“Maybe we could think about you moving in with me permanently.” Ryker’s voice deepened. It did that when he was serious.
“I’d like that, but I still have, oh man, at least three months left on my lease. Besides, after you meet my family as ‘the boyfriend’, you might want to rescind that offer.”
“What are you so worried about?”
“That they won’t love you the way I do.” She moved to her door and shut it, knocking out the kitchen noise.
“Well, babe, there is every possibility that Brody and Brock will never love me, and you know what? I’m okay with that.” He laughed and then added, “I’m more concerned about the age difference. What will your parents think?”
“I can’t see where it will be an issue. Really. You know what, I’ve got an idea. Instead of waiting until next week, scheduling a date and then fretting until that day comes, why don’t you just come with me to dinner on Sunday night?”
“Sunday as in three days from now?”
“Yeah. Let’s just rip the bandage off and get it over with.” She started pacing in the small space that held her desk and computer.
“If you’re okay with it, I’m game. Will springing me on them cause a problem?”
“No. I can’t see why it would.”
“Then it’s a date. Now, about tonight...”
“One night without me to warm your bed will not kill you.”
“How do you know?” he groaned. “All right, but I may come to your house in the middle of the night just so I can sleep. I’ve grown fond of the way you wrap yourself around me.”
“You’re a furnace and I get so cold.”
“I’ll warm you up anytime.”
She laughed. “That was corny.”
“Did it work?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it did. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” She purred the promise into her phone.
“I love you, babe.”
“And I love you. Be safe and catch all the bad guys.”
“I’ll do my best. Bye.”
She whispered a goodbye and disconnected the call. She was so happy, and yet a specter of fear raced just underneath that feeling. Was it too good to be true? God, she hoped not.
There was a knock on the door. “Brie, the dishwasher won’t start.”
She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. The joys of owning a restaurant.
Ryker dragged himself into his small house and flopped onto the couch, pushing back into his favorite corner of the sectional. He’d tossed his suit jacket over the far arm. Once he un-assed the couch, he'd hang it up. Maybe. He’d worked late last night since Brie didn’t come over, and then he’d gone in early to take Mouse to rehab. By the time he made it back Fenton had been to the office twice and had the team going crazy. He’d taken personal time to drive his CI to New York so the bastard couldn’t touch him for coming in at noon, but the ass still ranted like a madman.
After Fenton left, Patel and then Rayburn had asked for a moment of time. They’d both recorded Fenton going off with their phones—insurance should the man do something like try to remove him again. Patel started the recording as soon as Fenton walked into the office and let it run until he left. It was good to know his people had his back, but damn it, he should have their backs, not the other way around.
His phone rang in his jacket. It wasn’t Brie’s ringtone. Shit. He sighed and reached for his suit jacket just as his front window shattered. A stab of pain sliced his arm. He dove and hit the floor and rolled, coming up on a knee with his service weapon in his hand. A dark blue or black late-model SUV hauled ass down the street. He jumped up and hurdled through the shattered window, pounding out to the street, aiming at the vehicle seconds before it careened around the corner.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay? You’re bleeding!”
“Mrs. Thorn, get back inside! Call 911, tell them an officer needs assistance.” She scurried back inside. Other neighbors backed up into their houses when he yelled for them to go back inside. Come outside when you hear gunfire. Sheep, the world was made of fucking sheep cloaked in human forms. He stood in the middle of the street and glared down at the spent shell casings. From where he stood, he could see inside the picture window. He could see the couch where he’d collapsed shortly after coming home. His jacket no longer hung on the arm of the chair. Fuck. He drew a shuddering breath. Someone had tried to kill him. Who and why were the questions he needed to answer.
The wail of a single siren and then more gained volume as the patrol cars raced toward his home. He saw the first car turn the corner and unclipped his badge from his belt, holding it up like a stop sign. The car screeched to a halt, and the doors opened. The officers took cover behind the doors. “Identify yourself.”
“Captain Ryker Terrell, JDET Commander. I live there.” He pointed to the small Craftsman. “Shooter has gone.”
“Description?” One officer grabbed the radio.
“Late model SUV, possibly a Chevy. Blacked out rear and side windows. No description of the shooter. I didn’t get a plate either.”
The other officer walked closer. “Yeah, looks like you were busy getting shot at. You guys in JDET don’t do things the easy way, do you?”
He gave the officer a quick up and down. “Do I know you?”
“No sir, but you know my sister. Detective Patel.”
“Ah, she’s an excellent officer.” He turned to face the detective.
“She’s a brat, just ask my mom.” The guy nodded to his arm. “I think we need to get you to the ambulance.”
“Ambulance?” He cast a glance around. Sure enough, an ambulance had appeared on scene and the techs were unloading the stretcher. Who was hurt? There were two other patrol vehicles now. He glanced down at his arm.
