Catherine paced the length of the hallway in the foyer of the brownstone. Another week or so, according to the contractor, and they would be back in their own home. Never again would a bullet be able to pass through their bottom level walls or windows. And apparently, Cross ordered special bulletproof glass for the upstairs windows, too.
Honestly, that wasn’t what had Catherine pacing or still awake.
The purr of a familiar engine outside the brownstone made her steps falter. She stilled, listening to make sure it was in fact who she thought it was. As the garage door lifted to let a vehicle into the underground parking, she let out a slow breath.
Never did she think her husband could fail.
Never did she distrust him.
Never.
However, that didn’t stop her from worrying.
Less than three minutes later, Catherine met Cross as he came up through the garage entrance. In the hallway between the living room and kitchen, she simply stared at him for a long while. She kept a good five feet of space between them while they stood looking at one another in silence.
He no longer wore the black attire he had left the house in. His hair was slicked back as though he had been running his fingers through it recently. In his gaze, she found exhaustion and restlessness.
Nothing unusual for Cross.
Yet, this whole event was anything but normal.
“You’re still up?” he eventually asked.
Catherine shrugged helplessly, but said nothing.
“It’s after two, Catty.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“I told you it would be okay, babe.”
She nodded. “I know, but still …”
The corner of his mouth edged up in a small smile. “You worry.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to know how it all went?”
Catherine wrapped her arms around her midsection, comfy warm in a pair of Cross’s sleep pants and one of his T-shirts. “If you want to tell me.”
“It was successful.”
Successful.
Catherine let that one simple word bang around in her thoughts, and what it meant. “Every single one?”
All she knew about the plans Cross and his men had been working on for a week was that anyone who held a position of power in the Russian organization would not see the rise of the sun in the morning. The way he had explained it, and what he expected to come of it after, she thought it had been rather … brilliant.
Sad, too.
But brilliant.
“All except the one,” Cross asked.
Catherine’s brow furrowed. “Which one?”
“Timur.”
He lifted a hand as if to ask, What can you do?
“I didn’t think Zeke would take the easy route with the guy anyway,” Cross added after a quick moment. “From what he’s told me about what happened between Katya and that man, I was waiting for him to do something like this, really.”
“Could it cause problems?” she asked.
Cross shook his head. “Doubtful. The Russians and the police are going to be far too distracted with the assassinations of the three highest members to realize one of their low level, disposable foot soldiers has gone missing. By the time his body does finally show up somewhere, it probably won’t even look like a body.”
Catherine made a noise under her breath—half disgust, half curiosity. Then, she had another thought. “Wait, you mean he still hasn’t killed Timur?”
“I suspect not, but Zeke’s not answering his phone. He clicked off the call with Rick just before he went in on the guy where he was working. He did send me a message, so I know he’s okay. That’s all I care about.”
Really, Catherine had no business in asking.
She still did.
Curiosity was her best friend.
“What did the message say?”
“The Slaughterhouse still smells like wet death,” Cross said.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Her husband smiled faintly. “A place in the city—broken down, abandoned. Owned by an Irish family that’s been friends with my father since forever. It’s basically used as a private prison, or torture chamber. Really depends on what your need is at the moment.”
Catherine’s stomach turned; not for Timur, but at just the idea. “Oh.”
“I think it’ll be a while before Zeke is around,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to just … let him work his anger out.”
“Think he’s due it?”
Cross cleared his throat. “Yeah, babe, I do. I mean, if it were you, I’d strip the fucker of his bones one by one.”
“It was me once.”
“Yeah, but I was too young and didn’t appreciate the work that went into good torture. I’ve grown up since then.”
Catherine couldn’t help herself when she laughed. “That’s terrible.”
“Still true.”
“What comes next?” Catherine asked.
“Nothing, Catty.”
Wrong.
“There’s always something, Cross.”
Cross frowned, and reached for her. In a blink, she found herself wrapped happily in his embrace. She tucked her arms against his chest, and buried her face into his body. Cross’s arms tightened around her frame as he rested his chin on top of her head.
His familiar scent and love wrapped around her like a cocoon of safety without him even needing to say a thing. Catherine soaked it up for as long as she could. Sometimes, she found herself wishing they could have more of these kinds of quiet, loving moments. It seemed they never had the time.
Their world was too busy.
The next uproar was coming.
Restless hearts.
Demanding lives.
Unruly love.
Still, sometimes, they had this, too.
So yeah, she soaked it up.
