Epilogue

It was funny,in that not-funny way, how much a person's life could change in such a short amount of time.

Last year, as the weather started to cool a little—Los Angeles didn't get super cold, as it's no Vermont, but the temps did dip a bit in fall—I'd been working nonstop. Eager to fill the emptiness in my life with nicotine, whiskey, and long days chasing down bad guys. I still worked too hard, but now I took time off to enjoy things. Like a fast day trip to Big Bear with Oliver, the girls, Jamie aka Nanny Belvedere, Bryce, and Leo to see some fall colors.

I did things like pick apples, carve pumpkins, make paper plate turkeys, and read bedtime stories about princesses and dragons. Bryce liked to tease that the feral cat of the family had finally found someone to domesticate him. Jamie commented that, perhaps, someone should dock my ear in case I reverted to my feral state, so no one would try to neuter me again.

Oliver would chide his friend, but I could handle the Brit's teasing. A lot of what he was saying was true. I was like an alley cat in many regards. I needed love and affection, but I was too hissy to accept it until someone with patience had lovingly taken the time to work past my defenses. Was I neutered? Yeah, maybe. I had no drive to sleep around any more. My nights were spent curled up on the sofa with a full belly and Oliver stroking my hair. Why would I venture out into the mean streets when I had it so good here? Jamie's gag gift of a feather dangler cat toy might have gotten my fur up a bit, but I smiled sweetly, and then, a week later, left a neatly folded ‘The British Blew a Thirteen-Colony Lead' T-shirt on his bed.

It was typical family shit, and I loved it. It was what I had needed. My sister had been right all along, something she took great joy in pointing out every damn time we spoke. Older sisters could be so superior.

Four weeks had passed since we had officially turned the money laundering case over to the district attorney. Mack and I were still overworked and underpaid, as most civil servants were, but we now had four pairs of detectives in our division, so we could at least pause to breathe. The Feds had been interested in some of our findings in the Baladin case, which had led to them joining with us on a concurrent jurisdiction case involving Ivan's family. All that malarkey about rivalries between local and state with the FBI is just Hollywood drama. For the most part, law enforcement is grateful for any aid in taking down the nogoodniks. The face-eating druggie who'd shot Lazlo had sobered up and turned evidence on Baladin, said he'd been threatened to break in and find passwords. He admitted that he had no fucking clue what he'd been looking for, and Baladin had really been clutching at straws.

I still felt sick at the feel of his teeth in my skin.

Freaky zombie shit gave me nightmares.

So that was one of six ongoing cases that Mack and I were working on, with trips to court added in whenever we were needed. My time at home had become precious to me, and I guarded it like that feral cat Jamie teased me about being.

"You look tired," Oliver said, busting into my mental meander. "We can go home soon," he added.

"I'm good. We need to celebrate," I replied, taking a sip of my punch, then moving a step to the side to slide my arm around his waist.

The front lobby of the Haven of Hope was packed with friends and supporters for a re-re-reopening party. The LA Storm had turned out in force to support the cause—donations flowing in, I was sure—as had several of my fellow cops. Mack and Elena were here talking to Lazlo, who was cuddling Dilbert, the alley cat. Joe was chatting it up with my ex-brother-in-law, Bryce, and his man, Mike, while Leo and Oliver's girls were sitting in the newly finished playroom eating cookies, sipping pink punch, and coloring in pages on how to avoid catching colds. "This is a big night."

"Still, you need to slow down," he said as I reached over to pluck a cookie from a tray being carried to the buffet table by one of the catering staff. "And eat better."

I popped the cookie in and chewed. Oliver was such a stickler for proper nutrition that we sometimes had little spats over my less than stellar eating habits.

"Hey, I've given up smoking and booze. I need one vice," I parried, tossing the same line I always used when he would criticize my junk food adoration. He rolled his eyes, kissed me tenderly, and then was pulled into a conversation with his defensive partner. I broke off a moment later to follow the cookie tray to one of the long buffet tables. "Come to Papa," I whispered, filling a cloth napkin with sugary treats.

"Your boyfriend is giving you dark looks," Bryce said softly as he came up beside me.

