Silas (Dirty Aces MC #4) - Lane Hart Page 0,18
am about to get in line to check out when I remember the hair color.
It really is a shame to have to cover her beautiful red locks with a bland color, but it’s only temporary and for the best. Brunettes don’t stand out nearly as much as redheads.
I grab one of the boxes of hair color that has a hint of an auburn tint to it, tossing it in the front of the grocery cart.
Only after the cashier has rung everything up, bagged the load, and I’ve paid does it hit me that I somehow have to get all of this shit back to the rental house on a goddamn golf cart.
Outside the store, I eye the cart and decide that I could carry more than it can haul because I know for a fact I won’t drop anything, while the load on the cart could go flying off.
Gathering up all ten of the heavy reusable bags in my fists, I start the trek back. It’s less than a mile, but tell that to the blood circulation being cut off in my hands.
Sweat is pouring down my face and the rest of my body by the time I make it to the steps to the house. I drop half the bags on the ground and carry the rest up, unlocking the door with my free hand to drag them inside and deposit the goods on the kitchen counter.
Hearing me come in, Cora heads inside from the porch.
“Hey, you’re back!” she says enthusiastically, like she missed me when I was only gone for an hour.
“Yeah, I’m back,” I mutter as I start unbuttoning my shirt. “And it’s hot as fuck.” Once the fabric is off, allowing my bare arms to breathe, I toss it on one of the chairs at the bar, enjoying the cool air on my skin. The white ribbed tank underneath is more ‘wife beater’ than FBI agent, but I don’t give a shit.
Cora doesn’t seem to mind either. She’s openly gawking at my biceps like she’s never seen them on a man before. Did her arsonist, thief and adulterer never work out?
“I’ll let you put all this away wherever you want since you’ll be the one who has to find it again later,” I tell her.
“Oh, right,” she says, her cheeks turning ruby red before she bursts into action, unbagging the groceries. “Thanks for getting all this for me,” she says, avoiding eye contact.
“This isn’t everything,” I mutter before I go and haul in the rest of the load I left outside, feeling like a goddamn mule by the time I drop it all on the kitchen floor.
“Jeez! How did you get all this back on the golf cart?” Cora asks, her jaw gaping at all the bags that are filled to the brim.
“I didn’t,” I huff. “I carried it back. Now I’ve gotta go get the damned golf cart.”
“Wow. That’s…the agency must have some serious requirement for you to work out and stay in shape.”
“The agency, right,” I grumble.
“Aw, you got me some cough drops and cold medicine!” Cora gushes when she finds the boxes, as if I brought her a dozen roses or some shit.
“Maybe I was tired of hearing you cough up a lung,” I respond.
“That’s really nice of you,” she says, either unaware or unconcerned by my sarcasm.
“I’ve got to go get the damn golf cart,” I tell her.
“If you give me a few minutes to put the groceries away, I could walk with you.”
Taking a deep breath, I remind her, “You’re supposed to be…”
“Laying low,” she finishes. “I know, I know. Fine, go,” she huffs in annoyance.
I almost change my mind and let her come along but think better of it at the last second when I walk out the door without another word.
My job is not to make her happy but to get her setup with a new life and get the fuck out of dodge.
Chapter Nine
Cora
* * *
I can’t believe he carried all these bags here by hand! I’m not sure how far the grocery store is from the house; but even if it’s only a block or two away, that’s far with all the weight of the bags.
Not that he didn’t look fully capable of handling the load. I knew Agent Sheppard appeared muscular in his suit, but his biceps are the size of actual bowling balls, cut with muscle, veins bulging every which way. My first reaction to them was that I wanted to give them both a