“I got picked up by a man, a police officer. He said my fingerprints were on a painting, a fake one. He was going to charge me with grand theft unless I agreed to help them.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to, but I had to . . . for my wife and kids. My daughter is pregnant, and Manuel is still young. He needs me.”

  “Aw, congratulations, Abuelo!” I interject, patting JP’s shoulder gently. He jumps like I scared him for some reason. Meanwhile, Connor glares at me like what JP said isn’t important, but I disagree. Family is very important.

  “Did you tell this police officer about me?” he asks JP in a hard tone.

  I can tell this answer is important. JP can too. There is definitely a right answer and a wrong one. “No, I swear it!” he promises. I’m no expert, but I believe him. Connor grunts, so I think he does too. Either that or he’s the one making murder-y plans now. “Just the boss. Though I guess that won’t matter now, since he’s dead.”

  The words hit me by surprise, and my heart stutters in my chest. “Did I kill him? Oh, my God, did I kill him?”

  I’m suddenly not proud at all, I’m freaking out, my eyes wide as I beg Connor to tell me I didn’t murder someone. A bad guy with a gun, so I’ll probably get off on a self-defense rap, but still . . . I don’t even have plants because it makes me feel guilty when I forget to water them and they die in my windowsill. I love Nut and Juice because they will never let me forget or ignore them.

  I will definitely have immense guilt if I killed a man by hitting him with an old statue of some curvy woman. Reminded of it, I look at the statue in the seat beside me and scoot another inch away from it like it might fly through the air on its own and knock me upside the head.

  “No . . . you didn’t kill him. I don’t think.” Connor shrugs like it's no big deal either way. “He was breathing when we left, and Hunter will keep him alive. Probably.”

  “Probably?” I repeat vacantly.

  Connor meets my eyes in the rearview mirror again. “If anyone dies, I’d rather it be them than you.”

  Can talking about death and murder be romantic? Apparently so, because I’m melting back here. “Aww, that’s so sweet.”

  “Perra loca,” JP whispers.

  “Watch it,” Connor warns JP, though I don’t know what he said since the only Spanish I speak is to order tacos and nachos. JP holds his hands up in apology. “The police officer . . . what’s the name?”

  “Carter,” JP says immediately. “Jax Carter.”

  I gasp, and Connor slams a fist to the steering wheel again. “Of fucking course!”

  “Have I mentioned that I hate that guy?” I growl through clenched teeth. Seriously? “He’s such a Paul Blart shart.”

  “Shart?” JP asks, and I can’t help it, I smirk. I don’t know Spanish, and he doesn’t know Poppyish.

  “Shit plus fart . . . shart.”

  JP snorts as he covers his mouth with a hand, but he nods his agreement with me.

  That particular bridge crossed, I look back to Connor. I know more than he realizes now, but I can’t tell him that until we’re alone. “What are we going to do? We need a plan.”

  Connor keeps his eyes on the road, driving in a roundabout, meandering course to keep us safe, but we’re generally heading back to the house. “I’m thinking.”

  “While you’re thinking, can we go home? I need to let Nut and Juice out.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but it means something to me that Connor speeds up. He’s probably worried about my puppers too.

  JP turns to looks at me with a furrowed brow, his brain working overtime behind his brown eyes. “Uhm, English is not my first language. Not even my second. But did you say ‘nut juice’? That means uhm . . . the kids call . . .”

  I laugh at his stilted question. Some people just don’t get me. “Yeah, they’re my two Pomeranians. Named after exactly what you think. It was funny at the time. There might’ve been a bottle of wine involved. And since I’d drunk-shopped for specially engraved name tags, it stuck.”

  JP looks at Connor, even more confused after my perfectly reasonable explanation. “This is your woman?” He mutters something in Spanish that has Connor clenching his jaw, and JP sighs.

  Connor growls. “Yes. She’s my woman, so watch what you fucking say.”

