In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,48

now and then?”

“More now,” he conceded with a shrug.

“Okay.”

“Sometimes”—he stressed the word so I’d know that whatever he was about to add was not about the alcohol—“there’s people I use for the same reason.”

“As diversions,” I said, and it was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah.”

“Men? Women? The occasional alien?”

He smirked. “Yep. All of the above.”

“Okay.” I appreciated his candor. “Do you get names?”

“Not of the tourists,” he revealed, looking over his shoulder, checking on Brig and Eric for a moment before his eyes were back on me. “But I have a few friends too, the occasional acquaintance. It’s not all hit and run.”

I took a breath, prepared to give him space. “Well, while I appreciate being your confessor, I think––”

He grabbed hold of my wrist, tight, and when I turned to look into his face, I saw his jaw tighten and the muscle working in his cheek.

“Tell me why you feel the need to share,” I ordered, clenching my fist even as he continued to hold my wrist, his fingertips digging into the underside, sliding over my pulse point.

“It’s… I have all kinds of pills to help me try and just close my eyes, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works.”

“Then you must have been dead on your feet last night,” I surmised, opening my hand, allowing him to keep hold of me even as I imagined the process of getting free and slamming him face-first up against the glass. The man craved submission and direction; I could almost smell it on him. My pulse jumped just thinking about holding him down, but I needed to give him his out. “What did you tell me—you hadn’t slept in four days? That could kill you.”

“So could a lot of things I do that are nothing more than part of the job.”

I had no doubt that was true. “If there’s a point to this”—I clipped the words, ready to hear him speak plainly—“please make it.”

“I already did. I told you,” he muttered, exhaling sharply before levering off the window, turning to mirror my pose, both of us staring out at the Vegas skyline. “I’m always fuckin’ tired, and I never fuckin’ sleep. My brain won’t turn off.”

“Maybe you need to rethink your career path.”

“Nope,” he replied, shaking his head. “Because last night, sitting with you—I was out like a light.”

I grunted.

“Why do you think that is? Are you so laid-back and chill that your mere presence is that soothing? Does everyone just relax around you?”

My scoff was loud, and his head swiveled to me, his face a study in uncertainty.

“Everyone I know thinks I’m high strung,” I informed him.

His brows furrowed as his eyes narrowed.

“Really,” I assured him. “Think about it. Last night you said I was annoying.”

“That was before,” he mumbled, his voice bottoming out as his fingers brushed the back of my hand, slipping between mine briefly, barely there, the entire action started and finished in mere heartbeats. “Now I just—” He took a breath. “Wanna show you my place.”

I smiled at him. “Do I need to take a number? You said there were others.”

“No,” he croaked softly, eyes flicking back to the Strip. “Not until you go.”

Our pull, attraction, whatever it was, made little sense. We hadn’t really talked; it was more of a hookup, with all the interest and none of the fast, sloppy, sweaty bathroom sex. We were forced to talk around each other because we were in the middle of something bigger.

And yet…

He wanted me to see where he lived.

“And I don’t bring anyone home,” he said, gaze back on mine. “My house doesn’t have a revolving door.”

“Understood,” I told him, wanting so much to touch his mane of coppery hair but holding still instead.

His phone chirped, and he checked the text message a moment before there was a knock on the door.

Crossing the room quickly, Dallas opened the door, allowing six men into the room. Even if I hadn’t known they were feds, I would have guessed. Matching suits, matching ties, same aviator sunglasses, same haircuts, same bad shoes.

Lipton was the guy in charge, older, linebacker big with a crew cut and what looked like a permanent scowl. He had paperwork for Dallas to sign, which basically released Brig and Eric into his care.

“Okay,” Lipton said, turning to me. “Consider yourself relieved, Mr. Esca.”

“Thank you.”

“No,” he corrected me, offering his hand. “We appreciate this. You were a cop, so you know how this works. Doin’ this with civilians is a pain in the ass.”

Dallas grunted his