“Lunch break, boys!” he calls, his clear, strong voice ringing over the site with a warm authority that just makes him seem like a different person. “We’ll pick up in an hour and a half.”
The atmosphere instantly changes—from the ordered, methodical movements of men at work to a flurry of casual activity.
People shut down machinery and stow tools, moving in friendly clusters to get their lunch kits. A few pile into their cars, probably heading into town to Brody’s, no better than Holt himself.
Eh, not my problem.
I’m only here for one man.
And he gives me an easygoing smile, tossing his head toward my truck.
“C’mon. Sit and have a bite with me.” His eyes sparkle. “I’ll grab us drinks from the cooler.”
A minute later, I’m sitting on the tailgate of my truck, snuggled against Holt’s side and nibbling on little slices of sharp orange cheddar while he swigs from a condensation-dripping bottle of lemonade.
The sun’s bright, the sky’s clear, and Holt feels too good.
Especially when he’s flattering me over the bread.
It’s nothing special, but maybe it is to him because I made it for him. Or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking.
We’re quiet as I lean my head against his shoulder, sharing the basket.
I wonder…am I seeing what I want to see with Holt?
Am I so desperate for some stability and hope in my life that I’m seeing him as someone he’s not?
Am I already praying after we’ve gone back to normal, maybe he’ll want to stick around for more than a few hot nights?
16
Four Horsemen (Holt)
It’s more than a little intimidating walking in through the back of Ms. Wilma’s kitchen and coming face-to-face with all four of our hometown heroes.
It’s late on Friday, long after the old woman’s gone to bed. A plate of dangerous smelling oatmeal cookies she’s left out casts a strange contrast with four huge guys who’ve got their war faces on.
Sure, I’m used to them individually, but like this?
Goddamn.
I’m lucky that the last time they were saving Heart’s Edge, they were only up my ass as a suspect for a little bit.
“I’m thinking Blake already gave you boys the rundown?” I say, sliding into a seat next to Leo, an overgrown beast who looks like he could pick up Alaska with one hand.
“We wanted to hear it from you,” Warren tells me, taking a loud chomp off a cookie. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of this Declan fuck or any of his buddies. Hay told me he checked out of his room the other day with Sierra, and nothing since.”
Fuck. I don’t like it.
Doc Caldwell notices the way I stiffen, clearing his throat, those emerald eyes of his as sharp as jade knives behind his glasses. He shoves them up his nose in this way he has.
“We’re wasting precious time,” he whispers. “Every day that slips by with this man missing could mean he’s bringing reinforcements. You said he had a full crew the night they paid Miss Potter that unsavory visit?”
“About a dozen men. All dudes he probably charmed into service if the stories I dug up online are true.” I scratch my chin, blood going hot because there’s zero doubt about what I read.
This asshole’s repeatedly proven he’s dangerous. It’s just a question of how long his fuse is before he blows up again and hurts Libby, hurts Sierra, hurts the town.
“What about the tax problem? The bank?” Leo rumbles, taking an earth-splitting bite out of two cookies pinched between his thick fingers.
Warren gives him the stink eye. “Easy. Grandma’s trying to sleep, and so are my wife and kids next door. Bet folks can hear your shit across town when you’re eating like a bear.”
I resist the urge to play peacemaker in a damn cookie feud between two guys I wouldn’t want to take on any day.
“We’re working the protected land angle to stall things out. I’ve got the papers drawn up, just as soon as we have some supporting documentation for the city council and the governor’s office,” I say. “Trouble is—”
“The dead dude. I filled them in, bro,” Blake says, flashing me a not-so-helpful wink across the table. “Your bigger problem’s dredging up enough proof to get the request taken seriously, like you said. Let me ride out there. Take a look around. A fresh set of eyes could turn up something.”
“I don’t like it,” Leo growls, flexing with his arms crossed. That mess of ink and scars stamped on his skin forms fierce dark whorls like storm clouds. “While you’re digging around in this ghost town playing detective, the trucker and his men could hit us anytime. Catch us with our damn pants down. We need defense so you’ve got time.”
“You’re certain you don’t want us on guard duty, Holt?” Doc asks, ninja swiping a cookie off the still-warm pile and taking a civilized bite compared to the others.