Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
But I shouldn’t have been, and I knew that. Beyond not saying anything unkind, I should have been able to speak my mind about anything I was thinking, especially since Kurt truly wanted to know. He wanted to learn everything about me.
“I worry about that,” I told him once.
“What?”
“Me telling you what’s in my head.”
“Why?”
Hard to explain that I worried about the fact that how I saw things wasn’t how other people did. And if Kurt and I weren’t aligned, was that it for us? Would he throw me away? “What if you disagree with me, or worse, think I’m psychotic or something?”
He chuckled. “I see.”
“Don’t laugh. I worry about this. I’m desensitized to some things, and I know that. I might not react how you think I should, and what if that’s a deal breaker?”
He nodded. “Maybe let’s wait and worry about that when the time comes.”
But what would happen if that time came?
Fears like that, and others, kept me from just blurting out my thoughts. I could, and did, with the guys in my unit. I never worried they’d think I was wired wrong. It was the same with my boss in the private sector where I worked now. I didn’t worry that if I responded differently than expected, I’d be ridiculed or second-guessed. It never occurred to me that a disagreement could lead to dismissal.
But with Kurt, I could mess up, and that might be the end of us. If I said something about his sister or her kids that he disagreed with, I had no safety net. The best thing, the smart thing, was to simply be better than myself. Be Stepford George. Just smile and be agreeable.
“George, you must be exhausted,” Thomasin said, smiling. “We should get you home and get some food in you, then let you rest before the festivities begin.”
I didn’t react, which I was very proud of myself for, since, again, no food plus no sleep normally equaled no filter.
“Let’s go,” Kurt said, lacing his fingers with mine, tugging gently to get me moving.
The car we walked to, a white Lexus SUV, had all the bells and whistles and was comfortable inside.
“Sin made her world-famous pot roast for you,” Kurt informed me, “which is much better than mine.”
“I dunno,” I said, grinning at him. “Yours is pretty good.”
“Oh dear God,” he groaned, leaning in close, his fingers brushing over the side of my neck. “You have bruises all over—”
“It’s fine,” I soothed him.
His sigh was heavy. “Do you have stitches?”
My gaze met his. “Don’t make a big—”
“It is a big deal,” he stated, and I saw Brad, who was driving, look at me in the rearview mirror before Thomasin turned around in her seat.
“My understanding is that you’re a sniper?”
“Yes.”
“I suspect, then, that my brother wonders how you got hurt.”
“No,” Kurt snapped at her, which surprised me. “I know how. He has to go in just like everyone else, and there’s always hand-to-hand combat at some—” He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. “I would just like to know how many new stitches.”
I grinned at him. “I dunno, honey, but you can count ’em later.”
Kurt’s breath caught, and those expressive eyes of his went dark and liquid, pupils blown that quickly with lust.
Thomasin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, I wasn’t sure over what, but perhaps she wasn’t used to seeing her brother react physically to his partner.
Kurt watched me, eyes locked on my face as I lifted his hand, kissed the back of his knuckles, then lowered it back down to the seat, never once letting go of him.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I promised him.
From the way he was looking at me, he believed me.
TWO
They lived on a street with a fabulous name: Northwest Wind Ridge Drive. The drive, though not long, was decidedly scenic. There were mountains everywhere I looked, the landscape was lush and green, and that was before we started down their street. I’d never seen so many enormous houses one after another, yet not too close, just enough so it felt like a neighborhood.
The thing was, though, I noticed other things as well. As we got closer, I saw an older-model Honda sedan parked on the left, on the hill side of the street, and that was right before Thom asked her husband whose van was in their driveway.
“Are you expecting someone?” she wanted to know.
“No. I would never schedule something two days before Christmas. You’d murder me,” he said, chuckling.
“That’s true,” she agreed.
“Could it be your design team come to get the house ready for your Live Stream later?” he suggested.
“No. That’s not until five.”
As I listened to them, I was struck by the fact that neither knew who was at their home. To me, that was concerning. Everyone who did what I did, who was part of a tactical team, noticed things. Being observant was crucial, lifesaving. So I saw that the car on the left, across the street from their house, was idling, as was the van in the driveway. Both those facts sent me digging into my duffel.