My Killer Vacation

What the hell? “You’re more than a job.”

She nods, as if she was expecting me to say that. But I don’t really think she understands. I need to spell this out for her. “Taylor, I’m—”

“Sumner!” Wright shouts. “The chief has some questions—”

“In a minute!” I bark over my shoulder, before facing Taylor again. “Hey. Listen to what I’m telling you. Even when I thought we had this case solved, I couldn’t leave. I want to do this. Us. I need to be with you. Do you hear me? I’m done running. I want to run to you.”

“Wow,” Wright says to my left. “That’s poetic, man.” He sniffs. “Ah shit. I need to call my ex-wife.”

“Walk away,” I grit out.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

When we’re alone again, Taylor still looks sort of resigned and Christ, I’m starting to panic. “You feel this way right now, Myles, because we just went through something scary together.” She squeezes my arm. “But tomorrow or the next day you’ll remember all the reasons you told me this wouldn’t work and you’ll be right—”

“No. I was a fucking moron, Taylor. I said that shit out of anger and fear.”

Isn’t this supposed to be the happy ending? Guy saves girl, guy kisses girl and they ride off into the sunset? The girl isn’t supposed to say nah, thanks, I’m good.

This isn’t happening.

“I was supposed to come here. I was supposed to meet you. The road was leading me here. To you. All right?” Here we go. The final wall has collapsed. I’m exposed. “You made me remember I love Boston. Because you reminded me of what home feels like. You made me call my brother. Because you made me remember what love feels like. You did that. I’m not walking away from you. We’re going to fight until we meet in the middle, Taylor. End of story. You’re not cutting me off. I’m taking you home to meet my family. I’m doing the whole fucking thing, all right?” I clasp the sides of her face in my hands. “Please let me do the whole thing?”

Everyone is listening.

There is a crowd of officers and detectives hanging on my every word. I’m pretty sure even Kurt is invested and the mayor is still listening on the other end of the line. Ask me if I care. Ask me if I care when I’m performing my own open-heart surgery and this women who I can’t live without still looks dubious. “You’ve moved on, in your head. I can see that.” It guts me to acknowledge that out loud. “You’ve written me off. Okay. Tell me you feel something for me and I’ll write myself back in. I’ll bust my ass doing it.”

“Of course I feel something for you,” she whispers.

Our audience lets out a collective sigh of relief.

Nothing compared to mine. It’s like I just made it from the ocean floor to the surface.

“Thank God,” I say on a rocky exhale, leaning down to kiss her. But her eyes are still cloudy. She needs more than words. I’ve spent our entire acquaintance telling her I commit to nothing and no one. Actions are the only thing that will convince her.

Done.

I’m in it for keeps—and she’s not going to doubt me for long.





Chapter 22





Taylor





* * *




“What is he doing?” I ask, staring outside the front of our rental house.

We’re packed, ready to leave, suitcases by the front door.

We were preparing to load the luggage into the trunk of my car when I spotted Myles across the street, sitting on his bike. Or more like…waiting? Helmet in lap, arms crossed over the powerful breadth of his chest. A duffel bag is secured to the rear of his seat.

What is he doing?

Is he waiting to say goodbye?

There is no way I’m holding him to the promises he made last night. Those were words soaked in adrenaline and residual fear. Promises he made because he feels protective of me and I was in danger. Now that the sun has come up, I’m sure he’s back to his bounty hunter mindset. Quick, no-strings jobs are what he wants. If he doesn’t get attached, he can’t get hurt.

“Maybe you should go out and talk to him?” Jude suggests.

I could. I should.

I’m just not sure I’m prepared to hear goodbye. Because despite my best intentions, the things he said to me last night in that passionate tone of voice…they might have given me a teeny tiny bit of hope. Dangerous, stupid hope. Ignore it.

“Let’s go. We want to beat the traffic.”

I pick up my suitcase, hesitate in front of the door and push it open. When Jude passes me, I close the door behind him, lock it and leave the key for Lisa under the large ceramic starfish on the porch. On my way to the car, I frown at the biker across the street. “Good morning,” I call, handing my suitcase to Jude so he can lift it into the trunk. “We’re getting a jump on the traffic. Back to Connecticut.”

He nods at me. Nods. But says nothing.

Then he puts on his helmet and the bike roars to life.

Huh. So he’s not even going to say goodbye? Maybe we’re taking the easier route of parting ways without any of the messy apologies or lies that we’ll call each other. Fine. I’ll follow his lead. Never mind that my heart is withering like a grape left too long on the vine.

I crank the volume on the AM traffic station and back out of the driveway, my eyebrows drawing together when Myles follows our next three turns. Just a coincidence. We’re both heading toward the interstate, obviously.

When we reach the interstate, Myles takes the same ramp. Same direction.

He barely leaves enough room between us for other cars to merge.

I switch lanes, he switches lanes.

“Is he following me?”

A laugh bursts out of my brother. “It took you way too long to figure that out.”

“All the way back to Hartford? Uh-uh. No way.”

“All the way to your front door, Taylor. You know that’s what’s happening.” Jude turns in his seat to observe Myles through the rear window, grinning ear to ear. “Admit this is romantic.”