“Why was your week shit?” I asked.
“It started with a group of new three-gun shooters that were there for training but knew it all because they’d spent a shit ton of money on guns and gear. Collectively, they might’ve had a thousand rounds downrange. I had to listen to all the lingo until my ears were bleeding. This lasted nearly an hour. Then one of the guys explained to me how a reflex sight worked. Thank God, Brady’s back from his honeymoon and he can take his classes back over. I don’t know how he does it.”
Three-gun was a competition shooting sport. I’d never competed but for training, we ran some of the same drills, alternating between handgun, rifle, and shotgun. When my team trained we didn’t go for speed the way a competition shooter would; we trained for accuracy.
“Let me guess; the guy had a red dot on his shotgun.”
“Yep. He swore up and down his target acquisition was faster and more accurate than my iron sights. Ten minutes later he learned differently.”
I smiled against his shirt, picturing a disgruntled Luke with a shotgun.
“That doesn’t sound like a fun day on the range,” I noted.
“It wasn’t, and the rest of the week sucked, too. Only good part about it was I drove to Montgomery and got prints to run on the Harpers’ contractor.”
“You went to Alabama?”
Why did the thought of Luke driving out of state and me not knowing he was gone give me a weird feeling?
“Yep. Jeff Shepard moved there. His prints aren’t in the system and I needed something to run against the prints in Becca’s room.”
I didn’t know much about the case. I wasn’t a cop when the little girl was murdered, but being as it was still an ongoing investigation, I knew a little.
“You think the contractor did it?”
“I think Detective Winshaw was hamstrung by the chief who was too worried about the media. Winshaw did what he was told and hit the parents hard. I haven’t cleared the dad, but Jeff Shepard had access to the houses—the abduction site and the vacant rental that served as the dumpsite. Keys to both places. Shepard’s wife left him six months before and took their seven-year-old daughter with her down to Savannah. Stephanie was six. The girls were both small for their ages, with brown hair and brown eyes. I talked to a man who worked for Shepard back then. He said Jeff was undone when his wife left him. Wife was cheating on him with his business partner. Barely functioning.”
“But prints and DNA would be expected in both houses. What’s to gain confirming that?”
“Jeff Shepard swears he was never in Becca’s room. There’s a set of unknown prints on her nightstand, on the inside of her bedroom door, and a partial on the inside knob. If I can prove he was in that room, Ethan can get him back into interrogation. My guess is, Ethan won’t take it as easy on Shepard as Winshaw did.”
“Ethan doesn’t take it easy on anyone in interrogation. I’ve never seen it but word is he’s so good even the older detectives watch him.”
“Might have something to do with who his dad is and some old Army techniques his uncles taught him.”
“Unfair advantage.” I laughed.
“What are we ordering for dinner?” Luke asked and tension sprang up fast. “Babe, I skipped lunch. I’m starved and I wanna sit and relax. What are we ordering?”
“What are my chances of talking you into going home and getting dinner on your own?”
“None.”
Damn.
Okay. Maybe I can do this. I made it through talking about his week while in his arms and didn’t spontaneously combust. Surely I could sit next to him and share a meal.
“I want Taco Bell,” I told him.
“Sounds good. DoorDash or Uber Eats?”
“Neither. Taco Bell is around the corner.”
“Babe, neither one of us is leaving. Pull up DoorDash. I want six crispy tacos and a meat and cheese burrito.”
“Six tacos? You can’t eat six tacos.”
“I can when I skipped lunch and I’m fucking starving.”
At that declaration, my hands moved. One slid around to the front of him and trailed up his stomach. The other glided up his back. No fat. Just dips and valleys of muscle.
“How’s that possible?”
“How’s what possible?”
My fingers on his back curled in and I tried to pinch the taut skin in an effort to find an ounce of body fat. I found none.
“Damn, woman, there a reason you’re pinching me?” Luke complained.
“That just sucks.” It was my turn to complain. “Why is it men can eat six tacos and a meat and cheese burrito and have not a pinch of fat? I’d maybe get two days of eating like that before my ass would balloon.”
Luke’s body started shaking and I stupidly nuzzled closer, enjoying the feel of his laughter. And when the shaking turned audible I enjoyed that, too.
Way, way, too much.
I was sitting on my couch with my knees bent, legs tucked under me, feet to the side resting between me and Luke. I also had a belly full of tacos and a meximelt. Taco Bell wrappers littered my coffee table next to where Luke had his socked feet resting. And for the record, Luke didn’t eat six tacos—we’d ordered a twelve-pack—I ate two and Luke demolished ten and he rounded out his meal with his burrito.
We’d talked about nothing personal, nothing taxing. He asked about work, I told him what I could about the call-outs I’d been on. Luke listened and interjected. Sometimes he’d pull his brows together and his face would turn hard. But it wasn’t until I told him about a particular takedown that I found amusing that Luke’s scowl turned dark. We’d served a warrant and had to pull the guy out of bed. It was unfortunate he was naked as a jaybird and even worse that when he woke from his drug-induced sleep he fought like a mother. Which led to me grappling with a high-as-a-kite-full-nude meth dealer who obviously sampled his wares and used pharmaceuticals when he needed to come down. There was no other explanation for the scrawny dude’s burst of strength. After that, I felt it prudent to end story time and turn on a movie.
That brought us to now. Me sitting close but not too close to Luke. I was surprisingly relaxed. Until Luke’s hand found my ankle and pulled me out of my sideways tuck. I twisted at the last second so I wouldn’t roll off the couch as he placed my feet in his lap.
“What are you doing?” I tried to sound irritated but I was worried it came out breathy.
This was because my feet were in Luke’s lap and his hands were moving over my calves, his thumbs digging into the tight muscles.
It felt good.
Damn good.
Not his thumbs working the muscles, but his hands on me.
A tingle rushed up my calves, thighs, then straight between my legs.
His ministrations didn’t stop when he said, “Giving you a leg rub.”
I wanted him to rub more than my legs, and the mere thought of how his strong hands would feel in other places had my nipples tight and my panties wet.
Not good.
I tried to pull my legs back but Luke captured them and continued to knead the knots. I couldn’t stop the groan that slipped out.
“So good,” I whispered.
Luke’s hands twitched and his thighs under my feet turned to stone.