She’d been attempting to talk him out of coming with them. He’d just driven nearly all night. Rushing to SFO to catch a flight to SAN because her screwup of a brother had only seventy-something hours before his next scheduled beating...? That was simply not Luc’s responsibility.
At first he’d thought she was concerned about leaving her car behind, and he’d gallantly offered to drive it south. He pointed out that if he left immediately he’d arrive not too long after their flight landed, but, wow, that was insane. To drive all that way alone...?
What she’d meant was that he should stay and sleep and then fly back—she’d pay for his ticket, of course. She didn’t care about her car. Jon had a car that she’d commandeer for the short term. She’d come back and get hers later. She and Jon owed their parents a visit and a slightly more detailed version of the Jon’s in a bit of trouble leftover from his unsavory past half-truth that they’d told.
Assuming Jon survived.
Please highest powers of the universe, don’t let him die.
Her brother really didn’t want her money. Casey still couldn’t quite believe that, but here they were on this last-minute flight to San Diego, and he hadn’t even let her pay for his ticket. He’d bought and paid for his own. Which was why he was sitting in the back, by himself. And that was why Luc had offered to go and check on him after they reached cruising altitude.
Let me help. I want to help. Luc was earnest and his sincerity was off the charts. But the words that finally made her give in were I have a friend who’s a defense attorney with a connection to the SDPD, and she’ll help. I just need to give her a call.
He had, and it wasn’t bullshit. His high-powered lawyer friend—the wife of a teammate—was actually standing by. In fact, Casey and Luc were taking Jon straight from the airport to a meeting with both the lawyer and the authorities—not at the police headquarters, though. That would be too dangerous, since Jon had clearly been tracked by Miller’s syndicate all the way to Napa.
Again Luc had stepped up, offering his apartment. Jon had balked, no doubt preferring a more neutral location. Or at least one wherein Dave hadn’t had steaming hot sex with his steaming hot and incredibly kind new boyfriend.
They’d settled on meeting in a hotel room, downtown.
But Casey had finally and fully given in to Luc’s offer to help—on the provision that he let her cover his expenses for this misadventure. He’d been ready, like Jon, to pay for his own plane ticket, but she’d put her foot down and he’d given her that at least.
Still, she suspected he was keeping a running expense tally in his head, so that he could, in the future, secretly pay her back.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, now that the noise of their takeoff was slightly less brain-splitting. “How are you not exhausted? I’m so tired, I could cry.”
“Come here.” He pushed up the armrest that separated their two seats and pulled her against him, his arm around her, her head tucked in against his chest. “Eyes to three o’clock.” His voice vibrated—she felt it more than heard it.
He was so warm and solid, and he smelled so good, that she couldn’t fight him—she didn’t want to fight him. “I’ll do it if you will,” she said, and she felt him laugh, just a little.
“Deal.”
“Thank you,” Casey told him—this amazing man who’d become such a dear friend in so short a time. The words felt inadequate, but it was the best she could manage.
She felt him kiss the top of her head, and her heart twinged and ached—just a little. Life could be so unfair. But hey, she was genuinely happy for Dave.
“Any time,” he told her.
Casey yawned and closed her eyes.
And suddenly they were landing in San Diego.
Rio’s parking spot in his apartment building’s covered carport was taken. Old Mr. O’Connell’s caretaker Pete was using it for his SUV. Rio wasn’t usually around at this time of day and Pete was a super nice guy, frequently lugging groceries or clean laundry up to the old man’s apartment. It was no big thing.
There was an open spot right on the street, so he whisked Jon’s sporty little sedan into it as Casey looked out the window at the place—unironically named The Pasadena—that he’d called home for the past... jeez, two years now.
It might’ve been low-rent but it was clean and well-maintained and gloriously old-school—with a U-shaped two story building and a center courtyard complete with a still-active BBQ area and even some shuffleboard courts. No pool, though, which was a shame.
“I wish he’d let us go in with him.” Casey’s focus was firmly on her brother’s plight as she insisted on wheeling her little suitcase herself, following Rio down the driveway to the courtyard. Its wheels clicked on the concrete sidewalks.
“I’m kinda loving the fact that he wants to handle this himself,” Rio told her. “I’m over here.” His door was slightly more than halfway down the courtyard, on the first floor. He unlocked it, pushed it open, and stepped back.
Dave still wasn’t back from wherever he’d gone with SEAL Team Ten, and as Casey rolled her bag past him and into his apartment, Rio cursed his bad luck. He just wanted to tell her the truth.
Instead, he had to keep up the subterfuge.
He’d done a mental inventory after they’d dropped Jon at his meeting—there was nothing in his apartment that would blow his cover and reveal him to be the lying liar that he was. At least he hoped there wasn’t.
“Still, I wish he’d let us help.” Casey laughed. “Me. I meant, me. You’ve already gone above and beyond, and now here I am invading your home.”
