As the four of us walked to the elevator, I asked Ian who was on the phone.
“My father,” he said, hitting the Down button.
“And?”
He coughed. “He was upset I hadn’t gotten a hold of him.”
“And?” I prodded. It was like pulling teeth.
“He wants us to come to dinner next Sunday,” he said, leading us all to the car. “I said I’d check with you and get back to him.”
Inside, he punched the Lobby button before I took hold of his arm.
“Look at me.”
He complied instantly. “You told your father what?”
“That you would be there too.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “He said that was good, since I’m better when you’re around.”
“He did?”
“He knows I don’t care what he thinks anyway, but he’s fine with us.”
“Us?”
“He said he always figured we were a thing.”
I was at a loss.
“I guess it’s what people think when they see us.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We seem like we’re married.”
I had to lean on the wall for support.
WE PUT the newly made Drake Palmer and Cabot Kincaid in one of the federal safe houses in a secure high rise downtown. There was a doorman who let us in and a guard at the front desk, a key fob had to be swiped to push the button for the elevator and then again inside to enable the buttons. On each floor you punched in a code to get into the condo and disabled an alarm inside with another code. It was a whole process that had to be followed, because to get out, all the same steps had to be repeated.
“I’m already confused,” Drake whined.
“I got this,” Cabot said, taking the direction sheet Dorsey had given them with the numbers he’d filled in that were entered specifically for our two newest guests.
Ian thought he could make a break for it without being hugged, but he couldn’t. They were crazy about him.
We left them with their money allotment for the evening, told them they were free to go wherever they wanted but that sticking around downtown might be best. I suggested Navy Pier, and they were excited to go and check it out.
“You’ll both be back in the morning?” Cabot asked as he hugged me.
“We will,” I promised and passed him his new phone with numbers for me and Ian programmed in.
He was very pleased.
AS WE drove to Ian’s place, he mentioned again how much he was not loving the Nissan Xterra. He had said it earlier when I led him to the car parked in the garage at work.
“This is such a comedown after the Jungle Boogie car.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”
“Hey.”
I glanced over.
“Are you gonna tell the girls about us?”
“Of course.” I sighed. “And they’ll be ridiculous about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was recovering at home, they wanted to know what I was doing about getting what I wanted.”
“And you wanted what?”
“That should be fairly obvious.”
“Tell me.”
“You, idiot. I wanted you.”
His smirk was ridiculously sexy every single time. “Yeah?”
I was not going to feed his ego anymore and instead checked my e-mail as he parked outside his apartment building. When I was done, I grabbed his phone, which he had left in one of the cup holders, and checked his e-mail. I was surprised to find a letter from a lawyer on which Brent Ivers, my ex, was the subject line.
The trunk opened before I finished, and Ian threw in a garment bag and a large duffel. I held his phone up so he couldn’t miss what I’d been up to.
“Why are you getting threats from a lawyer?”
He slammed the trunk shut, and came around the side of the SUV and got in. He took hold of the steering wheel and squeezed tight.
“You threatened Brent?”
“No.”
“It says you did.”
“All I conveyed to the man,” he said, smiling evilly, “was that if he came within five hundred feet of you, I’d fuckin’ shoot him.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. “Are you kidding?”
“Don’t look so fuckin’ pained,” he groused, starting the car, shotgunning out into the street, as usual. “I told him not to call or text or send e-mail, either.”
“Or the same punishment would befall him? Gunfire?”
He narrowed one eye like he was thinking.
“You can’t do that. The lawyer filed a TRO against you. That doesn’t look good.”
“I give a shit.”
“Ian—”
“I’ll end him if he comes near you again,” he said flatly. “Make no mistake.”
“I can take care of myself, yeah?”
He pointed at my arm where the bullet had grazed me. “I beg to differ.”
“That’s different and you know it.”
“Do I?”
I reached over and slid my hand around the back of his neck.
“It’s nice that you care.”
“It’s more than that.”
“I know.”
“Okay.”
“Can we stop and get burgers at Shorty’s? They’re still open; it’s only eleven.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat.
“Are you salivating?”
“Yeah, I think I just swallowed my own spit.”
Why that was so hysterical I had no idea, but I lost it, and listening to me laugh, tears rolling down my cheeks, made him smile like he hardly ever did, his whole face cracking wide open, dimples popping, laugh lines crinkling, and deep sigh of contentment emerging.