When a Man Loves a Weapon Read Free Page B

her half of the down payment, and they’d only just moved in a couple of weeks ago. There were a few boxes—very few—to unpack. She had almost nothing left from when they’d met and her trailer had flooded (and then fallen over, and then ripped in half) and he’d moved around so much, he hadn’t bothered to ever accumulate things.
    He put two folded t-shirts on top of a photo. He’d packed the snapshot Ce Ce had taken of the two of them the dayshe’d first said yes. Bobbie Faye hadn’t even realized he’d had a copy made. And it was framed. When had he done that? Did a man really need a photo if he was only going to be gone a short while? She inhaled, sharply, and had to turn away from the satchel, look away from his own too-serious face. She practically vibrated in place. He thought he was distracting her with the remodeling talk, but she wasn’t fooled.
    She wanted to know what that call was about.
    By the time she was seven, she’d been the kind of kid who’d unwrapped her presents before Christmas, played with them each night, and then rewrapped them before her mom realized what she’d done. How on earth did anyone else actually
wait
? And it didn’t matter what the hell was inside the box. It could be bricks. It only mattered that she didn’t
know
what was inside the box.
    She should ask Trevor about that call.
    No. That would be
wrong
. And immature.
    Maybe she could hint? She could definitely hint. He’d feel guilty about leaving, and he’d probably tell her something to make her feel better. She could adopt a puppy-dog pathetic schmoopy-face but she wouldn’t be playing fair. Right? Right. But really, hinting wasn’t all that bad.
    “Shut
up.
”
    Dammit
, that was out loud.
    Trevor glanced her direction as she sighed. “I’m not sure what’s scarier, Sundance. That you argue with yourself, or that you lose the arguments.”
    She would have answered, but instead, she just stood there in the empty living room, fiddling with the ring on her left hand, staring at the socks that she’d given him that he was about to put in his bag. She skirted the edge of such a deep well of emotion, it threatened her, an abyss. Questions logjammed inside her throat:
Is this dangerous? Will you be gone long? How do you know if you’ll be safe? How am I supposed to just stand here and say good-bye?
    How could she give him anything less?
    Hell,
she
was probably a bigger risk for him. She’d beenin the middle of so many disasters that various state agencies now tracked her, and he’d helped her survive the last two. Which had put his life at risk.
    He glanced up when she didn’t answer, and stopped his packing to pull her to him. She tried to memorize everything: the cut of the black t-shirt against his biceps, the faded scar just under his eye, the brush of his hair against her cheek, the smell of his skin and soap and something that was always reminiscent of the fresh, earthy scent after a rain. The stubble from his chin scratched against her temple, reminding her of just how rough he’d appeared, all edgy and darkness, the first day she’d met him. When she’d sort of taken him hostage. And she remembered that she’d learned that he’d worked undercover as a mercenary for
many, many months
. Oh,
fuck
.
    “Months?” she asked, finally focusing on the one possibility that was driving a spike through her.
    “No. Not at all. I’m not going to be long.” He massaged the tension out of her shoulders. “Couple of days. Probably not even that, but worst-case scenario, three. I’ll be fine. I’ve done a lot more dangerous things, including running around exploding silos with you.”
    “Oh, good,
that’s
a calming image to leave me with, thank you.”
    He kissed her temple as he held her. “Seriously. This won’t be bad.”
    “Yeah, because good luck has always worked out for me.”
    “You don’t have anything to worry about. Except the sander I’ve reserved for next week.”
    “I’ve changed my