Page 99 of Ruthless Enforcer

By minute twelve, I’ve walked to the front windows often enough that Emma finally looks up from the kitchen table. “They’re not coming back faster because you stare at the driveway.”

“I know.” I stare at the driveway anyway.

“I used to do the same thing.”

That gets me to turn around.

She sits at the long kitchen table with one hand wrapped around a mug and the other on her barely showing belly. Gabriel told me she was expecting, but she can’t be that far along. But she has that serene look that some pregnant women get.

The idea of her being flappable boggles my mind. “You?”

“Constantly.”

“You seem very calm.”

“I have to be. I married Jake Callahan.” Emma pushes herself out of the chair. “Come on. We’re making cookies.”

I stare at her. “Now?”

She pulls out a metal bowl. “My baby wants chocolate and salt.”

“Your baby told you this?”

“My baby gets determined.” She opens a cabinet and starts pulling things out.

“What happens if you don't comply?” I ask, joining her at the counter.

“She kicks me in the bladder.”

I look askance at her nonexistent belly. “I don’t know much about pregnancies, but I thought you had to be further along before they started kicking.”

“She's Jake's daughter. Like I said, she’s determined.” Emma holds up a block of chocolate. “What do you say to dark chocolate, browned butter, and sea salt?”

“Your baby has very specific tastes.” Smiling a little, I wash my hands.

For the next half hour, there’s butter to brown and chocolate to chop and something deeply reassuring about the normalcy of it.

My husband is hunting a man who wants him dead. I’m measuring flour. Life is strange.

“You're doing it again,” Emma says.

I look up from where I’m stirring butter in the pan like instructed. “Doing what?”

“Listening for a car.”

I hadn't realized I was. I shake my head, taking the butter off the burner before I ruin it. “How do you do this?”

She smiles, then reaches for the brown sugar. “I don't know.”

That surprises me.

“You don't?”

“No. I think people assume loving someone dangerous eventually makes the dangerous parts less frightening.”

“Doesn't it?”

“Nope. It gets worse.”