  Connor’s claiming of me in such a caveman way makes my whole body light up with warmth. I’m usually more of the Cinderella meets her Prince Charming and gets romantically swept off her feet type, especially in what I write. None of my heroes are the growly, possessive, asshole sorts, but I am definitely rethinking my main characters. It’s too late to change the characters and plotline of Trouble in Great Falls, but maybe I can use these last few chapters to introduce a new character with a bit of asshole-itis?

  “You are so sexy,” I purr, leaning forward to wrap my arms around Connor from behind. But the seatbelt pulls me back sharply, and I have to settle for only touching his shoulder. “Have I told you that?”

  I feel JP looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, but my eyes are locked on Connor. His eyes drift up to the rearview mirror and he smiles. Well, his eyes do. His lips don’t lift, but I know he likes that I think he’s sexy because those gold flecks in the center of his eyes are flashing like fire. I move the boob separator seatbelt strap beneath my arm so I can lean forward again, lifting out of the seat to press a kiss to Connor’s cheek.

  One of his hands leaves the wheel and cups my head as he turns to kiss my mouth. But before our lips meet, I scold him through a smile. “Ah, ah, ah! We are safe drivers first, so eyes on the road, mister! We can’t get into a wreck while we’re making our getaway.”

  He growls as I pull out of his reach and fix my seatbelt but places his hand back on the wheel.

  “You are going to be the death of me,” he groans.

  “That’s how you know it’s true love. It is like this with my wife too,” JP says with a soft laugh. “A wise man once told me . . . if you’re not at least a little scared of your woman, she’s not the one.”

  Connor snorts. “You’re scared of your wife?”

  “Absolutely,” JP says without a second thought. Looking back at me, he holds his thumb and finger an inch apart but slowly spreads them wider and wider until he’s spreading his hands apart like he’s measuring a fish. His laugh is louder and deeper, coming from his belly now. “You do the same to him?”

  “Trying my best,” I boast, perking up and trying to look as boss as possible. “She sounds like my kind of girl. Maybe we can meet sometime?”

  Connor clears his throat, sounding amused but getting back to business. “Forgetting something, Poppy? We’ve got to figure out what to do about Carter first.”

  My smile fades as the crazy little bite of normalcy gets chewed up by the situation we’re in. “Ugh, don’t remind me about him. He ruins my good mood instantly.”

  “That’s why we’ve gotta to deal with him,” Connor says, putting on his turn signal to make the next to last turn on his way home. “So you never have to frown again.”

  I’m still not convinced but trust in him and in my heart. I’m just eager to see what Connor has up his sleeve.

  Chapter 25

  Connor

  I don’t really like the idea of bringing a man like JP to Poppy’s home, but she’s right about the dogs. They’ll probably destroy the place if they’re ignored too long. As soon as we reach the door, they’re barking and scratching at it in anticipation.

  “Yes, my babies,” Poppy calls, shimmying a little herself. “Mama’s coming. Hold your bladders one more minute!”

  She unlocks the door, and the two white pompoms rush out past our feet, tearing circles in the grass before Nut squats in the corner of the grass that’s ‘his.’ JP makes a noise of surprise that turns into a laugh.

  “Ah, I get it . . . Nut Juice.”

  Poppy tuts gently to correct him, pointing at one dog and then the other. “Nut and Juice.”

  Juice finds his spot. He’s more of a wandering pisser with his business. Once he’s done, the two trot happily back inside, ready for a treat from Poppy.

  While she feeds her monsters, I gesture for JP to sit on the couch. He does so slowly, legs tense and elbows braced on his thighs to stand quickly if need be. He’s ready to fight for his life, to battle me or anyone else who threatens him or his family. That, I can definitely respect because I’m ready to do the same thing.

  But if this conversation goes the way I hope, it’s not going to come to that between us.

  JP gives me a wary look, still not relaxing. “Are we . . . good, my friend?” he asks carefully. “No problems?”

  I sit in a chair across from JP, keeping my hands on the arms and in the open to show I don’t intend harm . . . at the moment.

