“You did not just say that.” Wyatt scowled. “You probably just jinxed us.”
“That’s like saying it’s quiet while working a shift on patrol on the streets of L.A.,” Beckett said with a grimace.
“Did you work in L.A. before here?” Chris asked in surprise as if not expecting the Alabama sheriff to have ever worked in Los Angeles.
“Yeah, but that’s a story for another day,” Beckett answered, his tone gravelly.
“If I don’t get to marry Natasha on time because we have to spin up,” Wyatt said, dead serious, “I’m gonna kill you.”
Chapter Three
A.J. scrutinized his reflection in the mirror above the sink in Caleb’s guest bathroom. Hands braced on the cool tile counter, he took a moment to stare into his light green eyes as the day’s events played over in his mind. When his gaze slipped down to his denim shirt, the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, he shook his head. What had he been thinking wearing something so hot during summer in the South? Was it the bump on his head that had him off? That had him seeing his long-lost friend as clear as moonshine on a summer day?
“Get a grip.” He turned on the faucet, splashed some water on his face, and expelled a deep breath before using a white hand towel with a crimson letter A embroidered on the center. His family bled the University of Alabama colors. His mom had preemptively stitched baby onesies long before McKenna was born in red and white with “Roll Tide” or “Crimson Tide” printed on them. She had a whole stack waiting for when the rest of her children chose to procreate. At the rate they were all going, Beckett might have offered their mom the one and only grandbaby.
“Maybe Ella was right? I should’ve gone to see the doc.” He twisted to the side to glimpse the bandage in the mirror. Still intact. “And am I talking to myself?”
There was a knock at the door, followed by a soft voice asking, “You okay?”
A.J. opened the door and scooped Rory into his arms for a hug.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” She squeaked as A.J. tightened his embrace.
“It’s been too long.” He set Rory down and leaned against the interior frame of the bathroom door while she remained in the hallway.
“You know me. Always chasing the next big adventure.” Rory pushed the wisps of light blonde hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ears before tucking her hands in the back pockets of her frayed jean shorts.
“Where were you last?”
“Somewhere in the Caribbean.” She gave him a bold smile that said it all. He needed more details, but he also knew Rory wasn’t going to divulge much more.
And if he pressed her, she’d push right back about his life. It had become a balancing act between them over the years.
Rory’s smile stretched, her eyes glinting as if reading his thoughts. “So, how’s private security treating you? Eight and a half years with that agency now, right?” And this was her opening, her way to remind him he had secrets, too.
His parents had practically begged him to leave his “civilian” job and move back home to help on the family ranch. Follow in his father’s footsteps. Neither his mom nor his dad understood the work he did, and how could they? A.J. had lied to them for eight and a half years. Besides, they had Caleb and Shep for help. Did they really need A.J.?
“I’m still in one piece,” he said with a half smile.
He grabbed his hat from the bathroom counter before they walked down the hall to the big open kitchen. A.J.’s mom had used her design skills to create a plan for Caleb’s house whether he wanted her help or not. His brother now lived on the pages of some Southern home magazine.
“And what happened to your head today?” She pointed to the bandage on his head, which was a reminder to put his hat back on.
“A rock. No big deal.” Only maybe it was because he saw a dead man near Shaw’s haunted cabin, and then he’d puked in the privacy of the forest without the guys knowing shortly before they helped patch his head.
They stood in front of the sliding glass doors that overlooked the patio and pool area out back. A few of the guys were in Caleb’s pool, including Perfect Brian, whose hair was no longer perfectly styled, but the wet strands were sticking every