"Block his view. I need the rush to get me through tonight," I told him.

"Oh no, I'm not being an accessory to your cookie crimes," Bryce snickered, but still stepped into place to shield me from my lover. "You owe me for this."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you want, just stand there and let me gorge," I said around a mouthful of white raspberry roll-up cookies.

"We're short on volunteers this weekend at the garden," he informed me. I knew just where this was going. "If you could come by and help us set up for our annual biggest pumpkin contest, I would really appreciate it."

"Bryce, seriously?" He took a step back, clearing the line of sight between Oliver and me. "Shit, okay, fine. I'll come help tote pumpkins. Now get back to where you were."

"Good. Leo has to fly back home the following day, but we were hoping to do the contest and then, possibly, drive out to Idyllwild to camp overnight. There's supposed to be a meteor shower that night, and he's really been getting into stars and space."

"Sounds nice."

"Would you like to come? It'll only be us three, but we have room in the tent for a fourth."

"Nah, thanks, I'm planning on vegging this weekend. Oliver's playing at home for a nice stretch, so I want to spend whatever time I can with him and the girls. What?"

He patted my biceps. "Nothing, I'm just very happy for you. I was worried you were becoming a little too dependent on the bottle there for a bit, but falling in love has worked wonders for you. Now, if Oliver could get you to change your ties more often."

I glanced down. Well shit. Not only was there mustard from the hot dog I'd inhaled for lunch while Mack and I had been interviewing witnesses to a drive-by shooting being pinned on the Yellow Boys, but there was also raspberry jam. The Yellow Boys, an up-and-coming street gang that was taking over territory like a tsunami, were on our radar for the usual drugs and weapons peddling, as well as rumors of them dabbling in the bribery of local district judges. They were proud as fuck about their affiliations and wore bright yellow bandanas.

"I did remind him to change his tie before he left the precinct," Oliver said, sliding into the conversation.

Seeing that there was no way to hide the napkin overflowing with cookies, I merely shoved an oatmeal raisin into my mouth.

"Well, even a miracle worker like you runs into a stumbling block," Bryce teased, gave Oliver a wink, and left me alone to face the music.

"Okay, before you start, my sugar was incredibly low this evening," I explained, cradling my stash of carbs and raspberry filling to my chest.

"You're pulling a low sugar line on a type one diabetic?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah. No. But I'm taking some home for Jamie."

His flat look told me he wasn't buying that for a second. "I hope you have enough stamina after your incoming sugar crash to play a grown-up game with me after the girls go to bed."

Oh. Oh, a grown-up game. That sounded promising. I dumped the cookies back onto the tray and got a kiss from my man. He wet his lips to draw in the cookie crumbs left behind from our smooch. My weary body responded as it always did when he did that. Blood flowed south.

"So, yeah, is it time to go yet?" I asked, as visions of naughtiness danced in my head.

* * *

"So that Xin pixel is on a triple word score square," Oliver gloated as we sat at his kitchen table at midnight, playing Scrabble.

"Just to reiterate, this is not at all what I had envisioned when you said adult games," I informed him, and got a sly smile.

"You're just mad that you're losing." He tallied up his score, then took a sip of hot chocolate. Smug. Smugness oozed off the man. It was incredibly sexy, I had to admit.

"I'm not mad. My dick is disappointed," I clarified as I studied my tiles.

"Daisy isn't sleeping well since she saw that movie the other night," he replied with a pointed look at me.

"In my defense, yet again, when I saw it was a movie about a princess and a dragon, I had no idea that the dragon was in the habit of feasting on innocent princesses, instead of giving them fun sky rides through the clouds."

"They have a thing called a rating system," Oliver reminded me, yet again. I huffed and placed an E on top of his X, then stared at him right in his beautiful dark eyes.

"There, ex. If I had anything other than vowels, I would spell out extraordinarily sad penis to claim victory right here and now."

He stared at my E with suspicion. "Is that a valid word?"

"Of course. Look it up."

He did because of course he did. The man took Scrabble very seriously. The last time we'd played with Jamie, he'd argued up and down that Jamie's use of bellend was not a valid Scrabble word. Jamie said it was in the British Dictionary and that Americans knew nothing. Turned out, Oliver was right, and Jamie had to remove his word and lose all the points. Things got rabid in the Cowan house on Scrabble night, let me tell you.

