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It wasn’t quite dark when they pulled into the driveway, but the three men Jack seemed to be spending a lot of time with were waiting for him, propped on their bikes and watching as Jack parked.
As they got out of the truck and Jack went to lift the box of food from the truck, Poppy laid her hand on his arm.
“Mom sent that for you and your friends,” she said softly. “Evan told Mom he’d heard about all the pizzas being delivered. She fried two extra chickens and everything. So, you can’t refuse.”
Jack stared at the food. He’d watched every serving he’d put on his plate to ensure he didn’t seem as hungry as he was for the real, home-cooked food that had weighed down the table at the Porter home. There was more food here than her three brothers had eaten the whole day.
“There’s half that double fudge cake and an apple pie as well,” she whispered, looking up at him teasingly. “I saw those hungry eyes of yours trying to decide which dessert to have after dinner. So, make sure you get yours first.”
A whole apple pie?
Those pies weren’t normal-sized, either. They’d been about twice the size of a normal pie. And the cake had been a double sheet, according to her father.
“Come over whenever they leave,” she told him, straightening and bracing herself on the truck, lifting to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’m going in. I have some paperwork for an early meeting to finish before I go to bed.”
Stunned by the Porters’ generosity, he watched her walk away, that cute little ass of hers making him consider if he wanted more food and dessert, or Poppy. Hell, he wanted both. The knowledge that he could have both was almost more than he could take in.
Hurrying after her, he saw her into the house, checked each room, and stole himself one of those hot little kisses at the door before returning to the truck.
He was aware of the men waiting expectantly. The fact that they were waiting for him rather than waiting for him to call meant they had information they considered important.
He lifted the box from the truck, closed the door with a bump of his hip, and strode across the alley.
“Hey, boss.” Lucas uncoiled from the bike as the others followed suit.
No one paid much attention to the box in his arms, as Hayes moved ahead of him to open the back door and check the interior before giving the all clear.
Jack walked to the kitchen, and it wasn’t until he began unpacking the dishes that three hardened, disillusioned, dishonored SEALs became excited, hungry little boys.
Hell, he hoped he hadn’t acted like that at Poppy’s parents’ house.
“Oh my God.” Hayes sounded delirious. “Is that fried chicken, boss? Real home-fried chicken?”
“Oh hell, stuffing casserole…” Lucas all but whispered.
“Come on, boss, just let us have a taste.” Hank sounded like a man begging for one last breath before taking a fatal bullet.
“Get the plates,” he told them. “Poppy’s mother felt sorry for your scruffy asses…” He shook his head.
No one was listening after that, and three SEALs trained to move quietly sounded like a herd of buffaloes in his kitchen as they got plates and silverware and rushed to be first in line.
Thankfully, Lucas thought to get Jack a plate as well.
“Are you men or dogs?” Jack growled, more amused than he wanted to admit to.
“Starving junkyard dogs,” Hayes hurried to assured him. “Now get yours and get out of the way… please,” he tacked on as an afterthought.
Jack set the desserts aside without revealing what they were, filled his plate, and moved to the table. Within minutes the other three were there, and other than delirious moans of carnivorous ecstasy, nothing was said.
What, Jack wondered, was it about good food and a good woman that turned hardened killers into little boys? He’d seen it happen more than once, but he’d never seen it as clearly as he did with the men who made up his team.
There was enough food that each of them made it back for healthy seconds and cleaned their plates before sitting back replete, their expressions no longer those of disillusioned killers, but of men well satisfied with the world for a moment.
“So why were you waiting on me?” Jack questioned them, giving the food time to settle before revealing the dessert.
“Oh yeah.” Lucas shook his head as though shocked he’d forgotten. “The local LEOs were tipped off about the bodies, but not by Ian. Anonymous tip came in early this morning. Ian contacted me, assured me he hadn’t had time to get anyone on it. He was scrambling to make sure he had his guy on the investigation, though. We should be in the clear, but it’s probably already hit the news. Ian’s people have managed to cover the plane wreckage so far. Bodies are being prepped for burial, or whatever Mick decides to do—they figure he should be conscious in a day or two.”
“We planned for Rollins to be found early,” Jack reminded him. “They had a contact in the area for sure, supplying them information.” Secrecy was more important than leaving someone to wait around and watch for the contact and risk being identified himself.
