family for a few extra weeks after my brother’s wedding. It’s gonna take me longer than three days to work that off. Call me back in a week. Maybe then I’ll do your favor.”
“I saved your life last summer,” Vic shot back.
Dammit . Peter threw his head back and closed his eyes. “You only get to play that card once. Make it good.”
“A friend of mine called. She lives in Monmouth Beach and needs a security system ASAP. I can’t do it. Gina has an ultrasound tomorrow, and she wants me there. I want to be there. Have I mentioned we’re having twins?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, your boys can swim.”
“You are crabby, my friend. Not getting any?”
“Getting plenty.” Not true, but Vic didn’t need to know that.
“Seriously, can you meet with Isabelle tomorrow? She usually gets to work early, so you’ll have to meet her at her office. She’ll take you to the house from there. All you have to do is tell me what she needs, and I’ll fly some guys out there to do the install.”
The potted plant drew Peter’s attention again, and he nudged it with his boot. “Why can’t the North Jersey boys do this? That is why we have an East Coast office, correct?”
Vic huffed. “Her father is a good friend of mine. I don’t trust anyone from North Jersey for this.”
“Oh, but you trust me? The guy you made hand over his weapon?”
“Are you done yet, Mary? My wife never whines like this.”
“Speaking of Gina,” Peter said, “I’ll do this for her. Because she deserves to have you at that appointment. I still can’t figure out why I didn’t move on her first.”
“My man, I owe you one. You just ensured I will continue to get laid. And I’ll forget that comment about hitting on my wife.”
Peter laughed. He couldn’t help it. Vic was one fucked-up son of a bitch, but he was aces in a war zone. They’d become closer since Tiny—Vic’s cousin and Peter’s closest friend—died during an op last summer. They were both grieving a loss they’d probably never get over, and in that, found common ground. Peter supposed that was the reason he was so royally pissed at Vic for putting him on R&R.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah. I’ll email you Isabelle’s info. Be at her office at nine. Uh, and wear business clothes.”
“What?”
Vic hung up.
Shit.
Peter hated business clothes. His basic wardrobe consisted of cargo shorts, jeans and T-shirts. Usually, his beat-up combat boots and a do-rag finished off the ensemble. Lucky for him, he kept a stash of dress clothes in an upstairs closet of his parents’ home.
Peter marched up the stone steps, opened the oversized door and yelled for Marguerite, their long-time housekeeper.
“Have I ever responded to screaming?” she called from the kitchen.
He snorted. Good old Marg. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies attacked him, and he hauled ass to the kitchen to find Marg pulling a batch from the oven.
“Hi. Where’s Mom?”
“She went to lunch at the club and had errands.”
Peter grinned. “I guess I’ll sample some cookies while I wait.”
“There’s plenty of milk. I figured you’d be by, so I stocked up.”
He smacked a kiss on her cheek. “Ah, Marg. You’re the best.”
Her pixie-cut gray hair spiked up today and looked a little radical, but it suited her in an off kind of way. She’d gained a few pounds since he’d seen her last and, on her small frame, it showed.
After snagging a few cookies and a monster glass of milk, Peter planted himself at the island in his mother’s fancy kitchen to commence dunking. Nothing he loved more than dipping chocolate chip cookies in an ice-cold glass of milk.
When a few white drops hit the granite counter top, Marguerite laughed and handed him a paper towel.
“Some things never change.”
“Take comfort in it, Marg.” He swiped at the drops and crumpled the paper towel.
“I remember the first time you ate my chocolate chip cookies,” she said.
“Yep. I was
“I saved your life last summer,” Vic shot back.
Dammit . Peter threw his head back and closed his eyes. “You only get to play that card once. Make it good.”
“A friend of mine called. She lives in Monmouth Beach and needs a security system ASAP. I can’t do it. Gina has an ultrasound tomorrow, and she wants me there. I want to be there. Have I mentioned we’re having twins?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, your boys can swim.”
“You are crabby, my friend. Not getting any?”
“Getting plenty.” Not true, but Vic didn’t need to know that.
“Seriously, can you meet with Isabelle tomorrow? She usually gets to work early, so you’ll have to meet her at her office. She’ll take you to the house from there. All you have to do is tell me what she needs, and I’ll fly some guys out there to do the install.”
The potted plant drew Peter’s attention again, and he nudged it with his boot. “Why can’t the North Jersey boys do this? That is why we have an East Coast office, correct?”
Vic huffed. “Her father is a good friend of mine. I don’t trust anyone from North Jersey for this.”
“Oh, but you trust me? The guy you made hand over his weapon?”
“Are you done yet, Mary? My wife never whines like this.”
“Speaking of Gina,” Peter said, “I’ll do this for her. Because she deserves to have you at that appointment. I still can’t figure out why I didn’t move on her first.”
“My man, I owe you one. You just ensured I will continue to get laid. And I’ll forget that comment about hitting on my wife.”
Peter laughed. He couldn’t help it. Vic was one fucked-up son of a bitch, but he was aces in a war zone. They’d become closer since Tiny—Vic’s cousin and Peter’s closest friend—died during an op last summer. They were both grieving a loss they’d probably never get over, and in that, found common ground. Peter supposed that was the reason he was so royally pissed at Vic for putting him on R&R.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah. I’ll email you Isabelle’s info. Be at her office at nine. Uh, and wear business clothes.”
“What?”
Vic hung up.
Shit.
Peter hated business clothes. His basic wardrobe consisted of cargo shorts, jeans and T-shirts. Usually, his beat-up combat boots and a do-rag finished off the ensemble. Lucky for him, he kept a stash of dress clothes in an upstairs closet of his parents’ home.
Peter marched up the stone steps, opened the oversized door and yelled for Marguerite, their long-time housekeeper.
“Have I ever responded to screaming?” she called from the kitchen.
He snorted. Good old Marg. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies attacked him, and he hauled ass to the kitchen to find Marg pulling a batch from the oven.
“Hi. Where’s Mom?”
“She went to lunch at the club and had errands.”
Peter grinned. “I guess I’ll sample some cookies while I wait.”
“There’s plenty of milk. I figured you’d be by, so I stocked up.”
He smacked a kiss on her cheek. “Ah, Marg. You’re the best.”
Her pixie-cut gray hair spiked up today and looked a little radical, but it suited her in an off kind of way. She’d gained a few pounds since he’d seen her last and, on her small frame, it showed.
After snagging a few cookies and a monster glass of milk, Peter planted himself at the island in his mother’s fancy kitchen to commence dunking. Nothing he loved more than dipping chocolate chip cookies in an ice-cold glass of milk.
When a few white drops hit the granite counter top, Marguerite laughed and handed him a paper towel.
“Some things never change.”
“Take comfort in it, Marg.” He swiped at the drops and crumpled the paper towel.
“I remember the first time you ate my chocolate chip cookies,” she said.
“Yep. I was
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