Page 14 of Sam to the Rescue

“What about you? Take a bullet for anyone lately?” She’s kidding but her point is driven home. On the danger-o-meter, my job is much riskier.

“All quiet here in suburbia. The crazies have all gone home for the day”

“Mikey ate pancakes today. I’m thinking I’ll need to wean him soon.”

“Yeah? You okay with that?” I’ve seen her nursing and read how women have a harder time than the infant at letting go.

“Yes and no. I’ll miss the closeness but my God, a cup of coffee would be so fucking divine. I may orgasm at my first. Just warning you.”

I picture it and laugh as my cock twitches. “Duly noted.”

Then, she fills me in on Father O’Connell’s sermon. Chatting happily, I almost miss the woman in blue dashing down the driveway, I race to catch up but she’s too far ahead and jumps into a late model Jeep. Mud spewing, she peels out down the road.

“Shit. It’s too damn dark. I missed the license.” Squatting, I snap pictures of tire tracks.

“What happened.” Sam’s voice sounds from my cell phone which I honestly forgot was still on.

“A woman. Probably paparazzi.”What am I going to say? The suicide bomber who blew up me and my brothers in Afghanistan has come back to life to haunt me?

I send the images to her. “Do you see those tracks?”

“Yeah, why?”

Thank God, I didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.“Nothin’. Jus’ makin’ sure they’re clear.”

Knowing they’re real makes me feel a whole lot better until I suppose they could be old imprints made by some other car earlier in the day. The simple fact I’m debating my sanity should be reason for concern.

“I need to go, baby.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Be home in the morning, Love ya. Kiss Mikey for me.”

“Will do. Love you, too.” After we hang up, I text everything to Lucky, wishing I’d gotten pictures of the woman as well.

When I do, I’ll know she’s no damn ghost and I’m being stalked by someone with access to my past.

I should let my former command know but not until I’m sure I’m not going nuts.

Chapter 8

Sam

A nip at my earlobe wakes me and as I stretch in bed, a familiar calloused hand slides around my waist. In my husband’s muscular arms, I tilt my head to find his soft, warm lips.

My eyelids lift and I’m caught in a heated gaze of dark chocolate. Careful not to wake the baby, I lower my voice. “What time is it?”

“About six. Slate sent my replacement out a little early.” Suds nuzzles my neck and a hundred tingles race to my sweet spot.

“Mmm… That was nice of him.”

Pressed against my buns, his lower appendage thickens as he reaches for the hem of my shirt. He slips the cotton over my head and I kick off my panties. Skin to skin, we embrace and I moan.

He puts a finger to his lips. “Shush.”

Right. If I make noise, before-breakfast-sex is off the table.

After turning me to face him, his palms slide to my butt and he tugs me close. “I missed you, sugar.”