Lucky Streak (Lucky 2)

Even his father would see and respect the wisdom in that plan.

His father. Mike had promised Edward he’d call him today, but he didn’t want to answer questions about his marriage while he had a bunch of nosy cops sitting within listening distance. He’d just have to call later, from the privacy of his home.

Privacy with Amber there? Now, that was a joke. Mike shook his head and tried to focus on the phone calls he’d been making.

“Is there a Mr. Mike Corwin here?” someone with a heavy Italian accent asked.

Mike swiveled in his chair. “I’m Corwin. What can I do for you?”

“Lunchtime,” the balding man said as he strode over to Mike’s desk.

Behind him, two women followed with bags, and they began to unload containers of delicious-smelling Italian food. “Where can we put this?” one of them asked.

“Wait. I didn’t order anything.” Mike rose from his seat.

“Not to worry,” the man said. “A woman named Amber stopped by my place of business this morning. She’s mutta bella,” he said, beaming. “And smart. She suggested I bring my food to Boston’s finest and let you indulge. Then maybe you’ll recommend my place around town. Capice?”

Dan stood beside him. “Amber?” he asked, obviously recognizing the name.

Before Mike could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to answer, Tom, their captain, cleared an old table. “You can put the food right here,” he said, grinning. Turning to Mike, he said, “You can explain later. For now, we’re all going to enjoy.”

Amid murmurs of approval, his colleagues began to filter into the room, waiting for the restaurant staff to finish the setup. They’d even brought plastic plates, forks and knives.

Mike’s stomach churned, torn between wanting to kill Amber for infiltrating this part of his life, and gratitude because he and his colleagues rarely had the opportunity to enjoy a decent lunch. Thanks to Amber, they would indulge today. And everyone in the precinct seemed thrilled with the surprise.

Only Dan, who’d met Amber in Vegas, seemed as concerned as Mike himself. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Mike spread his hands in front of him.

“Better yet, what kind of a psycho woman follows a man across the country and then proceeds to feed his friends and coworkers?” Dan continued, not giving Mike a chance to reply.

Not that he knew what to say anyway.

“His wife, that’s what kind of psycho woman would do something like this,” Amber said, suddenly appearing beside them. “Hello, Dan,” she said, patting his shoulder. “How’s married life treating you?”

“Oh, shit,” Mike muttered.

“Wife?” Dan practically shouted. “What the hell did you do in Vegas anyway?”

Silence descended around them, broken soon after by an impromptu round of applause.

Mike could barely process his thoughts as people slapped him on the back, shook Amber’s hand and complimented him on bringing back a gem of a wife—a woman who cared not just about his stomach, but his friends’ too.

Only Dan watched them warily.

“I’ll explain later,” Mike promised his partner.

“You bet you will. Natalie will want to have dinner with the two of you.” He shook his head. “You. Married.” He looked perplexed and confused.

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” Mike said. “Go eat.” He turned away from Dan and toward Amber. “You. Outside. Now. We need to talk.”

She raised an eyebrow, but let him grab her hand and pull her onto the street.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked once they were alone on the sidewalk in front of the station.

Amber blinked at him, all soft eyes and confusion. “I thought you’d be surprised, not mad. What’s wrong? You don’t like Italian food?” she asked, obviously trying for humor.

Mike clenched his jaw, steeling himself against her appeal. He needed to be strong and make her understand how things should be between them until they returned to Vegas. “I don’t like my private life being bandied around. Especially since I didn’t plan on telling anyone we were married.”