After a quick stop at the local Starbucks drive-thru for caffeine and sustenance, I checked my watch—we had just enough time to make the drive.
I glanced over at Peyton.
She unwrapped her hot bacon-gouda sandwich and closed her eyes as she sniffed it. “This is exactly what I needed this morning.”
I grinned but didn’t vocalize that all I’d needed this morning was to wake up next to her. “I get it,” I said in my best pouty voice. “If you want to switch back to your vibrator, I can help with that.”
She giggled. “I mean, after the shower sex, of course. I needed the Whopper more than this, way more.”
I nodded. “If you say so.”
She punched my arm.
We hadn’t discussed our relationship beyond constantly saying I love you to each other. That wasn’t for lack of Peyton’s attempts, but early on, I’d shut them down. Working with Doctor Lang to get past my nightmare had been scary, but even scarier had been the prospect of making plans with Peyton if I couldn’t be successful with the doctor and having to let her go to keep her safe from me.
The light ahead turned red, and I stopped.
Finally sleeping in the same bed as Peyton last night had been a big step, a gargantuan accomplishment. Today, I felt as proud of last night as the day I’d graduated BUD/S and earned the SEAL Trident.
It was time for the big discussion, and it had to be held in the right place.
As the light turned green, my phone rang on the Porsche’s speakers. The screen said it was Lucas.
“Hi, boss,” I answered.
“You’re driving?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Peyton with you?”
“Yes,” she answered for me. “Good morning, Lucas.”
“Uh, good morning. I have an update. Peyton, you won’t need to testify at O’Connor’s trial.”
I looked over to catch a large smile bloom on my woman’s face.
“That’s great,” she said.
“A pair of inmates attacked O’Connor in jail yesterday. He’s dead.”
Peyton sucked in a shocked breath. It was a reminder that Peyton wasn’t used to my world, where death was not shocking news.
“Good news,” I said, so she wouldn’t feel she had to react.
“Does this affect making the others pay?” she asked, meaning the men who’d contracted with O’Connor to have their wives murdered. “Since he can’t testify now?” That was my woman, pivoting immediately from how it affected her to how it affected others.
“No,” Lucas answered. “The last of them reached a plea deal last week. So… I guess it’s finally over.”
“It’s not fair that they get off with reduced sentences after hiring people to kill their wives.”
The deals we’d heard they were getting were ten years instead of the maximum of twenty under the law.
“I understand how you feel,” Lucas said slowly. “But the courts are a procedural system, not a fairness system.”
She shook her head, disgusted.
I didn’t blame her. “Thanks, boss,” I said before disconnecting.
