Execution Style (Code 11-KPD SWAT 4)

I nodded.

“I’ve thought about that,” I explained. “In the beginning, I think that was what I was doing. However, over the past few weeks, as I’ve gotten to know him, I feel such a connection with him. I feel like we’ve known each other forever. And the way he treats me makes me all warm inside. What he and I have…I can’t even explain it. It’s something like you and daddy have. Maybe even something more.”

She looked at me for a few more seconds, then nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go make some dinner.”***“Next weekend you’re going to your parents?” My mother asked.

Miller nodded. “Yep. Vegas, baby.”

I scrunched up my nose. “I’ve never been to Vegas before. I’ve also never been on a plane before.”

“You’ve been on a plane before. You just don’t remember it,” my mother said, scooping up a dollop of mashed potatoes and handing the bowl to my dad.

My dad took it, but chose not to comment on our usual argument.

“I think she’s smoking something,” I said to Miller. “My sister was the one who was on the plane. I,” I said, turning my gaze to my mom. “Have never been on a plane.”

“Just because you don’t remember it, doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen,” she laughed.

My father snorted. “That’s what she said when I allowed her to stop her birth control pills. I don’t remember it. She says I said it. She’s been using that argument for thirty years.”

I choked on my chicken, and Miller pounded me on the back.

“Thanks,” I coughed. “Let’s not talk about that at the dinner table. I just finally got my appetite back after you told me about how hot dogs were made.”

“Well, they’re all ground up noses and assholes. There’s no pussyfooting around that. Just because you like hotdogs doesn’t make them what you want them to be,” he laughed.

I turned to Miller. “Are you sure you want to be a part of this family?”

I said it teasingly, but he took the question seriously. “Yes. It’s not any worse than mine. You’ll see that in a week’s time.”

I patted his thigh.

I could feel his keys through his jeans pocket, as well as something else circular towards the bottom. When I started to trace the outline of it, he captured my hand, flattening it so it rested on the hard muscle of his thigh.

Wondering what that was all about, I tried out the whole ‘show him I want sex’ thing. Yet when I started to move my hand towards his crotch, and had just gotten to where my fingertips were on the seam of his zipper, the dog started to bark at me.

I looked down to see my mother’s Boston Terrier, Hiccup, at my feet.

Hiccup was an asshole.

He was such a cock blocker. He did it to my parents, too, so their gazes followed my hand, taking in the fact that I didn’t have my hand in my own lap.

My mother said, “You know, dear. If you wanted to feel him up, at least put the damn dog outside.”

My face flamed.

Miller’s confused, “What?” was drowned out by Hiccup’s incessant barking.

I tried to move my hand away, but Miller not understanding what was going on, moved my hand closer to his lower belly, pulling me in close.

“What’s he barking for?” Miller asked, looking down at the dog who kept nudging my arm to get me to let go of Miller.

Hiccup probably would’ve kept barking, too, if Miller’s pager hadn’t gone off.

“On that note,” I said, standing up from the table. “It’s time for us to go.”

“Actually,” Miller said, looking at the readout. “I’ve got to go straight from here. Do you mind staying here? I’ll come back for you once I’m done.”

“We can take her home,” my father said, standing up, too.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back.”

Something seemed to be said silently between my father and Miller, because my father nodded instead of pursuing it any further.

Giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head, he said his goodbye’s, and was gone in the next moment.

My father sat back down and continued eating his dinner as if nothing had happened.

Although he’d had to deal with being called out in the middle of dinner so many times that he’d probably lost count, this was new for me.

Having to worry.

I’d done it a lot when my father was a firefighter; however, my father was currently stuffing his face with his low-salt meal. It was different to worry about someone else.

That meant that Miller meant a whole lot more to me than just a casual acquaintance.

To worry was to care.

And right now, I was a mess of nerves thinking about him being out there with guns pointing at his pretty face.***Two hours later, my mother and I were glued to the TV as we watched the scene in front of us unfold.

I popped yet another piece of popcorn into my mouth, so beyond full that I didn’t know why I still had the bowl in my hand.

“Do you think he’ll jump?” I asked my mother.

She shook he head. “Hell no. He’s too chicken shit to do it.”

I snorted, but agreed.

Devon Higgins, the same man who’d been responsible for Foster’s stitches and beard failure, was threatening to jump off the highest building in the city of Kilgore.

“Even if he did jump, he wouldn’t die,” my father rumbled from behind us.

We both turned and stared at him in confusion. “Really?”

He shook his head. “Dead serious.”

“What would happen to him?” I asked curiously, turning back to the news station that was playing the live news.

“Broken back. A lot of broken bones…if he’s lucky,” Dad said.

“Hmm,” was my reply.

“Is that him?” My mother asked excitedly.

I moved to the edge of my seat to look at the screen more closely. “No. That’s his brother.”

“How do you know?” Dad asked.

I got up and pointed at the screen.

“That,” I said indicating the bald spot on his beard. “This is where he had to have his beard shaved for his stiches.”

“Why didn’t he shave it all off?” Mom asked.