“So what’s next for you, Samantha?” Becky leaned between him and Samantha so she could set the desserts in front of them. It forced Samantha to withdraw her hand, and Ozzie breathed a sigh of relief…or regret. He wasn’t sure which.
“What do you mean?” Samantha eyed the layered concoction in front of her with equal parts eagerness and dismay. Ozzie understood. He was stuffed. But the tiramisu was a siren’s call.
“I mean,” Becky said, taking her seat, “the man who was after you is in jail. The police have no leads on who took out your informant. And they have no way to tie either the informant, the jailbird biker, or his Basilisk pals to the weapon with the Iraqi serial number. So what’s next?”
Samantha shrugged and dug into her dessert. “I’m not exactly sure. The police are going to do their thing. Oh my Lord, this is good.”
Michelle beamed and nodded. “Why, thank you,” she said as she plucked JJ from Christian’s arms.
“They’ll poke around, ask a few questions,” Samantha continued, “but I think they’ve pinned most of their hopes on Ozzie and what his military contacts might be able to provide on the service records of the Basilisks’ president and vice president.”
Becky lifted a brow and turned to Ozzie. “Your…military contacts?”
“From my time in the navy.” He shot her a meaningful look before pasting on a wide grin. “You know me. I make friends everywhere. And I’ve got a guy pretty high up the ladder who owes me a favor.”
Which, again, wasn’t totally a lie. General Pete Fuller, the head of the Joint Chiefs and BKI’s direct boss besides the president himself, did owe Ozzie a favor for the time Ozzie had thwarted an attack on the general’s personal computer by a group of Chinese spies.
So yeah. Not totally a lie. Still, Ozzie squirmed in his seat. Continuing to deceive Samantha was beginning to make him feel dirty on the inside. Like, with each couched word and misleading comment, a black stain spread across the fabric of his being.
Becky had forgone the tiramisu in favor of a cherry-flavored Dum Dum lollipop. She spoke around the stick. “And have you contacted this person already?”
“Snuck out and made a phone call while Samantha was giving her statement to the police,” he said. “I’m just waiting to hear back one way or the other.”
“So I guess you’ll be spending the night again,” Becky said to Samantha. “Or maybe a lot of nights. This thing sounds like it could drag on for a while.”
Ozzie could easily read the strain on Becky’s face. Having Samantha inside the compound kept everyone on their toes during a time when tensions were already running high. He hated that he was causing them more worry and stress. But what else could he do? Samantha needed his protection, and he hoped the lovely ladies of Black Knights Inc. understood that. Just as he’d protect them until his dying breath, he’d do the same for Samantha.
Whoa. Had he just lumped her into the same category as the women seated around the picnic table? Women he loved down to the marrow of his bones? Yep, it seemed he had.
So what the hell does that mean?
He didn’t dare dwell on the answer.
“I…” Samantha swallowed and glanced around the table. “I don’t want to be an imposition, so I could—”
“Forget about it.” Michelle waved her off. “A friend in need is a friend indeed. You’ll stay here as long as you require wonder boy’s protection.”
Samantha looked down at the napkin in her lap and swallowed. “Thank you.” Her voice was a little hoarse. “After all these years and all the grief I’ve given you all, I don’t think I deserve—”
Ozzie couldn’t bear to hear the end of that sentence. Samantha had only done her job. And he refused to let her apologize for it. “Who’s on dish duty tonight?” he interrupted. “My vote is Christian. All in favor?”
Every hand at the table, except for Christian’s, went in the air. Michelle even lifted one of JJ’s chubby little arms.
“It’s settled then,” Ozzie declared.
Christian turned to glare at him. “You, sir, are proof that evolution can go in reverse.”
“And you, sir, are a twelve-year-old in a man suit,” Ozzie was quick to come back.
“I got your twelve-year-old right here, friend.” Christian feigned an American accent and reached beneath the table to grab his unit.
“Please.” Ozzie rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to be some sort of threat? I’ve seen earthworms bigger and scarier than anything you’ve got. Remember that big rain we had a couple of weeks ago, Becky? When all those worms crawled out of the ground and got stuck on the patio pavers?”
“Don’t drag me into this.” Becky waved her hands. “I won’t be the yardstick in your—” She glanced at Franklin. “In your johnson-measuring contest.”
“Yardstick?” Ozzie asked. He and Christian exchanged a glance. “Not ruler?”
“Just how big is Boss?” Christian demanded, blinking rapidly and fighting a grin. “Oh, you poor dear. I should think you need to visit your physician. And soon.”
Becky blushed. “Both of you can shut up now.”
“Who’s Johnson?” Franklin asked.
“That’s it!” Michelle threw her napkin on the table. “This meal is officially over!”
Chapter 14
“I can’t understand why we’re knocking about teaching him baseball when we could be schooling him on a real game,” Christian said as Samantha sat comfortably ensconced on a chaise longue along with the rest of the women who had hunkered down onto various pieces of patio furniture to watch Ozzie, Christian, and little Franklin toss around a baseball.
Thanks to Christian, the dishes had been cleared away and piled into the dishwasher. He had complained the whole time, but apparently, he accepted the almighty power of the group vote. The sun had long since set. A local radio station crooned R & B from a set of speakers mounted on the back wall of the warehouse beneath a rolled-up cylinder of fabric that Samantha assumed provided a canopy for the courtyard when extended. With a blanket over her knees and a third glass of wine in hand, she felt ridiculously content.
She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. There was so much left unresolved. So much left to do. But she couldn’t shake a warm feeling of comfort.
It’s just the wine, she assured herself, but a little voice piped up, insisting it was more than that.
“And what is a real game?” Ozzie asked, his hair glinting in the glow of the artificial lights bolted atop the brick wall surrounding the courtyard and outbuildings. He carefully tossed the ball into Franklin’s outstretched baseball mitt so the little boy didn’t have to do more than curl his glove around it to catch it.
“Why, cricket, of course,” Christian declared, leaping into the air to snatch the wild throw Franklin sent whizzing above his head. The move caused his shirt to ride up, revealing his muscle-packed stomach and the trail of dark hair that started at his belly button and disappeared into his jeans.