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The waitress arrives, and I withhold the lecture about sugary pancakes this time. I order my usual steak omelet—with a short stack, as well.
“Just tell me where you want to go, and I’ll take you when we’re done.”
She nods, but her look is one of a mind far off. Selfishly, I hope that heated kiss that I darn well should have kept to myself isn’t the culprit. Last night’s at least started out sweet, but the one by the dumpster—classy, I know—was get-a-room hot from the start.
“Are you okay?”
I draw my hand across my mouth, and man, it’s past time for a shave. “I guess it’s all starting to get to me. I know I should be pumped now that there’s a real lead to follow, but…” I drum my fingers on the table.
Thoughtful, she turns to the window. “But sometimes getting what we want is the hardest thing of all.”
“Exactly.”
I sip my coffee. She taps her fingernails on her water glass.
“Look.” I lean in. “I really am sorry about, you know, out at the truck. I was out of line.”
“Yeah, I thought I was about to die. You gotta let a girl breathe, Gonzalez.”
Air seeps out of me. I never—ever—want to be that guy, the one a woman is afraid of. I’ve played that role in the field and I swear it’s my very least favorite.
“I am so sorry.”
“I’m kidding, Marco. You don’t scare me, tough guy.”
She lays her hand in the middle of the table, alongside the syrup caddy, and I take it in mine. I swear I legit feel electric currents every time I touch her. I’m used to hormones and attraction and all, but I’m not used to these feelings that reach the intangible parts. I grin. “I guess stress makes me misbehave.”
“Huh. Sounds like a convenient excuse to me.”
The sounds of the busy restaurant fade to a dull hum as I hold her hand, losing myself in her eyes. I want to make her mine. There, I said it.Mine.Not for a night, a month, or until someone else comes along. Mine…forever.
Something I do not have.
Still, I touch her fingers to my lips. She doesn’t pull away, but her eyes get huge. “Oh, no.”
“Annalise?”
Her mouth works, soundless, but it’s the tenor of theoh nothat sinks in and registers. Her gaze tracks something—or someone.A sinking foreboding presses into the floor of my gut. And then, a premonition.
A tall figure pulls alongside our table, and I find myself eyelevel with a holstered forty-five and a very familiar badge.
Yep. Things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.
CHAPTER 31
Annalise
Tripp slashes his arms over his chest and stares down. “Well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”
I’m not sure if byyouhe’s referring to me or to Marco. Most likely it’s the pluralyouwe learned about in English class. Regardless, I am certain of one thing: trouble has found me, and it’s only now beginning.
Across from me, Marco has turned to granite. I worry there is a molten middle that could blow at any time, and then things will get ugly. My only consolation is that I know that both of these men are decent with self-control.
What I don’t know is whether Tripp saw Marco holding—no, kissing—my hand. Either way, this isn’t going to be pleasant.
Tripp’s gaze takes us both in, sweeping over and lingering on me. “Nice sweatshirt.”
I glare up. I’m a lot of things right now, but for the moment, I’m going with angry. “What are you doing here?”
