Page 259 of Bossy Hero

Between what happened in Miami and here in Tampa, there was a metric fuck ton of cleanup needed. Mountains of evidence to turn over. All my team members had to provide statements, including my daughter. I refused to let a single one of my kids go through it alone.

Alphabet soup agencies had to be dealt with—ATF, DEA, DOJ, USSS, TFI, and FBI. Then came the local authorities, ready to pelt us with questions. Sheriff’s offices. Police departments. Federal prosecutors. State attorneys. On and on. I thought it would never end.

Fucking hell.

By the end of day two of interrogations and information sharing, I was contemplating getting a life alert bracelet and picking out a room at Shady Acres. I feel like death warmed over.

I say again—I’m getting too damn old for this shit.

Since most of my guys were stuck in purgatory with me—including Sawyer and Leo—Maddie and Sue stayed at Sammy’s.

Tonight, we werefinallyreleased from debrief hell.

After stopping by my place for a quick shower, I pull into the driveway at Sawyer’s house.

My eyes struggle to focus, thanks to the oppressive fatigue. However, knowing she’s so close perks me right up.

As soon as I see my Maddie, I’m kissing the ever-loving shit out of her.

It isn’t only her body I need. I miss everything about her. Her smell. Her touch. Her smile and teasing quips. Her caring, gentle heart.

Absolutely everything.

Sammy opens the front door with a baby cuddled to her chest. “Well, hello there. If it isn’t our bossy hero.”

“Very funny. Sorry for coming over this late.”

After shifting her daughter higher on her shoulder, she gestures for me to enter. “No worries. When Sawyer got home a little while ago, we all woke up anyhow. He’s not known for stealth around the house like he is on the job.”

Chuckling softly, I scuff my boots on the welcome mat and then ease inside. “Which baby is this?”

She beams at the infant, then kisses the top of her soft little head. “This is our princess in training.”

I can’t pass them without running the back of my knuckles along the silky skin of the baby’s chubby arm. “Hello, Laci.”

Sammy tenderly grasps the baby’s wrist, feigning a wave. “Hello, Grandpa.”

Well, shit. Is it dusty in here?

Not sure I’ll ever get used to the sound of that, or to how much I like hearing it.

As Sammy closes and locks the door, I scan the space. Their home is smaller than mine, but his decorating is far superior. Say what you will about Sawyer—court jester, loud, thinks he’s funnier than he really is, addicted to coffee, and so on—but his taste is unmatched.

He pokes his head around the corner, waving at me with a spatula. “Hey, Boss.” He has his son strapped to his chest in an intricate wrap, looking as natural as can be. Cooking while holding his baby to his chest. Sounds perfect to me.

Antsy to find Maddie, I enter his fancy-ass designer kitchen. Nope. No Maddie.

“Want a grilled cheese?” Sawyer asks.

I wave him off. “Nah.”

“You sure? This is the good stuff. Artisan bread, gruyere cheese, and a vintage mild cheddar that will blow your tits off.”

Even his food is bougie.

“Pass. I like my tits where they are.” Channeling my daughter, I add, “Thank you for the offer.”

After I clap him on the back, I whisper a greeting to Logan and mosey into the living room. Laci’s chilling out in a motorized swing and Sammy’s kicked back in a fancy reclining chair.

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