Chapter 18

In Charlotte’s bedroom, I get dressed, grinning that my T-shirt is back on the floor where she dropped it. I leave it there, grabbing a fresh one out of my duffel that’s sitting in the chair in the corner. I’m far from moving in, but after the crazy dinner, it’d seemed prudent to mostly stay out of my house and be backup for Charlotte. I travel ultra-light so it didn’t seem like a big step.

But after last night, it does. I want to put my socks and underwear in her drawers. Literally, that’s not even a pun. I want to wake her grumpy ass up with coffee every morning and cuddle her to sleep each night. I want to fuck her until she realizes she’s mine. I want to prove to her that a man stays.

That I’ll stay.

We head downstairs, and just as I reach for the doorknob, it opens to reveal Trixie. “Well, good morning, you two. Hope you had a good, long, hard night.” She drawls out every syllable, making it sound as dirty as possible.

I don’t have to look behind me to know that Charlotte is blushing hard. “It was great. Uh, thanks again for taking over closing duties so I could . . . uh . . .” Charlotte trails off, and I grin, knowing she just unintentionally lobbed that softball in the air for Trixie.

Trixie’s glee is obvious. “So you could open? Your legs!” She laughs like it’s the height of humor, and I can’t help but laugh too.

It takes Charlotte a beat to give in, but she laughs too.

I press a kiss to her cheek and toss her a rescue line. “You made a delicious dinner, thank you. But now I need to go run five or twenty miles or so to burn it off, so I’ll see you later. After that, I’m going to reach out to Thomas and see if I can help at all with security.”

She shakes her head, her braid bouncing from shoulder to shoulder. “No, he’s got it covered. You don’t have to—”

I give her a firm look, inviting no argument. On this I won’t budge, not on her safety. Everything else, I can take at her pace, even when it’s two steps forward and one back.

But this is life or death, possibly, and I won’t take no as an answer. “You said Izzy has Gabe because of who he is?” I ask, and she nods, eyes flicking to Trixie. I guess Trixie doesn’t know that part of the story. “Well, you have me, and I’ve got some skills of my own. I just want to help, be in the loop. I think I know the guy Thomas has coordinating things. I’ll just have a friendly conversation with him.”

She bites her lip, still not sure, but nods.

Trixie is done being patient, though, and shoves at me, pushing me toward the back door. “Yeah, yeah . . . smoochey, smoochey. I’ll see you later and all that jizz. Get it? Jizz, not jazz because well, you know. That’s why you need to go. We’ve got girl talk to do, dicks to dissect, orgasms to evaluate, and such. So buh-bye.”

I laugh, grabbing at the door frame and hollering back, “Hey, are you really going to tell her about my meat? The bacon, I mean.” I toss her a big wink, which she swats out of the air with a laugh.

I don’t care in the least if she’s in there spilling the dirty details of every last bit of what we do. Especially to Trixie, who I’m pretty sure is on my side and will tell Charlotte to hang on tight to me with everything she’s got. Good thing that only makes it easier for me to hold on to her too.

Getting in my car, I pull a card out of my wallet.

“Hello,” the voice answers flatly. “Who’s this?”

“Hey, Jon, it’s Lance Jacobs. Could I take you to lunch today?”

After Charlotte’s story,it seems ironically appropriate that we meet at the Gravy Train, the diner that seems to be the lynchpin of not only the three girls’ friendship but the scene of so much of the skull fuckery that’s led to all this.

The coffee’s good, the company not so much so. Gabe Jackson, the wolf in sheep’s clothing, stares at me openly from across the room. He probably thinks his look is neutral, but I can read the hostility and distrust plain as day. I’ve handled guys like this before, though, and I know that what most people would see as friendliness he sees as weakness.

But I can’t ‘swell up’ on him either, as he’d see that as a threat. So instead, I give him a nod. He’s part of Charlotte’s chosen family. I must pass his muster, as he slides his eyes back to Izzy, who’s running her ass off.

I’ve only met her once when she came into the bakery, but she feels familiar because of the way Charlotte talks about her and the numerous pictures in Charlotte’s apartment.

I finish my first cup just as Jonathan Goldstone walks in, looking for all the world like a Secret Service agent in his black suit, white shirt, and shined black shoes. I can even see the slight print of his piece under his jacket, and the sight reassures me.