  “Men like us will always have problems, but hopefully, we won’t have any between you and me. But I need you to tell me everything about Mr. Big and Detective Carter. All of it. The more I know, the easier I can get us out of this shit. You showed me a lot of trust in telling me where your son worked, and I’m showing you the same by bringing you here.”

  I look to the kitchen where Poppy is sitting on the floor with both dogs in her lap, their dinner forgotten. Poppy’s heels lay askew from where she kicked them off, and she’s totally oblivious to what she’s doing to her skirt in the moment. All three of them are making these happy yipping sounds as she pets them, Poppy working in, “I know, Mama’s been gone so long. I missed you too.”

  Of course, she’s one of those people who baby talk to their dogs. And yips with them because she speaks fluent Pomeranian.

  JP follows my gaze then turns his eyes back to me, nodding once. In the silence, a bond is solidified. One I hope we will both honor.

  He leans back, crossing his legs to assume a comfortable, almost conversational body posture like we’re about to sit around discussing the weather or our favorite sports teams. It’s an intentional shift he’s offering, showing his willingness to work with me.

  “I’ve worked with the Boss for five years. It didn’t start out like . . . this.” He doesn’t need to explain what ‘this’ is because it’s obviously this clusterfuck. He glances up, probably wondering just where things went wrong. That’s something I can understand. “Believe it or not, he hired me to be his personal assistant, above board and clean . . . at first. It was good work for a man like me. I know how to get things done but don’t have the sort of corporate resume that’s accepted here.” He levels a stare at me, making sure I understand, and then, with a sigh, he continues. “I could manage his calendar, talk to business contacts all over the world, drive him places, things like that. We worked well together, and he began to trust me to do more. He’d confide in me, though we weren’t friends. He made sure I didn’t forget my place—to serve him. Over time, he would send me to pick things up or meet with people to relay messages.” He waves a hand in my direction.

  “Like me,” I fill in.

  JP nods. “Yes. At first, I didn’t realize he was doing anything illegal. He’s a businessman, so he buys and sells things, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I don’t know anything about art.” He holds his hands out wide, inviting me to look at him as if art knowledge is a visible trait. “There were others before you, of course. I’m not a stupid man. I soon knew he was doing something he shouldn’t be. But by then” —he shrugs— “my family . . . we have a home, a life.”

  “I understand.”

  Once that wouldn’t have been true, but now, since meeting Poppy, I can understand how someone could unintentionally become caught up in something and feel like they couldn’t do anything to jeopardize what means the most to them.

  “I told myself that no one was getting hurt,” JP continues, looking disappointed in himself. “It’s pieces of paint on canvas or statues. Stealing from the rich, who cares? I’m not taking food out of someone’s mouth . . . at least, that’s what I said before he had me making arrangements with ‘cleaners’. And when that detective grabbed me, I realized that I was the one who was going to be hurt. Me and my family. The Boss? He would replace me and go on like nothing had happened.”

  I tilt my head. “You told Carter what you had to.”

  “I did, but only about the Boss. He asked me where The Black Rose painting was, and at first, I played dumb. Nobody expects me to know art,” he says dryly. “But the police officer kept asking questions, saying they knew I’d touched the replacement, and eventually, I told him I didn’t know where the original was because it had been sold by my employer. That made him very interested.”

  “Always better to catch the big fish, not the minnows.” I point from him to me, acknowledging that we’re not the criminals the police would be most interested in when there’s a chance at catching a true black-market powerhouse.

  We’re quiet for a moment, both of us lost in our thoughts. I’m trying to decide what Carter’s move would be. He’s got an inside man in JP and will want to maximize his chances of catching Mr. Big.

  “Did Carter know about the auction today? About Mr. Big coming to meet me?”

  JP shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. “No, I didn’t have time to tell him. It was a last-minute meeting. The original plan was for you to steal the statue as a final test of sorts. If you could get past Boss’s own security . . . well, it doesn’t matter. When he told me, I was surprised, but now I understand. He didn’t want me to know that he’d found out about my betrayal.”

