Sloan had been intending to help Jo and send her on her way, but now he knew it wouldn’t be so simple. They clearly had unfinished business, at least in bed. He thought of the eager way she pressed herself against him from hip to mouth and shuddered. The chemistry between them had always been off the charts, but now it was on fire.
His phone vibrated from the floor beside his bed, and he picked it up, a text message from Moto visible on the home screen and the light from the device illuminating the space.
FOUND TWO ACCOUNTS AT A BANK IN CHICAGO. BOTH CLEANED OUT ON FRIDAY.
He frowned, typing back, REGAN WAS ALREADY DEAD. GET BANK VIDEO.
“Why were you kissing my mom?”
Lucas was sitting upright in his bed just a few feet away.
So much for not talking.
He put down his phone. “Because I like her.” He debated how much he should share, briefly considering ending the conversation there and going back to bed. But no matter what Joanne had asked him to do, he couldn’t just ignore a kid’s questions—especially one who was clearly in pain. “It upset you to see that, huh?”
“Does that mean you love her?”
“People kiss for different reasons.”
“She didn’t kiss my dad.”
Hmm. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to hear more about that. “Not at all?”
“No. If you don’t love her, you shouldn’t kiss her, because she might get confused.”
One side of Sloan’s mouth slid into a smile. “Confused?”
“Yeah. Girls think kissing means you love them. It happened to me with Laney Bastian in second grade.”
“What grade are you in now?”
“Third.”
“That was a long time ago then.”
“Yeah, but still. You’ve got to be careful.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Lucas was quiet for a minute. “I saw my dad kiss his secretary once, but don’t tell my mom because she might get sad.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Dad said kissing is complicated.”
“Did they still live together then, your mom and dad?”
“Yeah.”
Even in the darkened camper, Sloan could see the strain on the little boy’s face. “I’ll bet that was hard for you.”
Lucas nodded. Sloan looked to the tiny kitchenette. For every crisis, there was a food that could help. “You hungry? I could go for a snack.” Lucas hopped out of bed, beating Sloan to the cupboard. After finding a bag of chocolate chip cookies, he poured two glasses of milk, careful not to turn on any lights that might disturb April, and they returned to their beds with their food, eating quietly.
After a minute, Lucas spoke around a mouthful of cookies. “She’s not bad.”
“Who?”
“My mom. She’s nice, and she makes good brownies.”
