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And a thousand dollars says Simona isn’t either.
Once upon a time I dreamed of the whole enchilada.
For about ten minutes.
Then I realized it wasn’t going to happen with me serving in the military. That kind of career and marriages and families don’t mix. I’d witnessed that firsthand as the child of a single father who tried two times to “marry me a new mother.”
Yeah. Bad idea.
But you’re out of the service now. Reminds my rational brain. But I know I’m not the settling down kind. Hell. Stopping in Eden was my idea of trying it out.
Which has been fine for a few months. Only, I know it’s got to have an expiration date. I get itchy. Claustrophobic. And being a plus one isn’t conducive to pulling up stakes and seeking out the next right thing.
When the hallway door to the suite opens and closes quietly, my body goes rigid. Holding my breath, I listen hard at the darkness. “It’s me,” rumbles Andre.
Slowly, I let out my breath and tell my body to relax. But I can’t sleep. Not now. Not who knows when. There’s too much happening inside my head to really let go.
More than one part of me worries that this thing between us is on a crash course to heartbreak city.
Being super careful, I ease my arm from below Simona. She stirs, stretches. “Are you getting up?”
“Yeah. I’ll be back.”
She turns over and curls up into a little ball under the blankets. “Put the light on, please. Leave a gun. I don’t sleep well without.”
Standing by the bed, I just look at her little form below the thick duvet. My heart spasms sharply. Pieces fall into place—she can’t sleep without the lights on.
Her scars run deep. Hidden from the rest of the world. I can’t imagine how hard her life has been.
I climb over to her and brush her temple with my lips. “I’ll just be in the sitting room. I promise. One of my pistols is on the dresser. I’ll turn the light on too.”
“K…thank you.” She nods sleepily and burrows under the blankets.
Andre’s pouring something dark that smells like high test gas into a short glass when I close the bedroom door. He glances my way and back at his drink, something unreadable on his face.
I sit on the end of the chaise lounge as I stretch my tired shoulders. “How did it go?”
“He talked plenty. Guy’s nothing but a mercenary for the highest bidder. Scumbag.”
“You believe it was a coincidence he ran into her in San Miguel?”
“Yep. And he said he shot her because he needed to slow us down, which we guessed. What we didn’t know then was that he did it because it would slow Simona down and hopefully make it easier for him to find her while she recovered.”
The bones in my neck creak from how tight the muscles go along my spine. “What kind of bastard shoots a woman like that?”
The darkness of Andre’s pupils spreads and the man transforms into the kind of evil that you’d hate to meet in the alley. But his voice is casual. Which makes him even more dangerous. “The kind with two broken legs.”
I blink a few times as I watch him walk to the couch and lower his big frame down to the edge. Andre isn’t the kind of man to mince words. But I’m not one hundred percent sure what I’m hearing.
“Your expression says you're not sure if I’m serious.” He swirls his glass, throws back a triple shot. “He’s still breathing, there’s no brain damage, and his arms work just fine. Don’t worry.”
“What happened?”
“He said the wrong thing. I took care of it. Figured you’d want to do the same.”
Part of me wants to know what Pavel said. Part of me knows better than to ask. Finally, I grind out, “Thanks, man.”
He stretches an arm onto the back of the couch. “Think nothing of it.”