  “You didn’t betray anyone,” I tell him honestly, feeling for the man. “Except maybe yourself. We’ll fix this.”

  Hope and fear mix in his dark eyes. “I need to call my wife.”

  He’s asking permission, and I want to say no. It’s a risk we shouldn’t take, but I was only gone for work for a few days before Poppy was swinging golf clubs at Hunter’s head. I wonder how long it’d take JP’s wife to do the same?

  “You said Poppy would like her,” I point out. “Is she a perra loca too?”

  For the first time in the last hour, JP smiles. “Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I smile back, acknowledging everything he’s shared by giving permission. “On speakerphone, please.”

  JP nods in understanding and pulls out his phone and dials. A woman answers in Spanish, already talking fast and furiously. I catch enough to know that JP’s in trouble for skipping dinner and in even more trouble when he tells his wife that he has to work overnight again.

  She stops cursing him out, but I can hear the intensity in her voice. Like her son, I suspect she doesn’t know everything her husband does, but she knows enough.

  She knows not to ask questions.

  I give them as much privacy as I can, stepping into the kitchen with Poppy and the dogs while still keeping an ear on JP’s conversation.

  But I need Poppy. Standing over her, she looks up at me. Her eyes are full of worry, her bottom lip red and puffy from where she’s been chewing on it, and her hair is no longer tucked up into her professional, tight bun but disheveled and half escaped.

  “Is everything going to be okay?”

  She wants me to say yes. She needs me to. But the truth is, I don’t know. And I’ve already lied about so much and there’s still so much she doesn’t know. I don’t want to add this to the pile I’m accumulating.

  I reach down, taking her hand to pull her to her feet. She instantly falls into my arms, her cheek pressed to my chest and arms wrapped around my waist. I hug her back, holding her tightly as I memorize everything about her—the smell of her shampoo, the press of her breasts, the sound of her breathing, and even the way she makes me feel. Like I’m enough.

  “I’ll make it be okay,” I vow. “Just give me time, and I’ll make it okay. I promise.”

  “I believe you.”

  Those words mean a lot after all the lies.

  “I will also always believe in you,” Poppy whispers.

  Another sentiment, but equally important. It means so much and actually brings us back to something approaching normalcy. Poppy tries to work a bit, but she’s too amped and winds up telling JP all about her book. He even reads some of the draft, making comments. “You would make a very good telenovela writer. That’s a compliment.”

  “Thank you,” Poppy says graciously.

  A couple of hours later, I’m still trying to decide what to do when there’s a knock at the door.

  I go to answer it, but Poppy waves wildly at me, shooing me away.

  “My door, I’ll answer. What if it’s Carter?” she whispers, not nearly quiet enough. “He can’t find you two” —she points at me and JP— “hanging out in my living room.”

  She’s got a good point, but I don’t like her answering her door alone. Who the fuck would be coming over this late, anyway? “Take Gary.”

  She winks, and I know she’s thinking that I’ve come around to the brilliance of having a golf club handy. Even though I’m not a gun man myself, I wish Gary were a Glock right now.

  She picks up Gary from beside the door, laying it over her shoulder casually. I stand behind the door just in case, and she cracks the door ever so slightly. I hear a familiar voice ask, “Gonna take another swing at me, Tiger?”

  “Maybe,” Poppy teases as relief rushes through me. “Depends on whether you kept Mr. Big alive or not, Hunter.”

  I hear him chuckle, and I want to rush the door, both to hug Poppy and to yank Hunter inside. It’s pretty clear that I need to hug him too . . . right before I kick his ass.

  “The bad thing is,” Hunter continues, “I’m honestly not sure if you’d prefer for him to be alive or dead.”

  “Let him in, Poppy,” I call, keeping myself as calm as possible. “We’ve got some shit to figure out.”

  She opens the door in invitation but lunge steps at Hunter as he passes by her. He doesn’t flinch away but rather lunges back at her, both freezing before I can hurl myself between them. They both smile like they shared a secret handshake, and I slowly feel my heart loosen up in my chest. “You two . . .”