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“So, um, is everyone either crazy rich or a movie star or a super hot ex-military guy in this town?” she asks.
“Dallas is special, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. We’re one big messed up family, secrets and all. Sorta happens when it’s a part of life being up in everybody else’s business.” I chuckle, loving how pink her cheeks get.
She shakes her head at me.
“I thought it’d be boring here. Apparently, I have a lot to learn about small-town life,” she says.
“You’re getting the accelerated course.”
Okay, yeah, I know this banter feels like high school shit.
Still, I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t delighted by how easy, carefree, and light every word feels. I haven’t had this in forever—a woman who can hold a conversation that makes me feel good.
No, that wasn’t Brittany’s fault. Not when she was ravaged by disease, and I made my choice to bury my baser needs for the sake of raising our kids after her death.
But hell, having breakfast with Willow at the table gives me something I never even knew I was missing.
The girls are still sleepy after just waking up, stuffing food in their mouths and not looking at either one of us, so I reach under the table and brush a hand over Willow’s thigh.
How the hell can I resist?
How can I even think when every glance, every word, every breath feels charged when she’s sharing the room?
“Does anyone want more waffles?” she says cheerily, grabbing my wrist.
The girls shake their heads but compliment her with a thumbs-up on how delicious they are.
“Great choice this morning,” I tell her, adding my appreciation. “Can’t remember the last time I broke out the old waffle iron. Much less ate a batch this good—and no, I’m not keeling over yet either.”
She winks back at my food poisoning joke, the shine in her eyes saying she’s arrived on cloud nine.
As soon as they’re done, I send them upstairs to get dressed.
Before Willow gets a chance to reprimand me on teasing her in front of the girls, I bury her lips under mine.
Honestly, the waffles were tasty, but this?
Tasting her is heaven sent to earth.
She leans against me as we break for air.
“We have to be careful,” she whispers softly. “Including any innuendo.”
I fully get that, but damn it’s been a long time since I’ve had this much fun.
“Don’t worry.” I kiss her forehead and release her. “I’ll behave around my girls. When they’re otherwise preoccupied, though...no promises, lady.”
“Easier said than done,” she says darkly, a wry smile on her lips.
“Nah, I’m thinking it might just be easier done. Every single night,” I growl, running my hands down her back and pinching her ass.
Shit, I’m bad.
I give her a parting set of bedroom eyes as I leave the room.
It takes a few hours of chores to realize I shouldn’t have been so flippant.
So maybe I was thinking with my little head and temporarily forgot that the situation we’re in is truly dangerous.
It’s still on my mind when Faulk drops by with the computer she’d snatched from the refuge.
“Good news: the laptop’s been cracked like a walnut,” Faulk says with a triumphant grin.
“There’s bad news, isn’t there? What is it?” I ask.
From the moment he parked outside, I could tell by his face that he wasn’t here to deliver an easy fix.
Faulk sighs, rubbing his chin as he says, “The help I called in to decrypt this machine are good men, a lot of current FBI agents. Unfortunately, that means what they found has to be followed up on by the bureau itself.” His gaze is grave as his green eyes slash from me to Willow. “And that necessity leaves the folks in this room open to serious allegations and a formal look from the government.”
The news is a fucking uppercut.
I’m too winded for words.
“You mean for...for stealing Bruce and the laptop?” Willow asks, nodding along, her face going slack. “And the truck and trailer. Jesus.”
Faulk gives a single sad nod.
“Those are all pretty minor compared to what’s been found, sad to say.”
The knot in my stomach hardens into rock.
“What the hell did you find?” I wish I didn’t need to ask.
“Well. You’ve heard the old adage, 'follow the money?' That’s exactly what we did, a whole lot of tracing. Turns out, the Fosses look pretty clean.” Faulk’s gaze snaps to Willow. “You, on the other hand, appear to be money laundering.”
“What?” she hisses, her brows pulling together. “Me? Money laundering? How?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Faulk?” Anger barrels up my throat. “That’s fucking nuts. You know she’d never, ever—”
“Yeah, I know. But it ain’t clear in the records. That computer turned up some real nasty-looking offshore accounts, all based in the Virgin Islands,” Faulk says with his Oklahoma twang, scratching his cheek. “Plus a few other places, and as much as I hate to say it...they’re all in your name, Willow. Yours and Peter Macklin’s, who I reckon must be your dad.”
