Page 85 of Weston’s Treasure

“What do you mean?”

“Real life. We’re back in Maryland. I go back to work in a few days. I have an apartment to sort out. The bad guys have been caught. So what now?”

“We haven’t been living in make-believe, Silver.”

“I know that, Weston. What I’m asking is, are you gonna take me home tonight—”

“No.”

“No?”

“There’s nothing for you to go back to. You’ll stay at the farmhouse until you go back to work, and while you’re on rotation, the guys and I will sort your place. After it’s cleaned out, you can decide what you want to do.”

“Well, that’s nice of you,” she snapped. “I mean, letting me decide what I want to do.”

“Silver—”

“Do not ‘Silver’ me. I get that you’re bossy. I get that you want to help me and that’s nice of you. But you don’t get to take over my life.”

“Nice of me?”

Weston was keeping a loose hold on his irritation, and by the biting tone of her voice, so was Silver.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now,” she suggested.

He could see the logic in her thinking, it was a smart play, however, he wasn’t going to give it to her. They were just outside of town and had thirty minutes to hammer this shit out before they hit the house. And after being on the road for thirteen hours, all Weston wanted was a shower and a bed. He didn’t want to hash shit out before he got either of those things.

“You got five minutes to explain to me how I’m taking over your life,” he told her.

“I do? Really? I have five minutes? How accommodating of you.”

“Serious as shit, right now. I’m too tired for this. Just explain to me how I’m taking over your life and lose the attitude.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re a fucking pain in mine.”

Silence hit the cab of the truck and Weston didn’t try to break it. If she wanted to be unreasonable, so be it. It was time Silver learned he could be just as pig-headed as she could be.

28

“I’m going home,” I announced as soon as Weston parked the SUV in front of the farmhouse.

He hadn’t even cut the engine before I was jumping out of the vehicle and making a mad dash to the back of the Suburban to get my bag. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough and Weston’s hand shot out and caught mine as I attempted to open the back hatch.

“What are you doing?”

“Quiet!”

I was already pissed, but at Weston’s rude demand, I went straight to seeing-red-pissed, the kind of mad that made your blood boil and all rational thoughts flee. Therefore, I also went straight to bitch.

“Don’t tell me to be quiet. I’m going home.”

Weston stopped dragging me toward the house, bent and planted his shoulder to my stomach and hefted me up.

That was familiar. It was also infuriating.

“Put me down, Weston!” I screeched and struggled against his hold. “I’m fucking serious.”