I nod. “Fewer people on the street means fewer chances of a scene. Why?”
“I was thinking maybe it was the arresting agents wanting to finish their jobs more smoothly and permanently,” Sam says.
I slide closer to Elliot, closing the gap. “No, I checked that already. Different agents found the two bodies.”
Elliot relaxes against me, and I sag in relief. “Can you send us the victim’s files? Maybe there’s a pattern there?”
“We’re on that already.” Elliot stiffens again. I sigh. “I’ll send it.”
“Good. Now, let’s eat. I’m so done with murders. I feel like that’s all we’ve talked about since I came here,” Sam whines.
Elliot turns to him. “You must've brought your bad luck with you. Things were nice and cozy here until you showed up.”
Sam laughs. “I’ll have you know I’m very lucky. I was a Saudi oil prince’s lucky charm for an entire weekend in Las Vegas. And let me tell you, he got very lucky.” Sam winks.
Elliot blanches. “Don’t you know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? No one wants to hear how you spread your luck.”
As Sam and Elliot head to the kitchen, something about what they said makes me halt. Maybe Elliot was just kidding, but he’s not wrong. The murders started the day Sam showed up with his tall tale about the kidnappings and arrests.
No. I can’t do this. Not to Elliot. He trusts Sam completely. I should too.
I follow them into the kitchen, where Sam is feeding Mickey treats. I knew my baby wouldn’t just forget his poor father for another man. Now for treats? I’ll even forgive him for packing up one of his giant dog beds and following Sam across the world.
“Sam made tacos,” Elliot tells me.
I help him grab plates, and we sit back down on the couch. The table is brimming with taco shells, beans, and condiments. Sam picks up a shell, loads it up with everything, and offers it to me. I accept it, unsure.
I take a tentative bite, not expecting the burst of flavors in my mouth. I groan.
“I stayed with a chef who cooked for a minister in Mexico for a while. She taught me everything,” Sam says proudly.
C’mon, that has to be bullshit. But I don’t question it as the next bite sends me to heaven. “She must be really good.”
We eat silently, focused on enjoying our food. But the lull in conversation allows my brain to take over. The side of it that’s not attached to my dick and still wants to protect Elliot at all costs. I try to focus harder on the food, knowing that if I let my mind go there, I’m not ready for the consequences if it turns out I’m right.
“But what about the people dying? They’re bad people, yes. But we can’t have a serial killer loose in the city,” I imagine a tiny Nick in angel costume whispering in my ear.
“Think about Elliot. He’ll be apoplectic if you accuse his best friend of not just murder but also betraying him,” the devil Nick says.
“But this is about Elliot. If the murders continue, someone is bound to bring up Dominic’s list that helped him find Elliot. How long can you divert your entire team?”
Ugh, I hate that Angel Nick is right. “So, Sam, where did you go off to after the fair on Saturday?” Please tell me you have a solid alibi. Please tell me—
“Top secret stuff, Nick. Wish I could tell you.” He takes some beans in his spoon and eats them.
Of course it is. “Why is it a secret?” I push.
“I told you guys about the Coast Guard incident, right? Well, that has escalated. The less you know about it, the better.”
Elliot puts down his taco. “What did you get yourself into?”
“Nothing I can’t get out of. Don’t worry, El. I’m being safe, I promise.”
Elliot narrows his eyes. “You’ll tell me if you’re in trouble.”
“Who else will I tell?”
That mollifies Elliot, and he goes back to eating.
