Cabe “Hawk” Delgado, on the other hand, was a badass commando with a team of badasses to back him up. His jobs were usually more covert, intense and often out of town. I’d done one job with him and his team in town and that shit was extreme. It was kickass fun but it was extreme. Since most of his work was out of town, I didn’t have a lock on the looseness of his morals.
In movie terms, Lee Nightingale was James Bond except more kickass and super cool. He didn’t bother messing with gadgets when he could just shoot someone. He was also a Broncos fan and, I had a feeling, when he had the time, James Bond watched rugby.
Hawk Delgado was John Rambo without exceptions notwithstanding the headband.
What I knew about both of them was, regardless of what they thought about his business, they were smart enough not to make an enemy of Knight Sebring and he returned the favor. There was mutual respect but no discussion about Knight’s operations. I never asked how they felt but then again, even if I did, they’d never tell.
My brows stayed up. “Hawk Delgado knows Creed?”
Knight nodded.
“You know their connection?” I asked.
“Worked jobs together.”
“Those would be?” I pushed.
“They would be for you to ask Creed, Sylvie,” he stated. “You got it in you to put that shit behind you, you gotta get to know your partner. I’ll tell you this, it’s fucked how shit works but he’s you except male and maybe a little scarier. The shingle says PI. The word says his resume has a lot of blank spots and his skill set is varied. He doesn’t take the job if he doesn’t believe in the mission and like or respect who he’s workin’ for.” Knight grinned. “But he charges a fuckuva lot more than you do.”
My eyes went back to the window to take in the empty club and I muttered, “He’s got kids to support.”
Knight was silent.
I let this stretch then threw him a grin and started toward the door, saying, “Got shit to do.”
I had my hand on the handle when Knight called my name and I turned back.
“You need to bail, do it,” he stated. “You’re still mine, I’m still yours. Nothin’, woman, not this shit, not you needin’ to protect yourself from history in your face, not anything comes between you and me.”
That meant the world but he knew it so I didn’t have to say it.
I jerked up my chin but assured him again, “I’m looking forward. It’s cool, Knight, trust me.”
“You may be lookin’ forward, babe, but that direction right now means most of what you see is history. You can’t deal, you can’t. Understood and it’s all good.”
Seriously, I fucking loved this guy.
Still, I griped, “Jeez, man, it was sixteen years ago. I’m totally over it.”
“Anya left me or I lost her, I’d never get over it so don’t bullshit me,” he shot back. “There’s only one, we both know it, and Tucker Creed was your one. So you aren’t over it. That doesn’t mean you can’t cope. But you won’t cope if you deny that somewhere inside you can’t.”
It kinda sucked he was hot, rich, cool and smart.
“Heartfelt, badass lecture over?” I asked and his lips twitched.
“Yeah.”
“Terrific. Got shit to do,” I muttered and threw open the door.
“Sylvie,” he called and I whirled on a snapped, “What?”
“Bottom of my soul,” he whispered across the room, eyes locked to mine.
I sucked in breath through my nose before I whispered back, “Bottom of mine.”
Then, before he could really get to me, I took off.
Chapter Four
Orange Sherbet Push-Ups
A cold, dark night in the hills of Kentucky, twenty-eight years earlier, Sylvie is six, Creed is eleven…
I stared up in Tucker Creed’s pretty blue eyes that I could see were a pretty blue even in the dark.
Everyone in town knew Tucker Creed, his Momma and his dead Daddy. I’d even heard about them, all of them.
When his Daddy died, my Daddy told me the whole town went to his funeral. This was because he was a hero. He had the medals to prove it and everything.
My Daddy didn’t talk about Tucker’s Momma straight to me but I heard him talking about her.
What I heard was him saying, “Winona Creed is a slut, a total fucking whore. If Brand Creed was alive today, he’d beat her bloody and the bitch would deserve it.”
I wasn’t certain sure what “slut” and “whore” meant but obviously they weren’t good. And I wasn’t certain sure Brand Creed, Tucker’s Daddy, would beat his wife bloody. That didn’t seem like what a hero would do at all.
Looking up in eleven year old Tucker Creed’s eyes in his cute boy’s face, I could believe his Daddy was a hero. He was so tall. So handsome. His eyes so pretty. He looked like a hero too. Now I knew what all the older girls at church were talking about all the times, and there were lots, when they talked about him. He was everything they said.
And more.
“I cannot believe you are SUCH a DICK!”
I heard the words and my body jerked hard, my eyes flying to the side.
Oh no, the words.
The words were here too.
Suddenly, I felt hands over my ears, my eyes flew back and when they did, all I could see was Tucker Creed.
“Fuck you, you fuckin’ cunt! Fuck YOU!”