Page 50 of Nick
“I love you, Gracie. I can’t seem to stop saying it.”
She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That’s okay, I love hearing it. I can’t seem to stop telling you I love you too.”
“I was going to do this right. Buy a ring, get down on one knee, but I don’t think I can stop holding you, afraid this is all a fevered dream, and I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”
“I don’t need a ring or a fancy proposal. Four simple words, my darling. Will you marry me?”
“That’s my line, sweetheart.”
She laughed, the sound filled with joy and it made his heart happy. “You were taking too long. Answer the question.”
Taking a deep breath, Nick gave her the only answer he could.
He said yes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
Gage Newsome staredat the half-empty glass before him. He’d been nursing the same drink for the past twenty minutes. The phone call from Ms. Patti had him feeling melancholy and if he was honest, a big lonely. Things were happening in Shiloh Springs and he was missing out on all the excitement.
Nick Vincent, one of the former foster kids that Ms. Patti affectionately called her “Lost Boys”, had come back from Australia, determined to search for the person responsible for Antonio being shot. Ms. Patti said Nick felt guilty because the bullet had been meant for him. Nobody blamed him, but Gage understood. Nick blamed himself. He’d have been the same if it happened on his watch too.
In the end, they’d caught the villains, yes, plural, and despite all the danger and intrigue happening, Nick managed to fall in love with Gracie. Gage smiled, thinking about the pretty coffee shop owner. He’d met her a few times on his trips to Shiloh Springs, and she’d seemed like a sweet woman, liked by the town. Because Ms. Patti loved her, Gage had felt compelled to check into her background. Nobody got to take advantage of any Boudreau. Not on his watch.
During his search, he’d found out all about Jeremy Brewster and how he’d manipulated and used a naïve eighteen-year-old, fresh out of high school. A ready shady player, Brewster was a nasty piece of work. The warden wasn’t happy about him being up for parole, but he wasn’t given much say. Add in Mommy and Daddy tossing big bucks around, enough to get their baby boy considered for early release, and things were getting tense.
Taking a sip of his now lukewarm beer, Gage smirked. It was nice to have connections, friends in high places, as Mr. and Mrs. Brewster were about to discover. All it had taken was a phone call. Jeremy Brewster not only would not be getting an early release, he would serve every single day of his fifteen-year sentence. Gracie didn’t have to worry about Brewster coming after her once he was eventually released from Huntsville either. Sometimes knowing the right people who owed you a favor paid off. Gage chuckled.
Speaking of favors, he was sitting here in this bar, waiting to fulfill one he owed. And he was a man who always paid his debts. Brandon McKinney, a Navy SEAL he’d worked with in the past, had called in his marker, and it was time to pay the piper. He owed the man more than his life and his reputation, and Gage never forgot McKinney’s pulling his backside out of the fire. Now his debt was due, which was why he was sitting in what could only be called a dingy biker bar, waiting for his contact to show and tell him his assignment.
The meet-up with his contact was a bar in the French Quarter. While he loved New Orleans as a vacation spot, he wasn’t thrilled that a clandestine meeting was arranged in a place he wasn’t intimately familiar with. It made him twitchy.
The bar’s scarred and pockmarked wooden floors had seen customers come and go for the last fifty years. Though gouged and rough in spots, the golden brown patina felt warm and welcoming. Huge plate glass windows heavy with painted advertisements fronted onto the street, where people strolled past, intent on seeing the sights of the touristy part of The French Quarter. He doubted many of them would grace this establishment, except during Mardi Gras.
Seated with his back to the wall, he watched tourists stroll past, intent of making their way to the more ritzy sections of the Quarter. This bar was tucked away from most of the foot traffic; with only a few patrons inside, most of whom Gage suspected were locals.
A cute redheaded waitress stopped at his table, long enough to bring him a fresh drink, before heading over to talk with the bartender. Long moments passed with only an occasional customer coming through the front door, intent of slaking their thirst. But Gage’s attention wasn’t on those people. No, he was looking for—heck, he wasn’t even sure who he’d be meeting. McKinney hadn’t been specific in his message, simply to show up at the bar at four p.m.
He’d already been here over an hour, and nobody had reached out to him. This was starting to feel like a waste of time. Pulling out his cell, he texted McKinney, though he wasn’t sure he’d hear back, since there was every possibility the SEAL was out of the country. Which was why he was being roped into whatever mess McKinney needed cleaning up.
Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. Five more minutes and he was outta there, favor or no favor. He’d finally got time off, two whole weeks, without having to answer to anybody but himself. No cases, no cryptic covert trips. No undercover missions. Nothing but time, a chance to decompress and unwind. He might even spend a few days in Shiloh Springs, go see Douglas and Ms. Patti. Drawing in a deep breath, he could almost feel Ms. Patti’s hug, her cool kiss on his cheek. Taste her chicken and dumplings. The sweet tea with a wedge of lemon, the way she knew he liked it. Yeah, it was time for a trip home.
Tingles raced down his spine when the front door opened, and time seemed to freeze. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, the golden sunlight sending dappled shadows across her skin. Her face was hidden in the shadows, but a zing of awareness shot through him. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a forest-green sweater, long dark hair spilled over her shoulders. Huge dark glasses obscured her eyes, their dark frames a sharp contrast against the paleness of her skin.
Inching her way inside, she clutched a messenger bag against her side like it held the lost treasure of the Incas. Her eyes swept across the room, zipping past person after person. Oh, yeah, there was a specific person she was hunting, and his gut told him that person was him.
When their eyes met, he knew he was right. This brown-haired beauty was McKinney’s favor. He frowned when he got his first good look at her face, as she slid the sunglasses off. Something about it was disturbingly familiar. Intriguing. Did he know her? There was something about her that made him pause, then the moment passed.
Taking a deep breath, Gage waited to see what she’d do. When she spotted him, she straightened, clutched the strap of her bag tight enough her knuckles were white, and headed straight for his table. Her stride was true, never hesitating, until she reached his table.
“Are you Gage Newsome?” Her voice was low and husky and it sent a wave of desire straight to his gut. Picking up his drink, he swallowed, studying her over the rim. Raven-dark hair and eyes a deep, rich blue like sapphires. High cheekbones and a wide mouth with full lips that he imagined smiled frequently.
“I’m Gage. Have a seat.” He gestured toward the chair across from him. A little distance wasn’t a bad thing.
Sliding onto the wooden chair across from him, he couldn’t help noting her movements seemed elegant and out of place in this two-bit biker bar. Somehow, he suspected she didn’t frequent this kind of establishment often.
Make that never.
