My heart lurched. I had no idea what that meant, but I knew who must have sent the message. Was he still mad at me? Did he want to yell some more? Did he want to talk? My finger shook and I touched the message to open it. I thought of a thousand different things to say back, fromfuck youtoI miss you already, but I said nothing, as usual.
How would this end? He was in New York City, and I was a prospect here in New Gothenburg. He’d already made a living for himself, and I was still polishing boots whenever King decided that would amuse him.
Jamie was so fucking handsome, and his body was sculpted. He was confident and made my mouth water and dick stand up.
I flopped back onto my pillows. I wanted him. I wanted to be around him. He made my palms sweat and my heart race, and he looked at me like I was someone important. My heart squeezed, remembering how he’d yelled at me and treated me like I couldn’t be trusted. He didn’t think I could finish off those men who had hurt him.
He’d been right.
If he hadn’t shown up, I might be dead.
Well, he’d been worried, and looking back, I got that, but he was worried because he thought I was a fuckup, right?
Or was there another reason?
He liked to call me a devil and an imp, but true hell was trying to figure out what other people were thinking. He’d seemed like he wanted me more than just for a fast fuck. He’d seemed interested. I put my phone down beside the bed and stared at it for a long while. My stomach swooped and soared like a small airplane was trapped inside me until my eyes slipped closed. My fingers crushed my pillow until they cramped.
I didn’t say anything back to Jamie and hated myself for not knowing what to do, just like always.
9
Jamie
My message had been read without a reply, and that was more irritating than having a tick burrow into your ballsack. I checked my phone constantly for almost three days. I’d collected my winnings from the car race, and had expected to get some kind of thank-you from Hunter for procuring his bike back from the sticky fingers that had taken it—but no. Nothing. He acted like he’d completely forgotten it was an issue.
Silence from him.
Fuck, maybe he thought Rourke had gotten it back for him?
Groaning, I slammed my phone down on my desk. I’d traveled back Upstate today to my home near Sarasota Springs because Killough had business here and we’d ridden together. He would likely spend the night, too, and as nerve-racking as that was, it had nothing on how I was feeling about this Hunter catastrophe. All I really wanted was to go fetch Hunter and put him here to putter around in skimpy shorts beside the indoor pool while he waited to be in my bed at night.
Outside the bay windows across the way, the flowerbeds were in full bloom, but I couldn’t appreciate my gardener’s extravagant handiwork. I still didn’t understand why Hunter had run off on me. I’d thought it was clear we were going to let each other cool down and then hash it out. Obviously I could see where he was coming from. I’d have delivered him a head on a platter if someone had touched him, complete with the man’s berries for a side dish. I wasn’t stupid, most of the time.
There was a light knock on my office door and it opened immediately after. I knew then it was either Corbin or Killough, because neither man seemed to think my privacy was worth much. It turned out to be Killough. He strolled in and handed me a stack of papers, but I laid them on the desk without flipping through them.
He settled on a seat across from me, and I got a sense of dislocation. He’d never been to my home before, and I was uncomfortable with him over on that side and me here. I quickly stood and walked to the small wet bar tucked in the corner to my right. “Drink, sir?”
“Yes. Whiskey on the rocks.”
I brought him the drink and took the same for myself back to my desk. I spread the papers out; they were filled with shipping-canister numbers. I sighed. “We’re back to trying to smuggle the guns in this way?”
“Guns, what have you.” He waved an uncaring hand at me. “Anything I can simply shove into a packing crate or barrel and have moved saves me time and headache.”
Sighing, I checked the numbers. “These were confiscated.”
“Yes, but there was no sender listed on the manifesto.”
“So, we get to play dumb and say they weren’t ours when the task force comes sniffing round the Killough Company.”
“Clever, right?”
“Aye,” I laughed. “Since it was my idea, I think so.” I sighed. “But apparently not a good enough idea.”
“It was only ten grand lost.” He shrugged a shoulder.
“Too much to burn on another attempt, if it ain’t going to happen here.” I sat back and stared at the papers.
“You’re not yourself.” Killough didn’t sound any sort of way about that, but he didn’t sound happy, either.
