Page 24 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“Catty?” he asked.

“You know, you’re the only person I don’t mind calling me Catty.”

“I started that nickname.”

“No one knows why.”

She swore she could feel Cross’s smirk in his words when he murmured, “No one needs to.”

Catherine forced herself to get out of the dirty thoughts and memories filling up her mind. She didn’t need a daydream to remind her how and why she earned that nickname from Cross.

“It’s been years, Cross,” Catherine said quietly. “Years. So, what? You see me by chance in a restaurant and suddenly decide to insert yourself into my life again? Not once in nearly seven years have you approached me, and I was liking it just fine that way.”

“It has been years,” he agreed.

“Exactly.”

“But I bet it feels like yesterday, doesn’t it, babe?”

Catherine bit her lower lip to keep from agreeing.

Because he was right.

She didn’t know if she liked it or not.

“Let me take you out,” Cross said when she stayed quiet. “It doesn’t even have to be this weekend. I’ll let you call me next time. You’ve got my number now.”

“Cross—”

“Does it feel like yesterday, Catty?”

“That doesn’t mean I want it to, Cross.”

“You’re still a liar, I see.”

“I’ll let you know,” Catherine said quickly, wanting to get him away from the topic of her lies. “About going out somewhere, or meeting up. Okay?”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

She didn’t doubt him.

Catherine hung up the phone without a goodbye.

Cross stood on the edge of the dock as crates were unloaded from a fishing boat. He breathed through his mouth, determined not to smell rotting fish when he left the port.

“Couldn’t get those into port on something other than that piece of shit?” Cross asked.

Andino Marcello stuffed his hands into his pockets as he came to stand beside Cross. “Work with what you have sometimes, man.”

“I hate fishing boats for guns. It makes the metal smell like fish. You’re lucky if you managed to get a whole run through without at least one crate getting wet. If it does get wet, you run the risk of ruined weapons. Then, you’ve got yourself a pissed off buyer.”

“I’m aware.”

Cross eyed the third crate pulled from the ship. The workers loaded it onto a dolly, and pushed it down the dock past the watching men. “How many guns on this boat?”

“All AR-15’s. There should be one hundred. Another load coming in next week. And then the next. We’ll get the final shipment a couple of weeks before the drop deadline.”

“There’s no way a hundred ARs fit in those three small crates unless they’re dissembled.”