Page 11 of Paternal Instincts (Valor and Doyle #8)

“I’m prepared.”

Ruiz huffed. “No, you aren’t. Nothing prepares you for the all-nighters you pull during those first few months. It’s sleep deprivation on a level beyond explanation. You have to live it to understand.”

“But worth it, right?”

Ruiz eyed the photograph he kept of his girls on the desk. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Are you and Tia done?”

“Seems like.” An unexpected note of regret dampened his words as he leaned back in his seat, gaze still locked on his kids’ picture.

“We wanted one more, but…” He sighed. “We’ve been trying for two years with no luck.

Getting too old, maybe. Who knows? We’re both creeping up on forty.

The girls are getting older. Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel. ”

He pivoted to face me and slapped the desk, his melancholic mood dissolving instantly with his grin. “Besides, I’m going to be a godfather soon. Even better. All the fun, none of the sleepless nights. ”

“Hey. I told you not to brag about that until I confirmed it,” Quaid said from the doorway, startling us both.

I spun to face my wily husband, alarmed at his disarray. “Hey, hot stuff. You look about as wrecked now as you did when I had you moaning in the supply room.”

His cheeks flamed, and Ruiz cursed under his breath.

Knowing I was about to get an earful from both sides, I quickly detoured back to the original topic. “What is this I hear about godfathers and Ruiz? I thought we were considering Torin. Are we dismissing him outright?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s Torin. Need I say more? He has less than a year of parenting under his belt.

He’s not qualified. Costa has two well-mannered girls who have survived the first five years of life.

Plus, he tries hard not to swear in front of them.

I have more faith in him than in Torin, who I wouldn’t trust with my cat for a weekend. ”

The tattooed IT freak puffed up his chest and grinned as he buffed his knuckles on his shirt. “Yep, you heard him. I get all the props.”

“Stop gloating. If Quaid knew about your filthy affinity for redheaded twenty-year-olds, you’d be unfriended so fast, your head would spin.”

Ruiz hitched a brow, an evil smirk filling his face. “Are we going there, Doyle?”

“We are not. You are the godfather. Congratulations, the job is yours.”

“Damn straight.”

Quaid shifted his attention between us, aware in his eerie Quaid-like way that he’d missed something important. Before he could reverse course and analyze the conversation, I jerked the steering wheel in another direction, detouring us yet again.

“We have preliminary backgrounds on Jude, Clementine, Nixon, and Imogen. How’d it go at the house? Where’s Jordyn?”

Quaid entered the room and glanced at the corner before realizing I was seated in his chair.

I earned a subtle nose wrinkle before he leaned against the doorframe instead, arms crossed.

“She went home to get a few hours of sleep.

We chatted with the parents, set up canvasing with the local police district, and arranged a search party to scan the area between the house and field come morning.

We organized a family liaison officer to stay with the Davises and be sure Sparrow is properly taken care of, and we walked the path we believe the child took to get to his soccer game the night he vanished.

“At the Soccerplex, we discovered a slew of security cameras. We finagled a judge for a warrant, then spent over an hour locating the building manager to deliver it. He’s compiling the footage and will have it to us early tomorrow.

“Since it was getting late, Jordyn insisted we take a few hours and restart in the morning. We still need to contact friends and family members and inform them of the abduction, but considering the delicacy of the situation, Jordyn and I want to be there when the news is delivered. Making house calls at close to midnight wasn’t going to fly, so here I am, not at home in bed despite her orders. ”

“Shocking.”

Quaid hated stopping for any reason when working on a case.

Usually, the mere suggestion of rest ignited his fiery temper, which was typically made worse by exhaustion.

Jordyn helped. She was as stubborn as my husband but put her foot down long before they worked themselves into the ground.

She dictated at what point they needed rest, then made the call for them to stop, despite my husband being her superior.

Quaid respected his partner and didn’t argue anymore.

Jordyn had accomplished something no other person had been able to accomplish, and I appreciated her more than she knew.

“Does this mean I can go home to my wife?” Ruiz asked, crossing his fingers on both hands.

