“Silent but deadly,” I tease, holding Hutch’s arm as we approach the group.
“It’s all true, but I’d trust him with my life.”
“I’m trying to decide if I trust him with my sister.”
Hana stands away, holding Pepper’s hand, and Scar hands them two paper plates with thick hamburger patties on buns. She eyes the food, and my throat tightens, remembering her disordered eating.
“I made it for you.” Scar’s low voice draws her attention, and her lips tense before relaxing into a cautious smile.
“Thank you.” She looks up at the towering beast of a man.
He touches her forearm lightly. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
“This looks GREAT!” Pepper shouts, marching to where Dirk has unpacked condiments on a wooden table.
He hands her a soft drink before twisting the cap off a bottle of Abita Amber and taking a long drink. “This might be a perfect day.”
Scar glances at us, and his wolf eyes stutter my heart. He really is intimidating. He’s a few inches taller than Hutch but slimmer. His body is long, lean, inked muscle.
“Burger or hot dog?”
Hutch glances at the picnic tables and calls to Dirk. “Cole slaw?”
“You know it!” His brother holds up a plastic container.
“Give us a couple of dogs.” He gives me a wink. “I’ll make you a southern style hot dog.”
“It’s not southern style if there’s no chili!” I give his arm a little shove, and his eyebrows rise.
“Listen to you knowing so much.”
“You act like I’ve never been here before. I know how to make a South Carolina hot dog.”
Holding up both hands, he flashes me a white smile. “What will the lady have?”
This time I give him a wink. “We’ll have a couple hot dogs, please. Just don’t call them southern style.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hutch chuckles low, and it makes my stomach squeeze.
I haven’t had a chance to see the playful side of him. It’s sexy, and a welcome reprieve from the pressure of the last few weeks.
Scar places two red hotdogs on buns and hands them over. Hutch hesitates, and the big guy exhales a laugh before adding another one to his plate.
“For a minute, I thought you were trying to put me on a diet.”
“Your pants still fit,” Scar quips.
“If they didn’t, what would happen?” Hutch stands to his full height.
“You’d be too big for your britches.” Scar’s voice is low and husky with a touch of an accent.
Hutch chuckles. “Asshole.”
Watching them interact like brothers, I have so many questions, especially when I turn to see my sister’s eyes on us as she takes a bite of her oversized hamburger.
Our dogs are prepared with coleslaw and onions, and Pepper’s on her knees at the table. “Gross!” Mustard is on her nose as she voices her loud objection. “I hate coleslaw!”
“You’ll have better taste when you’re bigger.” Dirk pulls her wet pigtail, and she bats his hand away.
“Old people like nasty stuff.”
“I can’t decide if I’m offended because I’ve been food-shamed or because she thinks we’re old.” I lift the hot dog and carefully take a big bite, doing my best not to get coleslaw in my lap.
“Everybody over thirteen is old to Pepper.” Hutch finishes his dog in two bites and is already picking up the second one.
“Slow down.” I lean into his shoulder. “You’ll give yourself indigestion.”
He taps a dab of mustard on my nose. “I’ve got a stomach of iron.”
“You did not do that!” Laughing, I take a napkin to wipe the yellow smear off my nose.
Hana sits across from me, and it’s the first time in a long time I remember seeing her laugh. I’d almost say she’s happy, and I want so much for it to last.
“I got another letter asking me to teach at the college.” Dirk straddles the bench facing Pepper as he downs two hotdogs and starts on a burger. “I’m thinking about saying yes this time.”
Hutch nods as he polishes off the last of his dog. “Computer science? Data analysis?”
“Criminal psychology.”
My ears perk up at his answer. My undergrad degree is in psychology, and I didn’t know Dirk had experience in the field.
“Do it.” Hutch nods, lifting a leg over the bench to straddle it, pulling me closer to his chest.
His chin is at my shoulder, and fizz tingles in my veins. I look up at him, and when our eyes meet, I see something different in his–calm resolve, ownership. It warms me to my toes.
Without hesitation, he leans forward to plant a brief kiss on my lips. “I’m going to help clean up. Take your time.”
He stands gathering our plates, and I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s gorgeous and fierce and kind and so damn sexy. His broad shoulders stretch the gray tee, and his ass flexes in his nylon swim trunks fanning the heat rising into my chest.
“Pepper, bring me your trash,” he orders, and when I turn back, I catch Hana watching me.
Clearing my throat, I try to be cool. “Want to walk down to the water?”
“Sure.”
We stand, and I wrap my cover up around my body, feeling exposed and transparent as glass. We reach the end of the pier, and our feet scuff softly over the smooth boards.
“I’ve never seen you this way with a guy.” Hana slants her eyes up at me.
Exhaling a little laugh, my conditioned response is to be defensive, tell her she’s imagining things. I don’t get silly over men. I’m serious, focused, independent.
“I might be falling in love with him.” A thrill of fear hits my stomach, and I turn to face her. “It’s terrifying.”
I’m blinking fast, and her eyes shine. “I don’t think you need to be afraid–not from what I’ve seen.”
“I can’t help it. I never thought I’d meet anyone I could feel this way about. Not ever.”
“I’m not sure you could in our old life. But here, things are different.”
“It’s all following the plan.” A loud, craggly old voice calls to us from the bank.
My heart jumps to my throat, and a little yelp escapes my lips when I see him.
Standing on the end of the pier, dressed in a khaki, seersucker suit, leaning on his cane with his short-brimmed Stetson hat cocked to the side, is the man I came here to see.
I take off running, my feet thudding on the wooden planks beneath me. His low chuckle greets me before I’ve made it to the grass, and he holds out his arm for a hug.
I race straight into him, wrapping my arms around his narrow waist as my cheek presses to his bony chest. “Uncle Hugh.”
24
Hutch
“Victor Petrova died of a heart attack.” Hugh’s hands are clasped behind his back, and he paces the small space between his desk and the bookshelf in his office. “He was found in his bed in his Manhattan apartment, cold as a stone. No evidence of foul play.”
Blake’s brow furrows, and her expression mirrors my response. “I mean, at his age, he could’ve had a heart attack. It just seems so…”