Page 152 of Hush
Tom kissed him back, pouring every hope, every dream, every bitten-off whisper he’d uttered for twenty-five years into the meeting of their lips, the press of their bodies.This is exactly—exactly—what I want. And who I want.
Mike was shy after, nuzzling his forehead against Tom’s and stealing kiss after kiss as songbirds chirped and the creek babbled on and on.
Villegas stormed into Winters’s office, fuming. He hurled a balled-up sticky note onto Winters’s desk. “They’re fucking gone!”
“Gone?”
“Lucciano took Brewer in the middle of the night! Left that Goddamn note on my door!” The note had simply read:Getting him out of DC for the weekend. Back Sunday PM.
Winters unwrapped the wrinkled ball of yellow paper and stared down at the messy handwriting. “Is the tracker still working?”
Villegas exhaled. “Yes. It’s still transmitting.”
“Follow them. Don’t let them know you’re there.”
“Yes sir.”
“Get close to them.” Winters’s steel-hardened gaze bored into Villegas. “You know what to do.”
Chapter 37
July 30th
“Hey Willy. Remember me?”
Willy glared over the barrel of his shotgun at Mike and Tom. He had a raggedy beard, stained overalls, no shirt, and an orange trucker’s hat pulled over his thin hair. “Marshal? That you?”
“Sure is me.” Mike held out his hand and smiled wide. “Been a while, Willy.”
“Hell.” Willy slung his shotgun over his shoulder and grabbed Mike’s hand. “Thought you was getting on back to the city. Leaving all this behind you.” Willy smiled back at Mike.
“I did. I’m working in DC now.”
“Ooo, big DC fed.” Willy glared again, but snorted. “Who’s with you?”
“You probably don’t remember me. The last time you saw me I was ten. Tom Brewer.”
“You’re the Brewers’ boy?” Willy reared back, taking in Tom from head to toe. “You used to pet the turtles in the creek and stare at the fish for hours.”
Tom laughed. “I did. And my mom warned me about your rattlers every single day.”
“Those old things. They wouldn’ hurt a fly. Unless you went into their gulch.” Willy winked. “What brings you both out here? How’d a marshal and my neighbors’ gangly lil’ kid meet up?”
Tom eyed Mike, but Mike spoke first. “We work together in DC. It’s hotter than hell out there right now, Willy. Thought we’d escape for a weekend.”
“I told you, there ain’t nothing good in that city.” Willy wagged one dirty finger at Mike. “Not a damn thing. I told you.”
“You did.” Mike grinned at Tom. “I’m doing all right, though.”
Willy harrumphed.
“Hey, you still in the business, Willy?”
Willy’s eyes shone, and he glared at Mike, lips twitching. His beard, a mix of gray and white and dirt, trembled. “Depends on who is asking, marshal. You here as a fed?”
“No. I’m here as a friend.”
Willy stared at him for another long minute. Tom glanced between the two men, worry starting to chew at his stomach.