“No. Not before you give me an update.” Quaid tugged his tie loose and pulled it over his head, discarding it on the edge of Ruiz’s desk.

“What are you doing?” Ruiz asked.

“Show me what you found.” Quaid undid a few buttons at his collar and mussed his hair as he kicked off his loafers with a sigh.

Ruiz leaned away, hands up as though to defend himself. “Whoa. Stop undressing in my office. Doyle, tell your husband to keep his pants on. This is getting weird.”

Quaid smirked. “I’m relaxing after a long day, sweetheart.” To me, he said, “Get out of my chair.”

When I complied, he dropped heavily with another sigh and unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his sleeves to his elbows in the same manner Ruiz often wore his shirts.

Ruiz’s discomfort mounted. Trapped in the corner of his L-shaped desk, he couldn’t back away any farther.

Quaid’s shit-eating grin grew. “What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t like it when I show a little skin?”

“I do,” I piped up.

“Shut up, Doyle.” Ruiz pointed a finger in my direction. “Don’t encourage him.”

Quaid scooted his chair closer to Ruiz’s desk, nice and snug, invading the IT guy’s space and helping himself to the legal pad we’d spent half the night filling with notes .

“Hey, no touching.” Ruiz yanked it from Quaid’s grasp and shoved him over a few inches, glaring at me like I should do something about my unruly husband.

“What?”

“Fix this.” Ruiz dashed his gaze at an over-amused Quaid.

“Why? He’s your boy friend. If you’ve got a problem, ask him to pretty please stop. I personally like seeing his shit-stirring side.”

“Don’t you fucking start with that boyfriend crap again.”

“There’s a space, remember. Boy, space, friend. Boy friend.”

To Quaid, Ruiz said, “Are you going to let him say that?”

Quaid seemed to consider. “Boy friend. Nah, it has a nice ring to it. You’re a boy and my friend. Makes sense to me.” He held out his hand. “Can I pretty please see the papers? It’s late, and I’m tired. When I’m tired, I lose all self-control.”

“It’s true,” I added.

“I fucking hate you both.” Ruiz shoved the notepad at Quaid, but his smirk canceled his animosity. He wasn’t as pissed off as he pretended. “Now, can you please move back? I can’t breathe when you’re this close.”

Quaid scooted his chair a reasonable distance away as he silently studied our notes, a deep furrow in his brow. Under the notepad was a stack of print-offs detailing relevant information that was too dense to summarize. Quaid reviewed it all.

A minute and a half later, he plucked one of the printed pages from the pile and tilted his head to the side before glaring at Ruiz. “A filthy affinity for redheaded twenty-year-olds, huh?”

He turned the page around, displaying a picture of Clementine Prescott.

Ruiz gawped a few times as though searching for words before closing his mouth and throwing up his hands in defeat. “What? ”

“I may be gay, Costa, but I’m not blind. She’s very pretty.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the shame and discomfort painting Ruiz’s face, but my clairvoyant husband, who wasn’t even looking in my direction, whipped around and pointed a finger at my face.

“Stop looking so smug. I know you, Aslan Ronan Doyle, and you’re as guilty as him. You should both be ashamed.”

“We are,” I croaked.

“Are you?” Quaid held up the photograph, aiming it purposefully in my direction. I wasn’t supposed to look. I knew that, but my eyeballs drifted.

Quaid snagged my chin in a pinching grip.

He brought his face within inches of mine.

I was trapped by his baby blues. Humbled, yet enraptured.

There was no anger. No hidden agenda. No uncertainty or hostility over my ogling a pretty girl.

He was not fraying at the seams like he would have done at the beginning of our relationship.

I didn’t see a hint of jealousy. We’d come so far.

Instead, I was met with a smile, grand enough to enhance the moon-shaped creases beside his mouth and bring out the sexy crow’s feet he hated beside his eyes.

“You’re such a pig.”

“I can’t help it.” I oink ed, and his quiet laughter tugged at my heartstrings. “I love you.”

“I know.” He kissed me, right there in Ruiz’s office, in front of his boy friend—two words—who groaned and cursed and hated every second of the public display of affection.