“Big time.”
Randall was flipping through channels as Holden made adjustments to the dish. Eventually a picture appeared. They screwed with it until it was sharp and crisp, then Holden flipped over to a local news channel I recognized. The bottom of the screen flashed with subtitles, written in English.
“Did you get cookies?”
I yawned and nodded. My sleep schedule was all screwed up. It felt like day and night at the same time.
“The good ones?”
I let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “I got whatever they had. Suck it up.”
Suck it up had been one of my father’s favorite sayings. It was just one of the many colorful mantras I’d picked up from him.
“We still laying low tonight?” I asked.
Holden nodded.
“Awesome.” I kicked my feet up onto a nearby heavy bag, which was lying on its side. They were using it as an ottoman. “I picked us up some coffee for tomorrow. And a halfway-decent coffee maker, too.”
I was looking forward to tonight. I had a lot of questions that couldn’t be answered while stealing a boat or fleeing sniper fire. Maybe we’d watch something other than the news, too. Something that could help us unwind.
Didn’t you unwind enough last night, though?
The little voice in my head was getting bolder. Much more annoying.
Holden’s phone went off with a buzz. He stared down at it, and a few new creases appeared on his forehead.
“I need to run out again,” he said. “Gotta see someone.” He winked at me and smiled. “After that, I’m all yours.”
God, he looked good. As sharp as he was in a suit, he looked equally as hot in a pair of jeans and a dark, acid-washed hoodie. Randall was just as sexy, possibly even more. Right now he had this studded-leather jacket thing going on, over a plaid blue shirt that hugged every last curve of his V-shaped chest and back.
“Need me to come with?” asked Randall.
“Nah. I got this one.”
He pulled on a coat, then reached behind him to tuck something sleek and black into his belt. I
recognized it right away, because my father had one.
“That a Glock nineteen?”
“Seventeen,” He looked more than a little impressed. “You shoot?”
“My father taught me.”
He nodded again and was out the door, leaving Randall and I staring at the television. Falling one step deeper into relaxation, I noticed another addition to the cozy little area we were calling a living room: cleanliness.
“You guys tidy up?”
The place had always been cleaner than the rest of the gym, but right now it was pretty spotless. Almost anal-retentive spotless.
“I got the itch,” said Randall, as if it explained everything. “When I do…” his words trailed off in a shrug.
I could totally see it. His restlessness, being channeled into something constructive. Someone had taught him that, probably from a young age. His mother maybe. Or later on in life, a superior officer.
He disappeared for a while, then came back with a plastic bowl of cereal and milk. He tipped it my way in salute, as a way of thanks.
That’s when something flashed on the screen. Something so familiar, so crazy, my breath caught in my throat.