Page 59 of The Witness

We all fell silent for a few moments, enjoying our after-dinner drink.

“So you two were talking about Steel when I first came up, right?” Quinn all but bounced with excitement.

My cheeks heated. I wanted to blame the vodka but…

“Yes. My daughter was trying to dissuade me from my belief that he is—”

“Taking her personal protection very personally?” Quinn raised her eyebrows in my direction.

“Ugh, he’s so not my type. I’ve never been into action movie heroes or guys that ride motorcycles, but after Cuba with Michael Steel, I might be.” I waved a hand in front of my hot cheeks.

Quinn giggled and Mom and I joined her.

“That’s funny, because you are so his type. Michael has a bit of a white knight complex. He loves a damsel in distress.” Quinnwasn’t laughing any longer; she had her head cocked looking at me like I was a puzzle she needed to figure out.

“That’s not me. Not anymore. I’ve got my boss girl panties on, and starting tomorrow, I’m kicking ass all by myself. Time to get back on my timeline for the restaurant opening.” Gun fights and international criminals might have been beyond my comfort zone, but insurance paperwork and motivating lazy contractors were totally in my wheelhouse.

“I’m not so sure Michael is ready to give up the white horse and lance yet.” Mom looked at her glass of vodka and not at me as she made her prediction.

“I’m sure you two will figure it out. More vodka?” Quinn held up the icy bottle, and I was surprised to see I’d finished my drink.

I held out the glass for a refill.

Michael had been my superhero in Cuba. My safety net and my lover, but now that we were home, did we make any kind of sense as a couple? Would he even be interested?

Normal me was a ball buster. I stood against the world on my own. First as a single mom and now as an entrepreneur. I had a niggling suspicion if Quinn was right about Michael’s type he and I may not be as compatible as the two passionate nights in a Cuban hotel had indicated.

I tossed back half the shot and savored the cold menthol-like burn.

“Quinn, you mentioned you had filed as much of the insurance paperwork as possible without me. Can you get me copies?”

“Already have them in a file with your name on it.”

“Perfect.”

Chapter 27

Michael

“You really don’t have to drive us. We can get an Uber.” Sabrina tipped down the same oversized sunglasses she’d worn in Havana and looked me in the eye. She was teasing me. The sexy smile on her lips made me want to kiss her.

“No, I’m fine. The murder chicken has grown on me.” I glanced over to where Noah stood holding the oversized dog crate with the pissed off bird in it. The crate swayed and a new volley of screeching obscenities came from Captain Morgan trapped in its depths.

“No, he hasn’t. But that’s okay, dear, Captain Morgan forgives your prejudice.” Minerva patted my arm as she passed by on the way to supervise Noah loading the crated bird into the back ofThe Tank. Good thing I liked Minerva, or I would strap the damn parrot to the roof. Its beady eyes made my skin crawl.

Sabrina sniggered. I managed a long-suffering sigh, and she laughed harder. I’d be the butt of the joke to hear her laugh. It was infectious, light, free, and happy. Her persona had blossomed since learning Sandoval was in Cuban custody. She was becoming a different person than the terrified and guilt-ridden woman I’d first met.

I shouldered the big duffle bag I’d packed for Sabrina a few days ago. Walking in front of me, she pulled one of her mom’s small suitcases behind her. We strolled across the front parking lot of the Smith Agency. I let my gaze linger on her ass, encased in a pair of jeans that fit like a second skin. In Havana, I’d cradled those naked cheeks in my hands, and now I was drooling at the sight of them covered in denim. Yeah… we needed to figure this shit out.

About an hour ago, Gunter had gotten word from a contact at Interpol that what was left of Sandoval’s organization was at war with itself. Every henchman, criminal, and underboss was trying to claim their piece of the pie. The last thing any of them cared about was Sabrina. She’d hugged Gunter when he shared the news. I didn’t love that, but the joy on her face had been epic.

I was conflicted. Last night home alone, I binge-watched six episodes of Food Truck Fabulous. Sabrina had been incredible. The camera loved her; the judges loved her. Even the other contestants loved her. She was electric. I wanted to help her rebuild her restaurant and see if the chemistry we shared in Havana was still thermonuclear. On screen, new facets of her personality had enchanted me. I wanted to discover those parts of her in real life. My insta-lust had transformed into a full-blownI want to date this womancrush.

Today in the bright afternoon sunshine with my boss, her mom, and a handful of my co-workers watching, my brilliantrevelation felt impossible to act on. Did I just grab her waist, pull her close, and kiss the hell out of her like I wanted to? Or did I play it cool until we got a moment alone to talk? This shit was worse than an internet dating app. No option for either one of us to gracefully ghost the other. Our lives were tangled up with my work and her safety. Not that I wanted her to disappear from my life. But I wasn’t sure if she’d welcome a declaration of intent in front of everyone. Dating in your forties is so much overthinking bullshit.

At the back of The Tank, I stood with Sabrina, itching to put my hand on the small of her back but refraining. Noah had put the bird crate inside the SUV, and Captain Morgan was flapping his wings and screaming, “I’m a pretty bird” loud enough I winced. I didn’t understand birds as pets. Freaky feathered dinosaurs.

“Easy, darling,” Minerva cooed as she draped a thick blanket over the crate. The bird calmed almost instantly. “He’s going to be so happy to get back home.”

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