"Okay, that's acceptable," Oliver said after checking his phone. "It's a good job I love you," he added.

I gloated for a moment, then sat back to enjoy his pretty face. I could stare at this man forever and never tire of it. He was stunning. So masculine it robbed me of breath sometimes. His gaze lifted to meet mine, and he smiled.

"This is nice, isn't it?" He said.

It was. Very nice. The house was quiet, the room still carrying the finest scent of garlic from the garlic knots we'd had with our rigatoni. The girls loved sewer pipes, as they called them. Even with my new dedication to taking more time to be here, Oliver and I shared precious few nights like this. His hockey schedule was insane. How they maintained an eighty-game pace, I had no clue. Hockey players were a different breed.

"Yeah, it's really nice," I had to admit as the tiniest sound floated to us.

An itty-bitty squeak like that of a yawning field mouse. I turned to look over my shoulder to see Daisy in the doorway, her nightgown wrinkled, her hair knotted, and her nose red.

"Hey, you," I called. She ran barefoot over the tiles to me, surprising me greatly, as she usually wanted her daddy when she had bad dreams. I lifted her from the floor. The girl was light as pixie dust. I settled her on my lap.

"Was it that mean dragon again?"

She nodded, sniffled, and let her head rest on my chest. I glanced at Oliver, who was watching us with the most besotted expression I had ever seen.

"What's you playing?" Daisy asked, her thumb resting on her lower lip, something that she tended to do when she was upset or stressed. Self-soothing, Oliver called it.

"Scrabble," I answered, shifting her bony backside to the left. She clung like a burdock, the sweet scent of peach shampoo wafting off her hair.

"Can I play?"

I looked at Oliver questioningly.

"Maybe for a little, then you have to go back to bed. You have school in the morning, I have morning skate, and Jackson has to go to work," Oliver explained patiently.

"Stopping the bad men," Daisy whispered, then gave my scruffy cheek a pat.

"Yep, stopping the bad men," Oliver replied before clearing the board to start a new game.

Daisy sat up straighter as we arranged tiles on the wooden stands.

"What's you drinking? Coffee?" she enquired, fingering her tiles thoughtfully.

"Jackson is, I'm having cocoa. Would you like some warm milk?" Oliver asked and got a nod.

He rose to warm some milk, as Daisy and I plotted our moves in top secret tones.

"Daddy, Jackson and me is going to make words you can't beat. I know how to spell so good!"

Oliver chortled, placed a mug in front of his daughter, and was about to reply when his gaze flew to the doorway. I craned my head. There was Scarlett, all sleep-rumpled and confused, her tiny toes bared.

"Is someone sick?" Scarlett asked. Ever the worrier.

"Nope, your sister had a bad dream," I told her. "Now, we're playing Scrabble to help her get sleepy because it's the most boring game ever in the history of games."

Scarlett giggled, then grew serious. "Can I play and have some warm milk, please?"

Her father sighed before giving her the briefest of nods. "One game, one mug of milk, and then both of you are going back to bed."

"Daisy can sleep with me if she's still scared," Scarlett offered graciously before taking her seat and setting up her own stand with tiles. "Are you two playing as a team?"

"Maybe, but don't worry, Daisy knows way more words than I do," I told Scarlett while Oliver puttered about making everyone warm milk. I gave my mug a sour look.

"Don't make a bad face. Daddy puts vanilla in it."

"Oh okay, vanilla makes everything better," I said.

Oliver sat down across from me. The girls were given the nod to go first, and Daisy spelled out DOG for our first word. We high-fived. Scarlett was pondering her move when I felt a big, warm, sock-covered foot find mine under the table. My gaze met Oliver's. Love and contentment filled me. I wasn't sure how one big dude, plus two little girls, could have added up to everything I never knew I needed, but they did.

"Oh, I have this word," Scarlett announced as she hurried to place an L, a V, and an E using the O in Daisy's DOG to make the word LOVE.

I guess love was just as easy to spell out as it was to fall into.