Kellan nodded. “Tomorrow. First I’ve got some shit to hash out with Detective Moreno, namely how she vouched for a team that nearly got you and Kylie killed.”
Whoa. Devon wasn’t touching the anger in his voice for all the money in the vault. Somehow, he got the impression that the two of them getting back on board with each other would take more than a conversation. “Got it. I guess I’ll go find Kylie. Make sure she’s okay.”
“I just dropped her off at the hotel about six blocks from here,” Kellan said. “There’s a room reserved for you there too.”
“Oh. Okay.” A room he didn’t have to lock down like Leavenworth sounded like a gift right now. “I’ll guess I’ll be there if you need me.”
Devon found the place easily enough, thank you cell phone GPS, and snagged the keys to his room without any trouble. As badly as he wanted to make sure Kylie was okay, he knew Kellan had barely left her an hour ago—probably after a ridiculously extensive room check—and he needed a shower like nobody’s business. Slipping his room key in front of the card reader, he pushed open the door, vowing to take the fastest shower known to man, woman, or child…
Kylie was sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but a robe and a smile.
“Hey,” she said, looking so pretty that Devon’s chest hurt. “I hope it’s okay, but I asked for adjoining rooms.” She pointed to a door over her shoulder, and he lifted one corner of his mouth at the irony.
“Since it saves me from having to track you down, I’d say adjoining rooms are very okay.”
Her smile grew even bigger. “Well, they kept you longer than I expected, but we can have this warmed up if you want.”
Only then did Devon see the room service trays covering the side table across from the bed, and he couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“Let me guess,” he said, moving over to lift one of the silver domes. Yep. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”
“I would’ve made it myself, but my resources are a little limited,” she said, slipping from the bed to close the space between them.
Devon wrapped his arms around her, knowing without question that Kylie was where she belonged, and so was he. “I thought maybe we could look for a kitchen in Remington. One that needs an owner. Or two.”
“You want to move with me to Remington?” she gasped.
“Like you said, I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know I want to be wherever you are, Kylie. Starting with right here, right now.”
She pressed up to kiss him, covering his smile with hers. “That sounds perfect to me. After all, there’s no time like the present.”
11
Two months later
* * *
Kylie tilted her head and squinted at the stock pot full of marinara bubbling away on the cooktop in front of her. It was her fourth—no, wait, fifth—batch this week, and she was finally close to getting it exactly right. She stirred the sauce, breathing in the rich, almost sweet smell of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs as her muscles loosened.
In the nine weeks that had passed since she and Devon had arrived in Remington, Kylie had been through enough to make her head spin. The investigation into Xavier Fagan had ended up being a rabbit hole the FBI was still sorting through, although the threat to Kylie had died along with the man. Although she tried not to focus on too many of the details (she wanted to look forward, not back, thank you very much), she did keep tabs on the case. Detective Moreno had taken an active interest in getting to the bottom of finding out which of Agent Collins’s team members had been working with Fagan, and she kept Kylie updated weekly. The detective, who struck Kylie as both a workaholic and not someone to be crossed in any way, shape, or form, had apologized at least a half dozen times for what happened in the motel showdown. But there had been no way for Isabella to know one of Collins’s agents had turned dirty, and holding a grudge definitely wasn’t on Kylie’s to do list (forward, not back). Isabella had gotten the Feds involved quickly, and they’d ultimately taken Fagan down. She was a tough cop. A good cop. Kylie had absolutely forgiven the danger of how it had happened.
Kellan, however, had definitely not. But the animosity her brother held for the smart, tart detective was something he’d have to figure out how to let go of on his own.
Since moving to Remington, in fact, Kylie had done a lot of letting go. She’d learned how to start managing the anxiety that came with being a trauma survivor. Xavier Fagan might be dead and his associates nearly all tracked down and charged for their crimes, but, as her therapist liked to remind her, a girl doesn’t witness a murder and get chased across half the country by a homicidal maniac without needing a few coping mechanisms. As it turned out, Devon had been the one to unknowingly give Kylie one of her best ones when they’d been on the run. Only now, she didn’t need to close her eyes and picture the spaghetti dinner whenever she needed to find her calm. She could slip into her kitchen and make the spaghetti dinner, and grow even calmer.
Focusing on the feel of the wooden spoon in her hand, Kylie smiled, her movements fluid and loose and she stirred the sauce one last time, then put the spoon in the spoon rest beside the burner. She and Devon had checked out three apartments in Remington before finding one with an updated kitchen and enough space for Kylie’s fast-growing collection of cookware and chef’s knives. Devon had even gotten her a spice rack with not only all the staples, but a wide range of things that sparked her creativity, like saffron and fenugreek and Moroccan rose salt. They lived only ten minutes from Kellan’s apartment, twenty from the headquarters of the private security company Devon had taken a job with. She and Devon woke up next to each other every morning and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms every night. Kylie was safe. Happy. Loved. Everything had fallen into place.
Well, almost everything.
“How did I know I’d find you in here?”
Devon’s voice, still thick with sleep, tugged Kylie out of her thoughts, and God, her heart was never not going to squeeze at the sight of him.
She smiled, folding herself into the strong, warm circle of his arms and chest. “Because it’s my second-favorite place to be?”
“What’s your first?” Devon asked, placing a kiss on her temple.
“Right here, in your arms.”
