Hold On (Page 126)

He grinned at her before he took a slug of the beer and lowered the bottle to the bar.

It was then he gave it to her.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like that guy. Seen him twice when I’ve been comin’ or goin’ to your place, and even before knowin’ he’s got business that links him to Carlito, didn’t like the feel of him. So, you got somethin’ you got two nights to chew on, Cherie. Either I start hangin’ at your pad a whole lot more, that bein’ me bein’ there when you and Ethan are there as much as I can be, including spending the night, or you and Ethan have a long-term sleepover at my condo.”

Her eyes went huge before she leaned deeper into her forearms.

“Honey, the dude is my neighbor. He might be into bad shit, but he’s just my neighbor. You think that might be a bit of an overreaction?”

“I got a bad feeling, sweetheart.”

“And I got a kid, Merry. It wouldn’t be too smart to give Ethan the wrong messages about stuff like that, and I mean that in a lot of ways. It’s too damned fast, for one. And he digs you and we’re just startin’ out. If it doesn’t work, we all crash and burn.”

“You don’t think that crossed my mind?”

Cher shut her mouth.

“Two days, Cherie,” he said softly. “Think about it. You can say no. I just won’t like it.”

It took her a few beats, but she finally nodded.

The lights were dim. It was a bar.

But Garrett still saw the look in her eyes.

“Takin’ care of me,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he whispered back.

“Takin’ care of my kid.”

He didn’t reply.

She reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around his forearm.

He twisted his arm and moved it so he could wrap his fingers around hers.

“You kiss my hand in J&J’s, you’re gonna deliver a hit to my rep as the ’burg’s resident tough chick,” she warned.

He hadn’t intended to kiss her hand.

When she was done talking, he lifted her hand and kissed it.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Feb declared as she walked behind him to go around to the back of the bar.

Cher rolled her eyes.

Merry grinned.

The front door opened and she looked over her shoulder toward it before she pulled her hand from his.

But she didn’t do that until after she gave his fingers a brief squeeze.

“Be back,” she murmured.

He lifted his chin.

As Feb transferred spent glasses to the sink and spent bottles to the bin, Cher moved down the bar and called out to the new patrons, “Yo.”

The ’burg’s resident tough chick.

It was true. She’d taken a beating and there she was, just keeping on keeping on.

But she wasn’t made of steel.

And Garrett didn’t lie.

He had a bad feeling.

He took another tug from his beer and watched Cher serve the newcomers a couple of drafts, trying to assess if he was actually overreacting due to her history, his history, or if his gut was telling him his tough chick was facing a viable threat.

He watched her smile as she pocketed her tips and moved back his way, making eye contact with other folks who had asses to stools to see if they were good.

She had to stop to mix a drink.

And while she did, Garrett decided he didn’t give a fuck if it was an overreaction or if his gut spoke true.

With her history and his, he hoped she picked door one or door two, either of them meaning Garrett had access so he could look after Cher and Ethan.

Because he didn’t want to take any chances.

Chapter Eighteen

It’s Just Merry

Garrett

Early Wednesday Morning

Garrett woke up to his phone ringing.

On his stomach, alone in his bed, he reached a hand to his nightstand and tagged it.

He looked at the cracked screen, made another mental note to go out and get a new one, and took the call.

“Yo, Mike,” he greeted.

“Sorry, man. Call out.” Mike sounded just as drowsy as Garrett, meaning he’d been woken too. “Homicide.”

Fuck.

Garrett pushed up and reached out to his light.

Homicides in the ’burg were rare.

Death happened all the time. Accidents. Disease. Old age. Suicide.

But homicide, not so much.

The ’burg was too small to have units dedicated to specific crimes. This meant the ’burg’s detectives bought cases on rotation no matter what they were.

Garrett had been on the job a while. All the men in the bullpen had been on the job a while.

But he felt it was safe to say none of them had been on the job long enough where they took a homicide in stride.

It wasn’t the gruesomeness of death.

It was that his job was not the kind of job that at the end of the day, you were filled with joy. Or energy. Or anything.

Except, if you closed a case, you got a high off of your part in bringing justice.

Luckily, those highs were huge and they made the job worth it.

Homicide didn’t give you that. Not ever. Not even if you caught the killer.

It was too final. There was no going back. No coping.

It was just done.

The bad guy had to be caught. He had to be punished. You busted your ass more than any case you had to see to that.

But the only thing a successful takedown offered was closure to those left behind.

And that didn’t mean shit.

“Meet you at the scene,” he muttered unenthusiastically.

“Text you where,” Mike replied in the same tone.

“Right.”

“Later.”

They disconnected and Garrett’s phone sounded again the second his feet hit the floor as he pulled his ass out of bed.