Epilogue
Seven Months Later...
Callie
I’m almost done with my white paper when the door to our new apartment swings open. I turn from my laptop and gaze up at my frowning husband. Before I forget, I put the finishing touches on my research, save, and hit send.
“What’s wrong?”
“I got a ninety-eight.” He grabs a seltzer, sits down beside me, and I try not to laugh.
“And that makes you angry why?”
He twists off the cap and pouts while it fizzes. “It was a hundred. The question was misleading.”
Now, I can’t help but giggle. “Does it matter, sweetheart?”
“It bloody well does.” Lucky kisses me on the cheek, stands, and checks the crock pot. “Smells good. What is it?”
“Chili.” Every night I’ve been trying out a new recipe.
“You’re a fookin’ gourmet.”
“Nah, yeah.” I snicker as he tickles me for imitating him. “Stop. I need to finish one more email.”
“Tell that fookin’ general that fifty hours a week is plenty.” He hands me a beer from our fridge.
“I’ll get right on that.” I thank him for the bottle with a kiss. “I’m guessing, because you’re not drinking, that you have to go out again tonight?”
He walks down the hall and comes back with his gun. “I do. The ambassador’s oldest has a basketball game. Want to come?”
“I’ll pass. You won’t be late?”
“What? You worried about me?”
I grin, no doubt our minds in sync. It’s been three days since we last made love and we’re overdue. “I’m fine with you being a bodyguard as long as there’s no wealthy socialites. I’ve heard you have a thing for them.”
“Just one, luv.” He puts on his holster, stands behind me, and cups my breasts.
Then, he kisses my neck until chills run up and down my spine. Turning my head, I capture his mouth and we savor the moment as if it’s our last.
My palm rests against his cheek as I capture his gaze. “I’ll wait up for you.”
“Damn straight you will.” He grabs his keys.
“Wait, before you go, I heard from my mom.”
His brows raise and he feigns to search his pockets for his cell phone. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“Ha, ha, ha. Mother and I get along just fine now that there’s four hundred miles between us. But that’s not why I stopped you. Mother spoke to Gerry’s mom. She says he may get off with time served.”
“I figured that might happen.” He shakes his head and checks the time on his cell phone.
I do my best to rush out the news. “The local police refuse to charge him with breaking and entering because he had a key.”
Stepping back into the kitchen, my husband squats beside me. “Those Ruskis tried to murder you, certainly he’ll be tried as an accessory.”
I shake my head no. “It sucks. He claims he was kidnapped. The jury might believe him.”
