Page 57 of Hell to Pay

“And in the meantime, we can work the problem of where they’re going next,” Nolan said.

I was elated. It wasn’t the smoking gun I wanted, but it was something, another piece of the puzzle we could try to work into place to fill out the picture.

I sighed with relief. “Thank you. Just…” I didn’t know how to tell them that I was still getting used to the idea that they were there, that they were really in this with me when nobody else was. “Thank you.”

Jude flashed me a grin that made me forget all about flight plans and secret destinations. “We told you we got you, boss.”

I was beginning to believe it.

38

NOLAN

I was lyingin bed after pizza, trying to read rather than think of Lilah (it was a losing battle — I always wanted to think about Lilah), when a soft tap sounded at my door.

I lifted my head. “Yeah?”

The door opened and she padded in on bare feet, somehow looking both cute as fuck and sexier than hell in boxer shorts decorated with fireflies and one of her hoodies. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and my dick got hard remembering the feel of it in my fingers when we fucked.

Between Greece and our new house guest, it had been a while.

I grinned. “Speak of the devil.”

She looked around the room. “Were you talking about me? To yourself?”

I laughed. “I was being figurative. But I was definitely thinking about you.” I patted the bed. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She sat on the bed with a shrug. “I guess…”

“You guess…?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “I guess I missed you.”

I felt like running onto the balcony and howling at the moon. Just because this fucking perfect girl missed me.

Jesus.

I pulled her next to me. “Music to my ears.” I kissed her head. “I missed you too.”

“You did?”

I nodded. “It’s been pretty crazy.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

Something dug into my side and I shifted, then reached into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a knife. I recognized it as a Mini Osborne, a beautifully crafted weapon.

“Planning to kill me in my sleep?”

She laughed softly. “I just feel better when I have a knife with me.”

“This one’s a beauty.” I turned it over in my hand, then pushed the button and admired the gleaming blade. “Rafe give it to you?”

She looked up at me. “How’d you know?”

“Just a gut feeling.” The truth was, it had Rafe written all over it: an extravagant gift, given in an effort to speak for him, to say all the things he couldn’t say.

“It’s so much nicer than my old knife.”

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