“Lance, good to see you again,” Jonathan says, shaking my hand as he slides into a booth. Izzy comes over, already carrying a cup of coffee, which she sets it down in front of him. “Thanks . . . tell Henry no usual today. Maybe tomorrow?”

Izzy nods and leaves, and I’d bet my left nut she’s already texting Charlotte and Mia to make sure they know about this meeting. I give Jonathan a raised eyebrow. “You’ve become a regular here? You have my interest piqued.”

“Good food, conveniently located . . . and the coffee’s not too bad,” Jonathan says, but I can read something behind his eyes. He’s always been one to play things close to the chest, and I realize that he chose this location for our meet because Gabe would serve as his backup. Smart guy, one I can respect. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m sure you’re well aware that I’m seeing Charlotte?”

Jon’s smile is placating, neither confirming nor denying.

“She told me everything,” I continue, moving this conversation ahead a few hops and skips. “I assume you’re the coordinator on all of this.”

His posture changes, from his relaxed meeting-a-friend laidback style to something more serious. He leans forward, hands stacked on top of one another on the table, letting me see that he’s not making a move. Yet.

“Depends. Define everything.”

“She told me about the saboteur. And Gabe.” My eyes flick to the side, seeing that Gabe is taking a keen interest in our conversation.

“Stop. Don’t say another word. Let’s go outside,” Jon says, already getting up. He tosses a five on the table and heads for the door. Gabe starts to get up too, but Jon gives him the smallest headshake, confirming what I already knew.

Jon’s here at Thomas’s behest, coordinating the security and likely doing more. I know he’s a skilled man, perhaps better-equipped mentally than I am for this job. Para Rescue is about saving lives, not taking them, even if he’s skilled tactically as well. He’s got cojones that would help him stand strong against the likes of someone like Blackwell, especially for family.

Outside, he doesn’t head to a car, instead motioning for me to follow him. We walk side by side down the sidewalk, and he talks without looking at me. “Bad history with mics. But directional mics on a moving target with ambient traffic noise involved are pure shit eighty percent of the time, so we walk. And fill me in on what you think everything means.”

I sigh, giving him the basic rundown of what Charlotte told me last night, finishing with, “You’re on this, right? You’re going after Blackwell? I’m in.”

Jon shakes his head, seeming almost amused at my go-getter attitude, but I can sense the anger underneath. “Figured you would, but it’s not that easy. We’ve already looked at it from every angle. This isn’t a door kicker op. A ghost couldn’t get into Blackwell Tower right now, not even an angel, fallen or otherwise.” He looks back at the diner, but I don’t get the joke he seems to be in on.

“So we sit on our hands?”

Jon shrugs. “Thomas is taking a different tack, more strategic long-game. He’s cutting away Blackwell’s supports, one by one, until he’s ready to fall. In the meantime, we secure the perimeter.”

He doesn’t sound happy about that. We’re men of action. But if the higher-ups say hold, then we hold, and I guess in this instance, Thomas Goldstone is the highest-ranking officer on this op.

“Okay, then loop me in the security detail. Gabe is watching Izzy. I can help watch Charlotte.” It’s not what I’d hoped for, but it’s something, at least. As much as I don’t want to go back to war, for Charlotte, I’ll go to battle right here on my home ground.

Jon wavers for a solid minute, eyeing me up and down like he can measure my intention, value, and more if he only looks hard enough. I must pass his inspection because he finally says, “Unofficially. In uniform, you outranked me, but this is my team. Still, another pair of eyes and set of hands couldn’t hurt. I’ll introduce you around, keep you informed, but that’s it. You’re backup, not the primary. You armed?”

I shake my head. “Recommend a local store?”

“I’ll cover you,” he says. We’ve made a lap around the block, returning to the Gravy Train parking lot. He heads to his SUV and opens the back door, flipping the seat to reveal a hidden compartment below. He reaches in and hands me a beauty of a Sig, just like the ones I’m used to. “Too big for my carry rig, but it’s a good gun. Don’t fuck it up.”

I nod, sliding it in my waistband and pulling my shirt over it. It’s too big to really hide this way, but I only need to get to my car across the lot.

“Let’s go meet the team,” Jon says, and I nod, glad to be able to help.