Page 59 of Resisting His Target
“Aww, you did?” She kissed his cheek, then handed him the champagne. “Will you open this? I feel like celebrating.”
Selena ran to the radio while Jackie poured their drinks, taking a sip of the refreshing bubbly drink. “I can put on some party music,” Selena said, choosing a pop song with a thumping beat.
Razorback danced, badly and boldy. “This is my jam!” Selena and Jackie laughed. He took her hand and pulled her into the middle of the kitchen floor, spinning her around to the music.
The song ended and a slower one came on. Jackie fitted herself more tightly against him with a sigh. “Everything’s falling into place. Is it wrong that I keep waiting for it all to fall apart?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “It’s going to be different this time, Jackie. Nothing’s going to fall apart. You’ll see.”
“And if it does?”
“Then we’ll deal with it together. I’m not going anywhere, are you?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Except Louisiana,” he said. “Dire and I go wheels up in the morning for a couple of nights on a private security detail.”
Already she hated that he traveled so much, but she didn’t expect perfection. “I’ll get a nice loaf of Italian bread to boil up for you when you return.”
“I’d like that.” He kissed her. She opened her lips, changing the tenor of the kiss to something entirely different, and his arms tightened around her.
Selena grabbed their legs, moving along with them. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.
Jackie and Razorback lifted their heads. “Meet me after bathtime,” he whispered.
She grinned and traced a line down his jaw to his chin. Ian Rhodes was one hell of a man, and they might just get to have one hell of a relationship. “You got it, hot stuff.”
38
Mac rested his shovel against the skewed picket fence and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The late-summer Alabama heat surrounded him, its moisture seeming to boil him alive. Small fluorescent flags marked utility lines running underground. He stared over the one-acre lot that surrounded the old abandoned farmhouse, opening his throat as he downed his tonic water and missed the remembered tang of gin.
He’d stayed sober—give or take—since that private investigator had given him his first genuine lead on Ellie, the promise of finding his wife after so many years enough motivation for him to haul his sorry ass back on the wagon. And now that search might be at an end.
Please don’t be here, Ellie.
Be off in New Orleans, married to a man younger than me and richer, too. Be happy, damn it.
Just don’t be dead.
He’d always thought he would know if she died, that the blood that circled through his body would reverse direction or stop moving entirely if something happened to his wife. But now, faced with the possibility she’d been murdered, he didn’t know what to think or feel. If Ellie really was gone, maybe it was time to eat a bullet instead of drinking himself to death.
He sighed heavily and wiped his brow again, finding it just as wet as the first time. He stretched his back and picked up the shovel. The heavy equipment he hired would be arriving in the morning, along with an FBI investigator he’d damn near had to beg to be here. But Mac didn’t want to stop digging if he found any bodies, and he was pretty darn certain he was going to find bodies.
The sound of a vehicle coming down the road made him turn his head, dust flying up behind it on the gravel road like smoke. It was a red pickup, the biggest they made, and as out of place in this part of Mobile as a Rolls Royce.
It pulled in beside his rental sedan, two men inside. One Mac recognized, one he didn’t. Leo fucking Wilson.
Cowboy.
He must have gotten his email and decided the ego blow was worth a personal visit. What a dick. That guy needed a good pop to the head. Maybe knock a few teeth out of that pompous redneck mouth of his in the process.
They were peers, goddamn it, but Cowboy had no respect for Mac or his team. The only reason Mac had taken this damn job was to find his wife, but the job had taken on a life of its own. It was important to help these men, like reaching into hell’s waiting room and dragging them back out. And screw Leo Wilson if he didn’t think so, too.
The men on his team changed the moment they’d been hired. They were useful again, highly trained, and with something to prove—all too often, to themselves.
Cowboy climbed out of his truck and strode toward Mac.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mac asked.
