Page 127 of Parting Shot

He waggled his eyebrows at me. “He doesn’t have a cool lair or gadgets, but when you see him wheel and deal and save schools and libraries and put up green factories in small towns to create jobs and not kill the environment in the process … you’ll get it.”

“What you’re telling me is, he’s actually a good guy.”

“He’s the best guy, but he’s also a selfish asshole.”

“And possessive and smothering,” Aaron added without opening his eyes. “If you guys are gonna talk about me, you should do it somewhere I can’t hear.”

I squeezed his hand, and he leaned forward, kissed my knuckles, and then returned to his reclining position.

“Now please shut the hell up so I may nap.”

I noticed he had left his phone, turned off, beside my hip. “Don’t you have people to call?”

“No. Not right now.”

Miguel could not have looked any more surprised, even as he smiled and nodded. Apparently, he was enjoying seeing the billionaire at rest.

On the plane, flying home, after wine for him and water for me and steaks and baked potatoes with all the fixings, Aaron passed out on the couch. I sat, leaning back, and he basically used me as a pillow while I talked to Agent Summers.

“We picked up Mr. Wells, trying to cross the border into Mexico. Mr. McCall had a one-way ticket booked for Paris, but he’s in custody as well, thanks to your partner.”

I had called Jimmy, and he had gotten right on top of finding McCall.

She coughed significantly. “Detective O’Meara does his police work somewhat outside the box.”

“Which is a nice way of saying you liked his results,” I interpreted with a laugh, “but his methods scared the crap out of you.”

“Not scared.” She hedged. “More was appalled by.”

“Yeah, well …”

“He sort of kicks down doors and takes no prisoners,” she offered.

“Yep,” I agreed. “But no one will say a word about him. They wouldn’t dare.”

“And are you the same way, Detective?”

“Depends on the case, Agent,” I answered honestly.

She didn’t ask any more questions after that.

Aaron wanted our cohabitation to begin immediately. When we landed in Chicago, I grumbled to him that I needed to sleep in my own bed.

“But you’re invited,” I offered.

“That’s very sweet.” He smiled. “But may I simply ask you what good things have ever happened to you in that loft?”

“It’s home.”

He put his hand over his heart. “No, wherever I am is home.”

And because that made sense, I said okay to moving in right that second.

The kiss I got sealed the deal.

SIXTEEN

Astrid was so sorry. She kept looking at me, her eyes all soft and wounded. Max was upset; the clench of his jaw told me so even though he hadn’t said a word.