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I finish off a bite of a burger. “Who is this someone?” I ask, about to glance at the list when Asher says, “Gordan Moore.”
“Gordan is on this list?” I ask, my tone incredulous. “No way. He’s like the guy with glasses who is sensitive and shy. He’s more of a secretary to my father than a black ops soldier.” I don’t give anyone time to respond. “And a tech guru. He’s an information guy. He knows things we need to know and he’s going to be dead soon if we don’t save him.” I throw the rest of my burger in the bag and turn to Rick. “We have to get to him before they do.”
“Agreed,” Rick says, and after inhaling the rest of his burger in two bites, he eyes Asher, who’s doing the same. “Where is he now?” he asks, clearly certain Asher knows.
“At a country bar,” Asher says, tossing his trash into the bag as well. “Smith is watching him, but we don’t want to pull him from a public place. We’re waiting to grab him until he leaves.”
“He knows me,” I say. “He’s had a crush on me for years. Let me just go in and get him.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near him,” Rick says, nixing that idea. “He’s a target. You aren’t getting between him and an enemy combatant.”
“No one is killing me before you do what they want you to do,” I remind him. “I’m not a target. Not yet, at least. And I think maybe before we get him out of there, I should talk to him. He knows things he might be more willing to tell if it’s just me and him.”
“You’re once again asking me to let you fuck around with another man, to save the day. Really, Candy baby?”
The fact that he calls me Candy tells me he’s not really pissed. I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You know that’s not true. Sit right next to us. Be my personal bodyguard. You know how you like that game.”
“All right,” Asher says. “I’ll be outside waiting for you.” He stands up and we both laugh.
“Wait,” Rick orders.
Asher towers over us with an arched brow.
“Grab me a couple of apple pies,” Rick says. “I need to look through the file before we do anything.”
“Do I look like your bakery service?” Asher grumbles.
“About all a SEAL is good for, man,” Savage jabs back.
Asher glares at him and then laughs. “You’re are a piece of work, Savage. I’m getting the pies because I never leave this place without a half dozen.” He eyes me. “Want something?”
“Cherry pie,” I say because, for just a few minutes, I want my world to be cherry pie and Rick Savage. After that, we go save Gordan. In other words, it’s back to murder, mayhem, and Honest Gabe’s quest for world domination.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Savage
I pull the Porsche into the parking lot of the familiar country bar, behind the pickup truck Asher is driving, directing Candace and me to the only spot I can find available. Parking, I slide us into a spot, remarkably big enough to kick on both sides, and kill the engine. The darkness of what is now evening cloaks the car, shadows cut by passing car lights. Glancing over at Candace, I hit that elephant in the car hard and fast. “It’s still here, I see,” I comment, the air charged with memories we made right here in this parking lot.
“Yes,” she says, her hands on her legs, fingers flexing into her thighs. “It’s still here.”
“Do you—”
“No,” she says, glancing over at me and me her. “I don’t come here. Not since you left.”
“Good,” I say, covering her hand with mine on her leg, my eyes meeting hers, “because I don’t care how selfish I sound. This place was ours. Just ours.”
She swallows hard, her tongue snaking out to lick her lips, and just when I’m thinking of mine joining hers, she turns away. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, it always has been our place.”
I don’t have to ask what she’s thinking about. I know. I’m there, too, reliving the night I asked her to marry me. It started with a promise of a surprise when we got home. Then dinner at our favorite Italian spot. Then we came here and danced. I tipped well to gain entry to the private balcony and loft area that is only open for rented parties. From there, I led her upstairs.
“Are we allowed up here?” she asks as I hold her hand and imagine the ring on her finger.
“You know I never break the rules.”
She laughs her sweet laugh. “You, Rick Savage, never follow the rules.”
But I had followed the rules. I’d asked her father for her hand in marriage, all proper like that. He’d been pleased. He’d been supportive. And then he’d encouraged me to leave. It doesn’t make sense, but for now, I shove that thought away and return to that trip upstairs to the loft above the dance floor. She’d been in a skirt, and I’d backed her into a corner, out of the line of sight, and went down on a knee.
