Rock came over to wrap an arm around Dan’s neck and pull him in for a sideways hug. “It’s good to have you home, mon frere,” Rock said. “And with a W under your belt to boot.”
There was a time, not too long ago, when Dan wanted everyone to just back the fuck off and leave him the hell alone. Every single one of the Knights—and their wives or girlfriends—had coddled him, indulged him, and nagged him. All with equal frequency and equal fervor. But after he’d emerged from the fog of liquor, remorse, and self-pity, he realized it was probably by the grace of God and their constant nagging, coddling, and indulging that he’d survived the years following his wife’s death. His friends, his teammates, his…family had closed ranks around him, letting him mourn. And then they’d kicked his ass in gear when his mourning looked like it might kill him.
With Rock’s arm slung around his shoulders and the familiar smells of motor oil, bad coffee, and metal shavings filling his nose, two things occurred to Dan. One, he was happy to be home. BKI was no longer a reminder of what he’d lost. It was a memorial to all he’d had then, and what he had still. And two, he was a damned lucky man to have so many good and loving people in his life.
“When you say W, are you talking about Winterfield or Penni?” he asked Rock from the side of his mouth, shooting a glance at the latter. She was scolding Peanut to stay put this time. She’d had to pull the rotund tomcat off the table and set him on the floor twice already. In typical feline fashion, Peanut ignored her and hopped onto the seat of one of the conference table chairs before jumping onto the table itself.
“Both,” Rock said, slapping him on the back and wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you smilin’ again, mon ami. Really, really good.”
For the record—Are we back to that?—it felt good to be smiling again.
“So where’s everyone else?” Dan asked Rock. The place was usually buzzing with more Knights than you could shake a stick at.
“Out in the field,” Rock said, his mouth twisting. “We’ve been busy since you’ve been gone. I think el Jefe is trying to tie up loose ends before he leaves office.” And that was a giant question mark none of them wanted to think about. What happened when President Thompson was no longer making his home at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? Thompson and his Joint Chiefs had been the ones to commission the opening of Black Knights Inc. And they’d been running the shop autonomously ever since.
Before Dan could comment, the sound of the huge front door to the warehouse clanging open had Rock adding, “Better get your food and get goin’. We’re about to welcome a reporter into BKI, oui? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“You and me both.” Dan shook his head and grabbed a napkin from the pile stacked beside the box. Loading it up with two—better make it three—hot dogs, he told Penni, “Grab a couple and let’s beat feet upstairs.”
“You better save me some, you rat bastard!” Zoelner called from somewhere below, making Dan grin.
Rock chuckled and headed downstairs, presumably to start interrogating Winterfield. The heels of Rock’s alligator-skin cowboy boots made clanking sounds on the metal treads of the stairs as he descended.
Setting Peanut on the ground for the third time—Dan’s eyes automatically roved over the curve of Penni’s ass as she was bent over—she straightened and caught him staring. He donned his most innocent expression, but he didn’t fool her for an instant. She stuck her tongue in her cheek, lifting a brow. “See something you like, sailor?” she asked.
Sassy. God, he loved it. Loved…
Whoa. Stop right there.
“I thought we already went through this in the airplane bathroom.” He fought a grin. “And the answer is the same. I definitely see something I like.”
A flush stole up her throat to brighten her cheeks. She tried to hide it—the adorable creature—by turning, palming a napkin, and reaching into the box to grab a hot dog. With a twist of her mouth she ventured slowly, “And speaking of what happened in the prop plane’s bathroom and what didn’t end up happening in the jet plane’s bathroom…uh…sorry about that. I know I gave you the impression we’d finish what we started, but I sort of…fell asleep. Which was a total weasel deal on my part, but—”
“Fell asleep?” he scoffed, watching her hesitate and then decide on a second hot dog. It had been a long time since last night’s dinner. “More like you sawed logs like a lumberjack from before we gained altitude over Bogotá to when the wheels touched down in Chicago.”