“So you worked everything out with Nicole?”
“She’s finally selling our house,” he says, pressing the start switch on the coffeemaker. “Well, not our house. The house we bought when we were married, which is where she’s been living this whole time. The details have to do with our divorce agreement, but the bottom line is, she was in control of when we sold it and she got an offer she’s willing to accept. Which means I’ll finally—fucking finally—be out from under the mortgage on it.”
A hundred different questions come to mind but I ignore them. Whatever the details are around this house, it’s not my business. “I’m sure that’s a big weight off your shoulders.”
JT grabs a plate and two mugs from the cabinet, setting them in front of me on the island. He looks at me steadily, relief lighting up his face when he smiles.
“It’s more than that. Once we close, I can move out, get my own place, and still be able to finish paying off the rest of my debts by the end of the year. And if I get that promotion, then next year I can actually start saving some money. This changes everything.”
I put one of my hands on top of his. I can see how much this means to him. He needed this win, and that’s something I can absolutely relate to.
“We should celebrate. Nothing too fancy, you should save that for after the closing. Maybe that pizza place with the garlic knots?”
“That’s what I love about you. Carryout pizza qualifies as a celebration.”
I shrug. “People are what make a celebration. Doesn’t matter how much you pay for the food, if the wrong person is sitting across from you, it doesn’t feel like a celebration.”
JT gives me a long look, like he’s working over something in his mind that he isn’t saying aloud. Then his phone rings. He scowls, digs the phone out of his pocket, and answers it. It doesn’t take long to realize that whoever is on the other end, they aren’t calling to chitchat. JT’s entire posture changes as he listens, then he begins launching rapid-fire questions back. There’s mention of the DEA, low level drug dealers, and a growing cartel takeover—all of which has my stomach turning in new, tighter knots. Finally, JT says something about packing his bags, hangs up, and then stares blankly at his phone for a moment.
“This fucking day just keeps getting better and better,” he mutters, before looking up at me. “Remember that case I mentioned when we were talking about my promotion? The drug runner who escaped from prison?”
I nod and lift a brow, trying to keep the panic rising in my belly under control.
“That was Lexie on the phone. She said that a DEA agent in El Paso just arrested a dealer who claims our fugitive is living down there. So I have to go to Texas to see what we can make of this.” JT meets my eyes. “Today.”
That one word is enough to break a dam inside of me, and a hundred different emotions swell up to the surface. All because of what is about to happen, in this kitchen, over apple fritters that I now wish I never asked for. After this, it’s probably going to be a while before I can enjoy one again.
With JT leaving on a case and the Greenes coming home in less than a week, there’s a good chance that this is goodbye for he and I. Goodbye to whatever this is—or whatever it was. And even though I knew it was coming and I tried to keep my heart where it belonged to protect myself, I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.
My heartbeat slows, enough that I end up pressing a hand to my chest, just to be sure I can still feel it in there somewhere. I take a deep breath and hold it, then remind myself that everything happens for a reason. The Fenton, JT’s house selling, a break in one of his cases, all of it. There’s a reason both of our lives are changing at a breakneck speed over the course of a single morning… because life is leading us in new directions.
And this what I wanted for myself anyway. A new start, in a new life, one where I’m taking care of myself and building a career. Everything I wanted is coming together, I just wish I was able to enjoy it more than I am.
“We should talk before you go,” I say calmly. “Because I may not be here when you get back.”
“Fuck. You’re right,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “Are you going to stay with Tara? Maybe when I get back, we can look at places together and—”
Oh, Jesus. No. Did he really just allude to us living together? That’s not possible unless he’s insane or feeling gallantly obligated to me for some weird reason. Either way, I’m not interested in going down that road.
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. He sends me a puzzled look.
“I need to tell you something, okay?”
He nods, but suddenly I have no words. Not any that I can share, anyway. There are million confessions on the tip of my tongue, but none are things I can tell him, not without allowing my heart to crack open when I do. I can’t tell him about the Fenton, or talk about the way saying goodbye to him is killing me, or mention how I miss him already even when he’s still sitting two feet away from me.
I clear my throat and force my shoulders back.
“I can’t thank you enough for these last few weeks. For taking me up on my offer that first night, to begin with. You made me feel so good, and I needed that more than you—”
His phone chimes and JT glares at it, cussing under his breath at the interruption. It’s a blessing, really. Because that text probably interrupted me just in time. If I keep going, who knows what will come out of my mouth.
“Sorry. Lexie needs me to confirm if I can be ready by noon.”
I glance at the time. That leaves us two hours, which means any heartfelt this is the end speeches I had in mind aren’t going to happen. Thank God. Letting him go without an overwrought breakup scene is probably best for both of us.
I rest my hand on his cheek. JT starts at my touch, still typing, and raises his gaze to mine.
“Promise me that you’ll be careful,” I say. He nods. Then I kiss him once, gently. “Goodbye, JT.”
17
JT
“So we know he’s living with the latest girlfriend in a trailer over on the east side of the town. But local informants say he has a side piece down in Horizon City, too,” Chris says, shoving files aside on the coffee table to make space for the pizza box I have in my hands.
“But the drug trade hasn’t been good to him around here, because he’s picking up some work as a roofer. The job sites change, but we know that when he’s Mr. Regular Job Guy, he checks in at the dispatch office first thing and then goes by there again at the end of the day. That leaves us at least three places we know he visits consistently, so we just need to decide which one to focus on first.”
I answer with a grunt and toss a slice of pizza onto a paper towel for Chris, and do the same for myself. Thankfully, the food is hot, but that’s probably just because it’s from a cheap pizza joint right across the street from the Best Western we’re staying at.
Chris leans back on the stiff couch in my hotel room and starts in on his share of our dinner, without even complaining about how crappy the pizza is. Hunger and exhaustion have beat out his gourmet taste buds for once. Between a plane ride, a long briefing with the local Marshals, and hours in the car reading reports as we drove around to get our bearings, the two of us are closing in on an eighteen-hour day. At this point, even shitty pizza is better than nothing.