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November 15 - December 2, 2020
Obviously he thought he’d found the right kind of solace for whatever had been eating him up these past few months.
“Lys,” he said. He needed to tell her . . . It was important that she know . . .
“I’m Karen,” the voice said. “Karen Crawford?”
“You want to make yourselves useful?” Starrett asked in his infuriating Texas drawl, no greeting, no pretense of niceties. “Instead of sitting around wasting taxpayers’ hard-earned dollars?”
Want me. He stopped himself from saying it, aware of how egotistical it sounded. But he didn’t mean it that way.
“God, I missed you, Lys,” he breathed, and then, Jesus, he was kissing her.
“Lys as in Alyssa, huh?” WildCard said as Sam met his dark scowl. “As in Alyssa Locke.”
“Put Alyssa back on the phone,” Sam ordered.
“So here you are. Shit-faced and in my room again,” he said. “What’s that about, Alyssa? Do you really have to get trashed to be with me?”
Sam Starrett slapped the off button on the clock radio before it woke Alyssa.
He fucking wanted to marry her.
“Jesus,” he said. “That’s just great, Locke. That’s just . . . fucking perfect. You do that, babe. A married man is just your speed.”
She’d left her fanny pack in Starrett’s room.
And Sam Starrett sat on the floor, shoulders bent, head bowed and . . . He was crying.
Sam put down his fork. “You think I like it? Hooking up with her once every six months? Only to have her hate me again in the morning? Fuck you—she’s the fucking masochist!”
Jules and I actually have a whole hell of a lot in common because, you know, we’re, um . . .” He took a deep breath. “See, we’re both in love with you.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I want as much from you as you’re willing to give.
Sam didn’t need to hear it to know that the first tango had ordered the second to hurt the girl.
“Lieutenant Starrett.” Damn. He’d thought they’d gotten beyond frosty and formal the last time they talked.
“I don’t.” Jesus, would she just relax? “I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you’re here and to thank you.”
Rumor had it that he’d thrown up. Tossed his cookies right in the wastepaper basket.
He thought about Alyssa in his bed. In his life.
Both of her eyes were swollen, one of them nearly all the way shut.
The door opened and Starrett turned his head away as the flash bang exploded. And then he was inside, facing a tango, weapon in hands, in his kill zone. He fired.
And then another man came in. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and a tie, and he had a blanket that he used to cover her.
“At least you got here,” she said. “I’m pleased to finally meet you, Max.”
She heard a sound by the door. “Trent, I asked you to leave.” “Yeah, he already did.” Max.
He was looking at her, his eyes hungry again. “I love that you got all dressed up for me,” he whispered. “I’m not going to forget that. I’m not going to forget you.”
