It was a tedious way to spend my Saturday.
I had my phone out to call my boss and tell him about the robbery attempt as I was on my way home to Lincoln Park, but Chickie got out of the seatbelt and tried to climb into my lap while I was driving. How monster dog thought he was a Chihuahua was beyond me.
“Miro.”
Not my boss. Never in a million years, even if I was dying, would he use my first name. I had obviously misdialed, but I couldn’t make out who it was.
“Shit, Chick, sit—stupid dog, you’re lucky you saved my life today or I’d shoot—” I growled, “Fuck. Hello?”
“Who saved your life?”
“The dog,” I answered, not absorbed in the task of figuring out who I was talking to, more concerned with not dying in traffic because I had dog ass in my face. “Chickie, sit!”
“How did he save your life?”
“Some felon thought I looked like an easy mark,” I said, trying to sound serious as Chickie sat in my lap, completely obscuring my view of the road. “Over there!” I snarled, shoving him into the passenger seat, only to have him twist around and lick my neck.
“Are you all right?” The voice took on a frantic tone.
“Yeah, I’m—” It hit me like a fist in the face. “Ian?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh,” I gasped, my heart stopping. I pulled over quickly right before I got on Lakeshore Drive so I didn’t wreck. “Baby?”
He was instantly surly. “Are you asking or do you know?”
“I know.”
“You didn’t sound sure.”
“For crissakes, E,” I snapped, shortening his name to the first syllable, which I hardly ever did, because how dare he doubt me even for a second. “I couldn’t fuckin’ hear you ’cause I’m fighting with your goddamn dog!”
“What? Why? Where are you?” he asked irritably.
“I’m in the car with Chickie.”
“Doing what?”
“I had to take him to the vet ’cause he quit eating.”
“Did you check and see if he got something stuck in his teeth? His gums are really sensitive,” he said logically.
Perfect timing as usual. “No, I didn’t.”
“Is that what it was?”
“Yeah, that’s what it was.” I sighed, because even though we were discussing his annoying dog, I was in heaven talking to him on the phone. “Why are you calling? Are you hurt?”
“What?”
My heart stopped. “Oh shit. Ian—”
“And you called me, asshole.”
I had, but how in the world was he answering? “Ian… honey—”
“No, I’m not fuckin’ hurt!” he yelled. “Why would I get hurt? I’m not the one who had a run in with some—what? Was someone trying to rob you?”
“Yeah, I—”
“Did he pull a gun on you?”
“Yes, but it’s fine, I’m fine, not a scratch on me. Can you say the same? No holes in you? Why are you answering? Tell me why you’re answering!”
“I wanna know what happened with this guy!”
I had to rest my forehead on the steering wheel to try and get my breathing to even out. Chickie whined beside me, worried.
“Miro?”
“Just gimme a… sec,” I said shakily.
He coughed. “Don’t get all freaked out.”
“Hard not to.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled, his voice gravelly. “Me too. When I’m not there and something happens, I—my mind goes to the worst thing I can think of.”
“I know.” After a minute, I took a breath. “So I called you?”
“Yeah.”
“How did I do that?”
“You pushed the button on your screen, I suspect.”
“You’re such a wiseass.”
“Yeah, well,” he conceded. “Can’t be helped, born this way.”
We were both quiet for a long moment.
“So,” he began, and I could hear the hesitation in his voice. “You called by accident.”
“Yes.”
“You happy I picked up?”
Stupid man, stupid question. Only Ian asked when the truth was so very obvious. “Yes. Very.”
“’Cause why?”
I swallowed first so I wouldn’t make a desperate, urgent sound in the back of my throat. “I miss you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Like bad?”
“You have no idea.”
He was silent again, and it hit me how whiny I must have sounded. “Sorry. I don’t mean to come off so needy. You’ll be home as soon as you can, I know that.”
“Miro!” he snarled.
What was I missing?
“I want you to miss me.”
“Well, that’s good, then.” I chuckled.
“And you know when I’m coming home.”
I did? “How?”
“When have you ever been able to fuckin’ call me when I’m deployed?”
“Never.”
“So what does that tell you?”
The answer occurred to me, and it wasn’t good. “Awww, man, did you accidentally leave your phone on? Did I uncloak your dagger?”
“You’re fuckin’ hysterical.”
“No, I mean, since when do black ops guys get phone calls?”
“We don’t when we’re out in the field.”
“Which means what?”
“Put it together, Jones.”
It hit me after a second. “You’re somewhere you can talk?”
The noise he made confirmed my deduction.
“Where?” I asked before I thought about it, desperate to know his location.
He coughed.
“No, wait,” I muttered. “I’m… sorry. I’m just bein’ stupid. You’re probably on an unsecured line and so—forget I said anything.”