Page 122 of Long Past Deadly

You’re struggling, Alanna.

She hated when her subconscious talked to her.

She should be struggling. She’d killed a man. But after today, after that house, after another round of anger… she wasn’t concerned about the kill so much as that she had no remorse, no feeling about his death other than satisfaction that the bastard was cremated and gone. She could finally put ‘the end’ on that chapter. Needed to.

Of greater concern was her eardrum damage, the damn kill book, and loving Quaid – there she admitted the L word in her head. It was going to take the lawyers five years to write the pre-nup agreement because…

God.

Her stomach seized.

She did not want to be the beneficiary of billions of dollars or any of the businesses. She’d lived on the street as a child, studied deviant behavior, followed the law, and killed a man. She had no business with any responsibility for the money, the businesses, or the people.

Quaid might gripe, but he respected the hotels and QM, their employees, their purpose – that’s how he rolled. The money didn’t hurt, and he used it with wide discretion – like paying off her student loans. Christ! That had started the mother of all arguments. Some of her habits from college were going to need to be put away.

“If you fold any further into yourself, you’ll fall off the stool.”

His quiet voice always struck her heart with such intensity. Her breath evaporated between inhale-exhale.

He came further into the room, pulled over his own stool, and grabbed a cracker. “What are you doing up?”

“Contemplating why this house doesn’t have a bridge troll.”

He stared at her. “Must be the hour. I couldn’t have heard you right.”

“How about a moat or a guard dog? One puny human out doing rounds in a rough and tumble world that’s dangerous as fuck…what were you thinking?”

He smirked, tipping the glass toward him to check its contents. “What are you drinking?”

“Chocolate milk. Straight. I love you.”

He jerked in his chair. “Well, that’s good to know.” He palmed her neck and pulled her close for a soft kiss. He kept his hand on her neck, the belonging shaking her foundation. He lifted her chocolate milk and stole a sip.

She whispered against his neck. “Don’t you dare leave me any of your money.”

He spit a portion of the milk on the counter. That she was willing to let him get away with pilfering any of her chocolate milk spoke to the depth of her attachment to him.

“That statement sounds familiar. I do believe I’ve said the same thing to my grandfather and Elizabeth.”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

“Dammit.”

“Face it, Lani. I love you, too, and will never leave you to be vulnerable again.”

“I need a picture of us for my desk. My rose looks lonely.”

He grinned like a fool. “I can make that happen. Does the frame need a pocket for your gun, too?”

She shoved a shoulder against him. “Laugh it up, fuzzball. Conceal one of your handy dandy spy tools in it.”

“Very James Bond of me. I’ll get on it.”

“I killed him.”

He accepted the switch from play to serious without a twitch. “Yes, you did.”