Some Kind of Hero (Troubleshooters #17)

“Hmm,” Peter said, as he headed for the bathroom at the back of the room.

A kid with a devil-mutant, crazy-eyed owl fetish at age twelve, who is now in his forties and regularly murders the guests at the motel he inherited after pushing his grandmother down the stairs?

“Shh,” Shay said. Those owls used up the full crazy allotment for this room. Because of them, there was space in here only for even reason and carefully considered sanity.

Like, at least we’re on the ground floor in case there’s another earthquake?

Yes.

But not: we’re doomed if there’s a tidal wave.

Right.

But definitely check to make sure the security lock is on that door.

She did. It was.

The toilet flushed, and Peter came back out of the bathroom and washed his hands in the sink that was out in the main part of the room.

“I’ve been nurturing a fantasy about making love to you in a real bed,” he said, looking at Shayla in the mirror as he dried his hands. “But I don’t think that one counts.” He unbuttoned his white uniform shirt and hung it on one of the bent hangers that dangled from the sad-looking metal rack bolted to the wall next to the sink. He pulled off his T-shirt and hung that, too. “I mean, yeah, it’s slightly more real than an air mattress, but not by much.”

The room looked significantly nicer and way less depressing with the muscles in his arms, chest, and abs rippling—in duplicate, thanks to that mirror. And then it was nicer still as he kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants and hung them up beside his shirt.

Harry didn’t comment—he was just instantly gone.

“So maybe we can plan to extend our little…whatever this is,” Peter continued, slipping out of his socks as he glanced at her again in the mirror. “Friendship, plus. At least until I can take you someplace with room service. Is that okay with you?”

There were two cheerfully decorated Desert Flower Motel Traveler’s Packs on the worn gold-and-yellow-speckled linoleum sink counter, and he pulled out a toothbrush and small tube of paste and, while continuing to watch her in the mirror, he brushed his teeth.

Shay looked at him standing there in his white boxers, and she found herself blurting, “You’re a really good communicator. I mean, really good. You just demonstrated…”

He spit and rinsed and dropped the toothbrush into a glass with a plastic clatter as he turned back to face her.

Her Navy SEAL.

Harry’s words—but Harry had vanished. Those were her words now, God help her. Her Navy SEAL—wearing only white boxers, leaning back against the sink in the motel room where in just a few minutes, they were going to make love.

Shay’s brain stuttered and she started over. “What I mean to say is that some people play games, but you don’t. You ask for what you want. You’re direct, you’re tactful, and you’re honest. I’ve said this before: I don’t know what Lisa’s problem was, but you did everything right—and you still do. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re kind, and you obviously care. You listen, you pay attention, and you remember details.”

And oh, my God, look at him—although that was just icing on the cake.

“So…is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course. What other answer would there be?”

He smiled, and dropped his boxers on the floor. “Get naked. I’ll be out in about thirty seconds.”

Good communicator. Good communicator.

As the shower went on, Shayla hung up her clothes, too.



Maddie woke up from a nightmare—her father was screaming at her, like a drill sergeant at boot camp, but then he surprised her completely by bursting into tears—to find herself alone in the back of Dingo’s car.

“Ding?” She sat up, careful not to hit her head, but he wasn’t in the front seat, either. “Dingo!”

“I’m out here,” he called. He was sitting out on the hood of the trunk, leaning up against the back window.

She pushed her way out through the door that didn’t stick, but then reached back in to grab a blanket and wrap it around her. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, but look at these stars. They’re bright enough to keep me warm.”

The sky was pretty amazing, away from the city’s lights, but still. “Are you high?”

“Only on life, love.”

“What time is it?”

He checked his phone. “Around two thirty.” No, wait, that was her phone.

“Are you pretending to be me again?” she asked.

“No, I was just checking messages,” he said. “You got a bunch of texts. Your dad and Shayla tracked you out here, which is a little alarming. They said we shouldn’t go back to San Diego because danger, danger. And although I mock, I wholeheartedly agree. We could call them right now and they’d come meet us, and…I think we should.”

Oh, God. “I’m not ready,” she said.

“There’s really no ready,” he pointed out. “This is just something we’ve gotta do. Band-Aid pull.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Not like this. I changed my mind about spending money. I want to get a motel room so we can take showers. I need to take a shower and wash my hair before we…I have to…I don’t care if our clothes smell. We can get some of that stupid freshener spray and—”

“All right,” Dingo said.

She looked at him. “You’re not going to argue?”

“Nope. But after we check in, before you shower, even, you have to call him. We’ll pick a place to meet for breakfast, and we’ll set the time to meet, right then.”

“You really want to get rid of me, don’t you?” Maddie asked.

Dingo slid down off the trunk. “Not taking that bait, love. Not gonna dignify that shite with any kind of response.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“I love you,” he told her. “Get in the car.”



The bed was in better shape than Pete first thought.

Of course, the fact that Shayla was in it—with him, beneath him, tightly clenched around him—sure as hell didn’t hurt.

Her fingers were in his hair as her gorgeous body strained up to meet him, and her tongue was in his mouth, entangled with his.

He was glad they’d driven out here—and obviously not just because it meant they’d be meeting Maddie far earlier in the morning than they otherwise might’ve. He couldn’t imagine the sheer frustration of being in Shay’s house right now, surrounded by a crowd, and wanting her with no hope of doing…

Exactly…

This.

“Oh, Peter,” she breathed as she came beneath him, around him, and he came, too, in a rush of heat.

“Jesus, we’re a good fit,” he said when he could finally speak, and she laughed.

“We are very, very good at this,” she agreed, smiling up into his eyes.

Ask for what you want….