“Lemme tell you again.”
I didn’t argue.