“I told you not to call me that.” Sam watched Eliza’s nostrils flare. A sure sign she was reaching her wit’s end when it came to Fisher’s relentless bullshit. “And it wasn’t a compliment. I was alluding to your moral turpitude.”
“You call it moral turpitude. I call itlivin’.You should try it sometime.”
“No thanks. I find one-night stands shallow and unfulfilling.”
“Then ya aren’t doin’ them right. I’d be happy to show ya how profound and gratifyin’ they can be. Just say the word.”
Eliza’s dark eyes flared with an unholy light and Sam knew Fisher was in for it.
“Fisher, what I’m about to tell you I say with my whole chest and every ounce of my conviction. I would rather sit naked on a hot grill and have dull shish kabob skewers shoved through my brain than ever have intercourse with you. I mean, as much as you spread yourself around, you’ve got to be a petri dish full of sexually transmitted infections.”
Fisher’s sense of self was made of Teflon. So Sam wasn’t surprised when he only chuckled and admitted, “The only STI I’ve had was chlamydia. Caught it from a nice lady in Belize and cleared it up in two weeks with antibiotics.”
Sam coughed into his fist to cover up his laugh at the look of revulsion that came over Eliza’s face. She blinked twice before shaking her head and declaring, “You’re hopeless, Fish. Absolutelyhopeless.”
The former Delta Force sergeant major grinned until all his teeth showed. Then he grew serious. “‘Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.’ Emily Dickenson. A woman who knew there’s no such thing as hopelessness.”
Eliza turned to Sam, her face the picture of incredulity. “One minute he’s admitting to catching the clam and the next he’s quoting poetry. Who does that?”
“Hey.” Sam held up his hands. “This isn’t one of those audience participation shows. Don’t drag me into this. I—”
“Yo!” A call from above cut Sam off. Lifting his chin, he saw Ozzie leaning over the railing of the second-floor balcony.
Ethan “Ozzie” Sykes was a former Navy SEAL, a computer genius holdover from the original Black Knights, and an eighties hairband aficionado known for blasting Bon Jovi, Quiet Riot, and Def Leppard at insane levels until someone screamed at him toshut that shit off!
He was also usually gone by this time of night, home with his lovely wife, Samantha, who was five months pregnant with their first child.
“What are you still doing here?” Sam called up to him. “Figured you’d be long gone by now. Isn’t this ’bout the time you should be making an ice cream run?”
According to Ozzie, it didn’t matter if it was negative ten degrees outside with snow swirling in all directions. Samantha’s pregnancy hormones had her craving cookies and cream and butter pecan double scoops on the daily.
“Samantha’s editor has her working late on a story,” Ozzie explained. Samantha Sykes was an investigative reporter for theChicago Tribune. “Thought I’d stick around and finish up the CAD drawings for the new bike designs Becky came up with. But that’s neither here nor there.” He pointed to the small screen mounted to the wall between the two large garage doors. It showed camera footage of the front gate and the guardhouse manned by one of the four huge, redheaded Connelly brothers whom BKI paid to keep an eye on the perimeter. “Toran just called to say someone is here and asking to see you.”
Sam shoved up from his squatted position and glanced at the screen in curiosity. He hadn’t the first clue who would be looking for him at nine o’clock on a Friday night. His parents had died two years after he’d joined the Marines—their addictions having finally caught up with them in a terrible meth lab explosion. And it wasn’t like any of his friends from the old neighborhood would be coming to visit since most of them were in jail.
Marching over to the mounted TV, he leaned toward the screen to get a closer look. The instant he saw the woman in the long fur coat and sparkly dress, he decided Ozzie had made a mistake.
“Hey Fish!” He gestured for his teammate to join him. “Pretty sure this one’s for you.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Eliza didn’t bother finishing her sentence. Neither did she vamoose herself upstairs to her room. Curiosity had her trailing Fisher toward the TV screen as she added, “Another one?”
Sam watched Fisher’s eyebrows draw together once he got a look at the black-haired beauty. Confusion had Sam asking, “Is shenotone of yours?”
“Not that I recall,” Fisher admitted.
Eliza rolled her eyes so hard Sam thought it a wonder she didn’t give herself a headache.
“She’s not here for Fish!” Ozzie called down to them. “She says she’s here for you, Sam!”
“Me?” Sam’s chin jerked back so hard he almost gave himself whiplash.
“Good for you, Sammy!” Fisher clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ya been woefully short on female companionship lately. It’s about time ya got back on that horse after it bucked ya off.”
Sam ignored his teammate as he headed for the front door. His curiosity was piqued—who was the woman and what could she possibly want with him? Also, what the fuck was Fisher talking about? He hadn’t been short of female companionship.
Had he?
He racked his brain, searching for a memory of the last time he’d gone home with someone, and realized with a shock it’d been almost seven months.