“I was thinking a shower might be in order for me,” her husband murmured, “but if you want to just head to bed, we can do that, too.”
“Have a shower. I’ll still be up waiting on you.”
“Perfetto.”
With one more kiss to the top of her head, Cross let Catherine go. She hugged herself in an effort to get back some of that warmth she had felt from Cross, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She settled on making a snack until she could crawl under soft sheets with her husband.
Catherine wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Cross found her again. Long enough for her to eat a sandwich, and then wander the halls. She came to a stop in front of the empty spare bedroom across from the master bedroom.
White, bare walls. Cold, natural wood floors. High ceilings. Brushed metal light fixtures. It certainly wasn’t anything to look at.
“This would make a good spot for a toy room, wouldn’t it?” Catherine asked as Cross moved in beside her. “Something for the kids when we have to stay here again.”
“It’s big enough for it.”
Catherine turned to get a good look at her husband. Cross wore nothing but a towel slung around his waist. He ran his fingers through the longer, damp strands at the top of his head to push them back. His dark gaze looked her over, while his lips curved into one of her favorite grins.
“Do I still tell you enough that you’re pretty amazing?” she asked.
Cross cocked a brow. “Sure, but more is always welcome.”
“It’s not like you really need your ego fed, or anything.”
“I like reminders.”
Catherine laughed, but it quickly died in her throat as Cross reached out to stroke two fingers along her cheekbone. “I love you, Cross.”
“I love you, Catherine.”
“Of course. Who the hell else are you going to love?”
He smirked in that sexy way of his.
Catherine’s insides twisted all over again. All he needed to do was look at her the right way, murmur a quick few words, or touch her, and the entire world would tilt on its axis. She wasn’t sure how to right it, either.
Not that she wanted to.
Cross was still looking at her in that way, making her hot and weak at the same time. Catherine closed the distance between them in the doorway, stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed her husband. She made sure to only linger long enough with the kiss to tease him.
The second she pulled away, Cross’s gaze narrowed.
“Cheap,” he told her.
Catherine flashed her teeth in a grin. “Oh?”
“Tease.”
“Keep it up, Cross.”
“Give me another, then.”
“Here?”
She kissed his jaw, and felt his smile grow.
“No.”
Catherine kissed lower, on his throat, and felt him swallow as her lips ghosted over his skin. “There?”
“Catty …”
“Lower?”
Cross groaned as she blinked up at him while she kissed down his chest. “You’re going to fucking kill me, babe. You know that, right? Kill me—dead.”
Her fingers wrapped around the waist of the towel as she crouched low, and kissed the spot below his navel. “You know I can see you’re hard under the towel, right?”
“Of course, I fucking am!”
“Mmhmm.”
She flashed him another smile.
Cross let out a heavy exhale. “Just … suck my dick already.”
“Somebody’s demanding.”
“Somebody just wanted a shower and sleep, Catherine, but you got me thinking about other things now.”
“Oh, so it’s cool if I—”
“Shut your pretty mouth right now or get it on my dick.”
Her laughter echoed throughout the empty brownstone. She tugged the towel away from his body, and came eye-level with Cross’s fully erect cock. She palmed the base of his length and took the head of his cock into her mouth.
Catherine stared up at him to watch Cross tilt his head back to rest it against the doorjamb. One of his hands rested on his stomach, while his other came to tangle in her hair. He didn’t help her along in how she sucked his cock at first—he never did.
She warmed him up.
He liked to finish it off.
Hollowed cheeks. Air-tight pressure. Teeth scraping against velvet smooth skin.
Catherine knew exactly what her husband liked when she was on her knees. The thicker, and louder, his moans became the longer she sucked him off. The hotter she became between her thighs.
There was another reason Catherine liked sucking Cross’s dick, after all. It got him fired up and ready to go for the next round. He always fucked her a little bit harder after she had sucked him off, and she liked that just fine.
Catherine let her tongue flick against the throbbing vein on the underside of Cross’s cock, and felt him tense from the action. Another long, heavy groan fell from his chest, his fingers tightened in her hair, and she knew …
“My turn.”
His husky order made her look up again. She slowed her own work and let him take over. Both of his hands held onto her then, while he pumped his cock in and out of her mouth. Slow at first, and then faster. She relaxed her jaw and muscles, yet it still made her fucking eyes water.
She kind of loved that, too.
All the while, his dirty mouth worked, too.
“Take it, babe,” he urged.
And, “Make me fucking come, Catty.”
