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“I don’t think Gemma texted him, but I could’ve missed her sending a mayday.” She’s thoughtful.
“Let’s head back to your car.”
“Isn’t it a little early to be calling it a day at the office?” Concern hovers within the question. She’s worried we’re being watched. And we very well could be.
I lift our linked hands to my mouth and press my lips to her knuckles.
“It’s early, but we’re newlyweds, remember?” And he spent over an hour in my office. I’m sure he sensed it wasn’t a particularly busy business. I’d thought that would make us a more attractive proposition for a money laundering front, but maybe it only served to increase his suspicions.
We could drive ourselves crazy wondering. In a situation like this, it’s best to not overthink. Otherwise, we might inadvertently tip our hand.
“We’ve got to trust the team is all over this, monitoring any communications they can access, and for that matter, them.”
“So, we just go back, and what?”
“We play house.”
CHAPTER27
SOPHIA
Playing house with Fisher has undeniable advantages. One, we cook real meals together, eating outside and relaxing. He pulls me away from my Venn diagrams, and since it’s in the context of work, guilt lies dormant.
The team agreed we need to stay put, especially while the Toros are Stateside. Yes, they are under surveillance, but there is a low level of confidence we have tagged all members of their team. Plus, if they needed to, they could hire additional resources.
At six in the evening, Fisher enters my office. He looks at my wall of photos and linked connections. There are connections everywhere. Every US politician. Every political cause. If you look deep enough along the paper trail, a connection to every crime organization. We need an inside source who’s an instrumental player.
“Let’s call it a day,” Fisher says. “It will all be there tomorrow.”
He helps me hang the wall tapestry over my collection, and like any other married couple, we enter the kitchen together and discuss dinner options. It’s the after dinner portion that twists my heart and brain. Because it all feels so right and normal and like something I want to continue. And it can’t.
In the morning, I wake before sunrise. He’s asleep on his stomach and his head is turned, facing me. As the sun rises, the golden lights flicker on a scattering of gray strands. In the day, his grays aren’t particularly noticeable, but in this light, and under this close of an examination, they can be found. His breaths are steady and even. Within me, I feel a pull. As if the atoms that make up my physical form are pulling in his direction, asking to be closer.
The scar on his shoulder is raised slightly. My lips have covered every centimeter of that scar. He favors the shoulder but insists he’s fine. There are tattoos on his bicep. A compass with the wordsNon sibi sed patriaein the perimeter.Not self but country. It’s an unofficial Navy motto. A spear with a strap of leather from the base dangling in the wind.
When I asked him about the spear, he said the tattoo parlor had art examples, and he liked the spear better than the gun. I don’t yet have a tattoo, but if I were to get one, I’d want to steal some piece of Fisher’s. Something to be close to him that only I would understand. Our secret. Or maybe just my secret.
Early morning light filters through the cracks of the shades. As peaceful and happy as these early morning minutes are, the day shall rise. The pull on my heart is for a life I did not choose. I was never in the Navy, but the saying applies. Before I met Fisher, my motto would’ve been more along the lines ofNon sibi sed vindicta. Not self but revenge. Deliverance.
Fisher’s eyelashes flutter. He lets out a muffled groan. Before his eyes are open, he reaches for me. In return, I reach for him. The skin along his back is smooth and warm. His fingers brush my hair off my forehead and his lips form a sleepy smile.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning.”
With slow, lazy movements, he touches me. The inches between us dissipate. My body hums with anticipation. His lips trace a path from along my collarbone to my breasts. He brings me to an orgasm with his fingers. When he pushes inside, I cling to him, to this feeling of being complete.
In the bathroom, while a toothbrush and toothpaste fill my mouth, Fisher sidles up behind me and kisses my neck. I’m in his T-shirt, and his chest warms my back through the thin cotton. “I love waking up with you.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I smile before spitting into the sink. He taps my butt before leaving me to finish in the bathroom alone.
When I enter the kitchen, the smell of coffee greets me. Fisher’s dressed in running shorts and a Lycra shirt, but he offers me a mug of steaming joe.
“Where are you off to?” I ask, accepting the coffee after lifting on my tiptoes to brush my nose along his neck. The tip of his beard tickles my nose.
“Running down to the ocean. Meeting Trevor. We’re doing an ocean swim.”
“Run-swim day?”
