“Put names to faces.” He unlocked the doors but didn’t get in. Just stood there, one hand on the roof, staring back at the building. “His mother said he was celebrating something. A surprise.”
“Could be an engagement. A new job.” But that didn’t feel right. “Except he’s got that money. Maybe he was expecting a lot more wherever that came from.”
“Maybe,” Jack said. He was quiet for a long moment. Somewhere in the complex, a dog barked. A car door slammed. The ordinary sounds of ordinary life going on all around us.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“We’ll visit the gym tomorrow,” he said finally. “See if we can find the trainer.”
“And King Construction. His co-workers might know something his mother didn’t.”
He opened the driver’s door, and I walked around to the passenger side. But before I got in, I looked back at the apartment building one more time. Third floor, fourth window from the left. The lights were off now. Whatever secrets Andre Washington had kept in that tidy little studio, they were ours to uncover.
I just hoped we’d find them before whoever killed him disappeared into the shadows.
Jack turned south, toward home, and his hand found my thigh before we’d gone half a mile.
“I’ve missed that spark in your eye,” he said, his voice dropping into that low register that did things to my insides. “When you came out of your office in that red top it was everything I could do not to make love to you right there in the kitchen.”
“You’ve matured with age,” I said. “We’re ten minutes from home.”
“Eight if I hit the lights.”
“Then hit the lights.”
He did. The sirens stayed off, but the Tahoe surged forward, and I laughed despite myself—despite everything, despite the dead man and the grieving mother and the thirty thousand dollars hidden behind a wall. Right now, in this moment, there was only Jack’s hand on my thigh and the promise of what waited for us at home.
“I love you,” I said.
He glanced over at me, his eyes dark with want. “Show me when we get there.”
Gravel sprayed as Jack pulled up to the house and threw the Tahoe into park. The porch light was on, and I could see the blue flicker of a screen through Doug’s window on the second floor.
“What about Doug?” I asked.
“Probably been playing video games since we left. I doubt he’s seen the light of day except to raid the refrigerator.”
“We should feed him.”
“Order him a pizza.” Jack was already out of the truck, coming around to my side.
I pulled out my phone and placed the order on the app as he opened my door. I barely got the confirmation before he was reaching for me.
“Jack—”
He scooped me out of the seat like I weighed nothing, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I yelped and grabbed his shoulders.
“I can walk, you know.”
“I know.” He kicked the door shut and headed for the house. “But I’ve been thinking about carrying you to bed for the last few hours, and I’m done waiting.”
He shifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he climbed the porch steps, and when his mouth found mine, I forgot all about dead fighters and hidden cash and grieving mothers. There was only this—his hands on me, his heart pounding against mine, the desperate heat building between us.
“Shh,” I managed against his lips as he fumbled with the front door. “Doug.”
“Doug has headphones.”
We stumbled inside, trying to be quiet and failing miserably. Oscar met us at the door, tail going like a metronome, his whole body wiggling with the shameless joy of a dog who treated every homecoming like a miracle.
