Page 22 of Serve ’N’ Protect

That last visit home had been no exception.

As if on cue, the scar on his forehead started to throb. The only thing he’d walked away with that day was a permanent reminder of his horrible childhood. He didn’t even know if Steven was still alive. Part of him would always wonder. Part of him no longer cared.

It was easier to shut off emotions that he had no idea how to express. So that’s what he did. With everything.

Minutes later, he’d dried off then dressed quickly in fresh jeans and a sweatshirt. With difficulty, he managed to bend over enough to strap on an ankle holster. Shaving could wait another day.

The smell of bacon and fresh coffee greeted him as he went downstairs. Not that Markus could blame him, but Ghost abandoned him in favor of the bacon trail.

Before going into the kitchen, he rechecked all the ground-level windows to make sure they were locked, then inspected the window Matt and Kade had boarded up to cover the broken glass. Sorry, John. He’d have to get that repaired before he went back home.

At the front door, Markus pulled aside the sheer curtain covering the side window. A blue pickup truck drove past, slowing as the driver glanced out the window. Markus’s muscles tightened a fraction, relaxing when the pickup continued ambling down the road. He continued tracking the vehicle until it disappeared around the bend.

Satisfied that all was secure, he followed the bacon trail to find Ghost standing at Cassidy’s side in front of the cooktop, his tail whipping back and forth on the floor. Meaning, she’s corrupted him again. In one of the pans, bacon sputtered and popped.

She took an egg from a carton on the counter when he asked, “Did you feed Ghost bacon?”

Cassidy spun and the egg fell to the floor, breaking and spilling egg guts onto the tile. “For God’s sake, stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He tore sheets from the roll of paper towels, trying to beat Ghost before he hoovered a raw egg, shells and all.

“Sneaking up on me like that.” She put her hand to her chest, the movement mounding the soft curve of her breasts just above the V-neck of her blue sweater. “Do they teach you how to do that in secret agent school?” Just as he started crouching to clean up the mess, she took the towels from his hand. “It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.” She pointed to the table. “You sit. Ghost has already been fed and let outside.”

Wow. She’d even set the table for breakfast. Considering their little chat last night about how she didn’t actually have to do any of this, he should have been annoyed to find her in the house uninvited and puttering away in the kitchen. Instead, he found it oddly nice that she was there.

Seeing two mugs on the counter, he filled both with coffee, then took them to the table. Ghost curled up on the floor, resting his snout on Markus’s foot. A cell phone with a pink sparkly cover sat propped against one of the trivets. The phone buzzed then lit up, its screen covered by at least five text messages, all from different people. Not that he was looking or anything.

He slipped his own phone from his back pocket then checked for anything new from Captain McMurray, Matt, or Kade. The only message was from Kade, notifying him they’d done a cursory check of Cassidy’s VW bug last night to search for slugs but hadn’t found any. Those things could have ricocheted anywhere in the parking lot. It was a miracle no one else had been out there and gotten hit.

Cassidy cracked more eggs into a skillet with the finesse of a French chef. “You seem pretty handy with a spatula.” He couldn’t cook for shit and was suddenly grateful that she really did take her duties seriously.

“I love to cook,” she said. “I always have. My parents taught me. Do you like to cook?”

“No,” he admitted. His mother had died before getting the chance to teach him even the basics, and his father had never given him the time of day. The incredible smells wafting from the cooktop made his stomach growl. “I like eating, though.”

“Then I’m happy to cook for you. I assume you eat eggs, since there were four dozen in the refrigerator. I was in the mood for them anyway and don’t have any at my house. In a few weeks it will be Christmas Cookie Week and I’m out of just about everything.”

“Christmas Cookie Week?” he asked.

Cassidy skillfully flipped the eggs, something he’d never managed without all the yolk squirting out like a gooey yellow geyser. “I keep notes on all my neighbors’ favorite cookies, especially the kids. The week before Christmas, I stay up all night making them, with a glass of wine, of course.”

“Of course.” Normally, he wasn’t prone to chatting in the morning—or, ever, really—but she was interesting to listen to. And he liked the sound of her voice.

“Then on Christmas Eve,” she continued, setting their plates on the table then sitting, “I go around the neighborhood and deliver them.”

He shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth and nearly groaned as the salty, meaty goodness hit his taste buds. “How many cookies do you make for Christmas Cookie Week?”

She cut into her eggs, pausing, deep in thought. “Somewhere around seven hundred.”

“Seven hundred? In one night?”

“I know it sounds like a lot.” She started chomping on a piece of bacon. “But it’s really only twenty batches of cookies, around thirty-six cookies per batch. At this point, I’ve got it down to a science.”

“And you do this alone? Out of the goodness of your heart?” he added, unable to mask his cynicism. Rarely had he ever come across someone with saintly qualities. In Markus’s experience, most people had more of the devil inside them.

“Well, yeah.” She looked at him with curiosity. “It’s the holidays. There’s no better time to give someone a little holiday cheer in the form of cookies.”

Cookies. The heaviness settling in his chest took him off guard. Until Cassidy had asked him what his favorite one was, he’d completely forgotten about the Hershey’s Kisses cookies his mom used to make for him and his sister. After his mom died, any good memories were quickly smashed to pieces by his a-hole father.