Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,109
to go in at noon.”
He turned slightly to face me and grinned. “Are you checking out my ass?”
A sly smile lifted the corners of my lips. “Maybe.”
His grin widened as he turned his attention back to the skillet. “Jim Palmer’s funeral is tomorrow.”
I frowned, momentarily forgetting about my view. “Do we care about that right now?”
“Yeah. We do,” he said, shooting me a quick glance over his shoulder before he turned back to the eggs. “We don’t know if you’re going to get anything good from Bingham. For all we know, Emily’s trying to throw you off. Maybe you’re getting too close with Ashlynn or Thad, and she’s protecting Bart.”
He had a good point. “What time’s the funeral?”
“One. So you could go before your shift.”
“I didn’t even know the man. Isn’t it going to look weird?”
He shook his head. “There’s gonna be so many people there no one will even notice.”
“Do you really think we’ll learn anything?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Okay,” I said wryly. “I’ll be your date to the funeral.”
He shot me a mischievous grin. “Look at me showin’ you a good time.”
I wasn’t exactly feeling light-hearted, but I laughed anyway.
“How do you plan on approaching Bingham?” he asked.
“I guess I’ll just drop by. It’s worked for me before.”
His mouth tugged down, but he didn’t say anything, likely because Todd Bingham and I had an odd relationship, made even more so by the fact that he didn’t usually tolerate people asking questions and I was known for being inquisitive. But I’d helped him find Lula when she’d gone missing, and I hadn’t used up his limited allotment of gratitude.
He turned off the burner and started scooping eggs onto our plates next to the stove. “While I want to go with you, I think he’ll be more likely to talk to you without me.”
“I agree,” I said. “I don’t feel unsafe. I doubt he would hurt me and risk Lula’s wrath. I am one of their baby’s godmothers, after all.”
He laughed, but it held a bit of bitterness. “Like that would matter.”
“Strangely enough, I think it does.”
We finished breakfast, talking about our schedules for the weekend. I would stay with Marco again tonight, then I’d go to Hank’s on Saturday night and spend all day Sunday with him.
We started cleaning up the kitchen together, but I glanced at the clock and sent him for a quick shower and to get dressed so he wouldn’t be late for work.
I’d finished by the time he emerged from his room in his uniform. Smiling softly, I walked to him and wrapped my arm around his neck, hating that we had to go back into the world.
“I really want to take time off like we were talking about. What do you say we plan on going away in two weeks?” he said. “We can both take off work on Friday and the weekend. If we head out on Thursday night, we’ll have three full days together.”
“Okay.” But I wondered if it was a pipe dream. Would I be gone by then?
He gave me a deep, soulful kiss, and I suspected he was wondering the same thing.
“Call me today,” he said. “Especially after you talk to Bingham and the Genslers.”
“I’ll see about heading to Ewing today. Maybe we can meet up.”
He nodded. “You gonna stay here much longer?”
“I’m going to take advantage of your shower before I go,” I said with a grin. “It’s nicer than Hank’s.”
“Stay as long as you like,” he said. “I like knowin’ you’re here, even when I’m not.” He started to say something, then stopped. “I’ll see you later.”
“I love you, Marco.” Maybe I’d been saying it too much, but it felt good to say it, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to tell him in person.
“Love you too.” He gave me another kiss, and I walked him to the door and waved as he drove away. I headed to the bathroom and took a long shower, trying not to dwell on the uncertainty of our future.
I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around myself to dry off when I heard a noise in the front part of the house. Had Marco come back? But something told me it wasn’t him.
My clothes were in the bedroom, but Marco kept his shotgun in the closet attached to the bathroom. I rushed into the closet and threw on one of his button-down shirts, my shaking fingers fumbling with three of the middle buttons. I