Aruna turned, kissed her husband, then her daughter, and shooed them away before following Ian.
“Don’t screw up,” the mass of muscle that was Liam warned me.
“I won’t. Get out.”
He pointed at his wife—in my kitchen with Ian as they decided if tea would be better; we had Assam, and that was good in the morning—“I want her back just like that.”
“I promise.”
He left then, holding his daughter and leading my dog.
“I hate it when I’m not around when he goes for walks with those two,” Aruna yelled from the kitchen.
“Why?”
She gestured at the door he left through. “Are you kidding? Beautiful man with a cute kid and a gorgeous dog—he’s a chick magnet.”
I rolled my eyes and headed back for the stairs.
“Ovaries exploding all over the place!”
Dressing quickly, I was back downstairs in minutes as Ian and Aruna both gulped down some apple juice—no time for tea—and the three of us headed for the front door.
“You both strapped?” Aruna asked.
“Ohmygod!” I yelled.
“What?”
“Yes,” Ian answered as he grabbed his wool topcoat and headed outside.
I shoved her out after him.
“Watch it,” she groused.
“Are we strapped…? Who talks like that?”
She was cackling as the Lyft driver pulled up alongside our truck on the street.
“Seriously,” I said as I got into the back beside Aruna. “Min is fuckin’ scary.”
“She’s thorough,” Ian corrected. “I like it.”
Aruna gagged.
“He’s her favorite, you know.”
“That’s because he’s a bootlicker,” Aruna taunted.
He reached between the seats and swatted her leg.
“Owww, you ass!”
“Not a bootlicker. Ask Miro.”
I leered. “He licks other things.”
“I’m gonna throw up.”
The driver couldn’t keep from chuckling.
WE GOT serious once we were at the airport. After we checked in, the TSA had to determine that our clearances were good. Even law enforcement didn’t get to just carry a gun on a plane. But as federal officers, we were required to carry at all times, so even on vacation, even going on a fishing trip or something inconsequential, we had to be armed.
Badges, credentials, tickets, routine check with our office and Homeland to make sure we were who we said we were, and once we were approved and wanded and patted down—watches, gun holsters, belts, shoes, and our guns looked at again—we joined Aruna, who was waiting for us.
“It’s amazing that I made it through before you guys,” she grumbled. “Now I need coffee before we get on that plane.”
Once we were in the boarding area, Aruna’s face crumpled.
“It’s gonna be all right,” I promised, wrapping an arm around her and tucking her up against my chest even as I watched Ian talk on the phone. He was pacing as he explained where we were going and what we were doing. I wasn’t sure if he’d called Kage or Becker, but whoever it was, he was doing a lot of nodding.
She took a halting breath. “Of course it will.”
Several women and a few men turned as they passed Ian, taking another look at the gorgeous man they walked by.
“Yeah, if I wasn’t married, I’d take another look at him too.”
“I can’t stop looking at him,” I told her.
“I like the sweater and sport coat and scarf you’ve got him in. All those layers of earth tones are very handsome,” she said, turning to look at me. “Well done.”
“It helps when you’re built like that,” I agreed, gesturing at him. “I mean, what can’t he wear?”
“Are you guys talking about me?” Ian asked as he sat down beside me and put a hand on my thigh.
“Yes, of course we are.”
“The clothes?” he surmised because he knew us.
“Mmmmm,” Aruna murmured, smiling at him.
He bumped me with his shoulder. “You know how he is. I just have to put it on.”
She nodded. “Well, you look fantastic. What is that pattern, windowpane?”
“Very good,” I praised. “You’ll notice that the stripes go with the sweater.”
“I do,” she said brightly, looking better now, more her, more upbeat.
“Windowpane?” Ian said like the word burned his mouth coming out. “Who cares?”
“Well, clearly your husband wants to make sure that you don’t look like a shmuck, even before coffee on a Saturday morning,” Aruna defended me.
He left to go to the bathroom, and we watched him walk away.
“Yep, very handsome man,” she sighed before turning back to me. “And it’s cliché, but really, what’s on the inside is better.”
“I know.”
“May I just say that this blazer, jeans, and cashmere sweater combo you’ve got going on is very handsome as well?”
“And the gray lace-ups?” I teased, lifting my feet.
“A very nice touch,” she said, giggling. “But Ian’s Chelsea boots are better.”
“They’re mine.”
She laughed, but then she took a shaky breath, remembering, I was sure, that we were in the airport for a reason and not a vacation. I stood quickly and yanked her into my arms, hugging her tight as she pressed her face into my chest and sobbed.
“It’ll be all right,” I promised hoarsely. “We’ll fix it.”