When he did finally orgasm, he held her all the way down to the base of his cock while his cum hit the back of her throat.
“Swallow every fucking drop,” she heard him say while his hands trembled in her hair. “Every bit, Catherine.”
She did.
The taste, uniquely him.
Wet as hell between her thighs.
Hot as fire inside.
Finally, Cross let her go. Catherine came off his dick with a smile, and numb, yet swollen lips. She traced her tongue along the edges of her lips while she stared up at him. He said something under his breath, but she didn’t quite catch it.
“What was that?”
“Okay, yeah, that was way better than sleep,” Cross mumbled. “Fuck.”
Exhaustion slipped through Catherine’s veins as she blinked awake. She didn’t even need to turn over to know she was alone in the bed. Not a bit of light filtered through the beige curtains covering the windows, telling her it was still quite late.
Rolling over, she found it was only four in the morning.
She stared at the clock.
And the empty space beside her.
“Cross?”
Her husband didn’t answer back.
Catherine could have stayed under the warm blankets, and she likely would have fallen back to sleep quickly, but something made her get up. Probably the baby bouncing on her very full bladder. She made quick use of the bathroom, washed up, and then went in search of her husband.
She found Cross sitting at the kitchen table. He didn’t react to her soft footsteps, but she knew without a doubt that he was aware of her presence.
In front of him sat a map. Beside him, a coffee. On the other side, a notebook and a laptop. She looked over the Google Maps he had brought up on the laptop, and noted the heavily forested area.
Cross had already routed several pathways on the map, she noticed. Some in yellow, others in red, and even green. She knew he color coded when he worked—it helped him to differentiate between the best ways, moderately good ways, and last option ways to get things done.
However, what he was looking at now, wasn’t actually roads. At least, not on the computer screen. It seemed to be just miles and miles of trees.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Escape routes,” he murmured.
Cross picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee without ever looking away from the map under his eagle-eye. With his other hand, he circled a small spot on the map before he dropped the Sharpie and moved to the mousepad on the laptop.
A double click later, and the screen moved closer to the woods.
“Cabin here,” he said.
Then, he moved the map a bit toward the left.
“Three miles over, another cabin, closer to a tiny New Brunswick town. Perth-Andover. There’s a lot of these cabins. Given the time of year, they’re not likely to be inhabited. Too fucking cold for people, you know?”
“Sure.” Catherine could only see a small patch of black beneath the thick green tree tops. “What’s that good for?”
“A sleep if I need it.”
Then, a realization came down upon her all at once.
“Your gun run is coming up,” she said.
Cross looked up at her, and nodded. “Next week. I haven’t done much planning beyond getting the guns over the border. That bit was all worked out months ago. Eighteen-wheeler. Fake passport and ID. Limestone, Maine crossing into California Settlement, New Brunswick. They don’t even have a proper scale, and with a passport that makes it look like I’m a long-haul trucker coming back to my shitty little Canadian town with an empty trailer, they rarely blink.”
“What if someone does check the back?”
“False bottom in the trailer. Extra two feet of space beneath the floor where the guns are stashed, plus the back wall is also false. Another three feet deep there to smuggle the weapons. Honestly, it’s not a hotspot for smuggling at that border. There’s barely anyone there, especially on a Sunday—maybe one guard. Never a dog, or anything. So, I want to hit it then, anyway.”
“Yet, you’re still planning escape routes.”
And on foot, apparently.
Cross shrugged. “Best to be prepared, babe.”
“Sometimes I think you might over prepare, Cross.”
“Never.”
Catherine pulled the chair next to his out from the table, and sat down. She rested her chin in her hands while he worked, and enjoyed the silence. She knew better than to ask if there was anything she could do to help. He wouldn’t have let her even if he did need help, simply because this was something he did better alone.
“I guess with everything else we’ve been dealing with,” she said, “I forgot that this was still on your to-do list.”
Cross chuckled. “Life doesn’t seem to want to slow down for us, babe.”
“It will.”
She knew it would.
Soon, hopefully.
“I have to head out to California next week, too,” Catherine said.
Cross’s attention was back on the laptop, but he still replied with, “Mmm, you’re little issue with the competition, right?”
“Miguel called earlier when you were gone. He’s got updates for me on the girl—Evira. I want to get rid of that problem before it gets worse. So yeah, I need to head out.”
He seemed to hear her unspoken question.
“Cece will be back soon.”
“When?”
“Soon,” he repeated with a smile, yet never looking at her.
