Page 74

“No, that’s not how it works.” With a rueful laugh, she shook her head. “You cannot bury yourself, your needs. That’s a recipe for resentment and disaster.”

“I’m not burying myself, and the last thing I feel is resentful.” Pizza in one hand, glass in the other, he propped on the opposite counter and folded one ankle over the other. “I know how blessed I am. Want to know what I love about our life in Houston?”

Tilting her head to one side, she lifted a shoulder in query. “What?”

“One, we can actually have a life without everyone being all up in our business. I would never have to call my mama and tell her over the phone we were pregnant because of some nosy restaurateur in Houston.” He grimaced, still pissed over that. Where did Gail get off anyway? The conversation between his wife and his sister was private. It was possible to offer congratulations without spreading word all over town. “Two, I really like being forty-five minutes from the coast.”

Laughter gleamed in her eyes. “That’s one of your reasons?”

“Yes.” He waved his pizza again in emphasis. “If I want to get the boat out and go, I’m on salt water in less than an hour. I can load the girls up for the beach in the same time. That’s always been freaking amazing to me.”

She stilled, a more solemn light darkening her gaze. “Privacy and the beach don’t make a location home. You’re wired to serve home, and I’ve always known that.”

Now she was pissing him off. He tossed the crust on the counter beside him. “If I’d wanted to stay in local law enforcement here, I’d never have gone to the Bureau. I knew what I was doing. Do I miss the thrill of being on the road sometimes? Hell, yeah, but I get the same thrill once surveillance gets hot on something one of my teams is working on. Do I every once in a while want to fix what Grandaddy built and John Hollowell screwed to hell? Yeah, but not enough to toss what I worked my entire adult life for. Because that’s Grandaddy’s department, not mine.”

She remained still and quiet, watching him, weighing, assessing.

“Know what makes Houston home?” He set his glass aside. “You. I’m satisfied being wherever you are, so stop trying to push me into something I know isn’t mine.”

One elegant brow arched high. “Yes, sir.”

Smartass.

“That is more like it.” He uncrossed his ankles, planting both feet on the floor. “It’s been a hell of a day, Falconetti, so get over here and give me a hug.”

Lifting her gaze heavenward, she skirted the island and walked into his arms. He closed them about her, a hard, long hug. He buried his face in her hair, tension shuddering out on a harsh breath.

He hooked his chin atop her head. “Satisfied?”

“Yes.” Her voice wobbled. “I never wanted you to feel robbed—”

“Hush that up.” He lifted his head, setting her back enough to see her face, green eyes tear-drenched and shimmering. He caught a tear on the pad of his thumb. Pregnancy hormones for sure. “Having you at my side couldn’t rob me of anything. Hear me?”

She nodded. Lord help him, her mouth trembled. He hated seeing her cry more than he did either of the girls.

“You weren’t this weepy with Eva.” His brows dipped. “You cry like this when you were pregnant with Eleanor?”

“Just once.” She dashed a fingertip under her lashes. “When I was looking for you, to tell you about her. Dougherty was the last department I phoned. When the receptionist said you weren’t there, I threw my phone, then I threw a sobbing pity party.”

He cradled her face, rubbing his thumbs over damp cheeks. “I’m here now.”

She nodded, leaning into him, and he cradled the back of her head, holding her close, lips against her ear as he whispered how much he loved her, drank in how much she loved him, how anywhere she was became his home.

His phone vibrated to life, his Georgia friends ringtone, and keeping one arm about her, he tugged the device free to find Cookie’s number on the screen. “Calvert.”

“Tick.” The quiet seriousness of Cookie’s voice, no wicked or inappropriate humor evident at all, sent his stomach plummeting. “I’m at the boat ramp at the Marine Corps Canal.”

His lashes fell. Shit.

“We don’t have a positive ID, and the coroner’s not here yet.” Cookie’s voice dropped. “But you need to get David and go over to his mama’s.”

“Yeah.” He pressed a fist to his mouth, holding back the sob clawing to get out. Sweet Jesus, Mrs. Lauree.

And David. Lord help them.

Caitlin wrapped her arms about his waist, holding him steady. He swallowed hard, lowered his fist, threaded his hand into her hair, pressing her face against his throat. She held on tighter.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”