“Do you think I should take her with me on this one, considering?”
Cross did stop working at that question, his fingers hovering over the mousepad but never touching down. “I think you should do what you need to do, and only take her if you’re sure she will be looked after and safe at the same time.”
“She’s already been away from us for a week, Cross.”
“My opinion remains the same.”
Of course it did.
Catherine sighed, and looked out the window of the kitchen. Outside, the dark street blended with just a hint of lamp light, but still seemed empty and cold. She missed their home.
“Miguel will likely be with me,” she said after a minute.
“Likely.”
“Your parents are still in Chicago.”
“Your mother and father will keep her,” Cross pointed out. “Besides, this isn’t going to be a long thing, Catherine. You know who it is, you know what you have to do, and that’s the end of it. Shit, you could get that done in a day and be back the next morning.”
True.
Except …
“Not everyone works as fast as you do, Cross.”
He shot her a grin. “Babe, this little problem of yours has been hanging over your head for a while now. It’s gone on long enough. I already know what you’re going to do the moment you get the chance.”
“Take her out,” Catherine said quietly.
Cross nodded. “Take her out, Catty.”
“Oh, my God, she made Whoopie Pies.” Miguel’s wide eyes flew to where Cross was chuckling to himself across the kitchen. “She made Whoopie Pies.”
“I know—when she doesn’t work, she cooks. She doesn’t like you to point it out, though.”
Catherine shook her head. The two conversed like she wasn’t even standing there in the goddamn room.
“Whoopie Pies are the shit.”
“Shut up and stuff your face,” Catherine said, pushing the platter of sweets toward Miguel.
He grabbed a Whoopie Pie with one hand, and used the other to hand Catherine a manila file. She opened the file to peruse the contents while trying to ignore the groaning from Miguel a foot away as he chewed on a bite.
“Please tell me you made more of these, so I can take them with me,” he said with a full mouth.
“Gross.”
“What?”
Catherine turned her back to Miguel, and headed for the island. She scattered the documents and photos inside the file across the top, and took her time going over each one.
“She’s back in town, then?” Catherine asked.
“Since two days ago,” Miguel answered, still eating.
“Swallow before you talk. You’re worse than Cece, my God.”
Cross sipped from his coffee, and smirked to himself, saying nothing.
Catherine picked up a couple of more photos. “And she’s working, I see.”
“Evira delivered to three clients at least since she got back from … where the fuck ever.”
“Was her man with her on vacation?”
“Musta been,” Miguel replied. “He wasn’t home, but now he is.”
“Is he going to be a problem?”
“Doubtful. He doesn’t even know who the fuck we are, and he doesn’t go with her when she’s working.”
“Why would he?” Catherine asked, more to herself than to Miguel. “I doubt he would like the other services she’s providing to her clients along with the drugs.”
Cross lifted his brow. “Like sex?”
“Exactly that. At least, according to the one client I cornered.”
“Damn.”
Catherine pointed a finger at her husband. “Don’t get any bright fucking ideas, Cross. That’s not a business I want my girls going into.”
“I’ve got a couple of Capos who own whorehouses. They bring in decent cash, Catherine.”
“Not my girls.”
“Just saying.”
“Did you have any plans for what you want to do to snatch her?” Miguel asked.
Catherine had considered it. “I’ve got some ideas. I don’t want it to be obvious, and I don’t want to make a scene.”
“Care to share?”
“Not yet.”
Before anyone could press her for more, Catherine heard the front door of the brownstone open and close. She heard the tiny patter of footsteps, and the sweetest squeal that made her heart swell. She turned in just enough time to catch her running daughter in a big hug.
“Ma!”
Catherine lifted Cece right up from the floor, dotting her little face with kisses. “Hey, baby! Ma missed you, my girl.”
Cross came around the island to add to the kisses Cece was soaking up. “And Daddy, too.”
In the entryway to the kitchen, Catherine’s parents stood with doggie bags of takeout. She had known they would be coming back today, just not what time they would finally show up. She was quick to put all the file contents away after she set Cece on the floor.
“Anyone hungry?” Dante asked.
“Whoopie Pies and grease,” Miguel said, eyeing the bags with a grin, “Yes, diabetes is in my future.”
Catherine gave him a look, but her partner only shrugged.
Cece, on the other hand, shrieked when she saw the sweets on the counter. “Whoopie Pies, Miggy!”
“Right?”
Work could wait a day, Catherine decided.
Family was here.