“Don’t miss the next turnoff. It can be hard to see in the dark. Again, a good reason for me to drive,” Alex said.
“Alex.” Eve had a way of making her husband’s name—or any name—a perfect admonition.
“I’ll have you playing with your curtains in no time at all.” His night vision was perfect. Alex had to be getting old if he thought he couldn’t see that turnoff.
“It’s not curtains. It’s countertops. The contractor wants to make sure they’re the right ones before they install them tomorrow,” Alex explained. “The invoice says it’s our soapstone, but the contractor thinks it’s the wrong color.”
Ian shook his head. There was no way to comprehend the changes that had come over his best friend since he’d remarried Eve. “What the fuck is soapstone? Why do you care about countertops? What is wrong with you, man? You’re dragging us around in the middle of the night over home décor. When did you become Martha Stewart?”
Alex let his head fall to the side window, bashing it a couple of times before he sat back up. “Well, we all need a hobby, asshole, and you took listening to Guns N’ Roses and drinking Scotch so I was left with fucking soapstone countertops, which are, according to our designer, the very latest in home design and which I can very likely manage to shove up your ass if you don’t stop being an arrogant prick.”
“Alex, I thought we were going to be patient with him,” Eve said in a very gratingly calm voice.
Alex turned to look at his wife. “He’s driving my goddamn car because he’s such a control freak he can’t let anyone else drive.”
Eve’s hand came around the headrest, resting on Alex’s shoulder, and he settled down.
It sucked because Alex seemed just about ready to start a fight and that would have been so much better than the silence that descended on the SUV again. It might do him some good to pull the car over and trade some punches. Ian glanced up at the rearview mirror. It was dark, but he could get a glimpse of her face. He wasn’t used to Charlie being so silent or so withdrawn. She was confident, bold, his match in most ways, but now she had gone someplace deep inside herself and he didn’t like it. She was in the car, but her head was somewhere he couldn’t touch her. It was perverse. He knew he’d been the one to send her to that place, but it bugged the shit out of him. He would rather she yelled at him and called him a bastard to this silent sorrow.
“It’s the last house on the left,” Alex explained. “Just pull in the driveway and Eve and I will run inside.”
And leave him out here with Charlie? Probably not a good idea. Sure, Chelsea was here too, but he’d already proven he didn’t have a lot of discretion when it came to Charlie.
What he wouldn’t tell her was he’d run to the bathroom like a scared five-year-old because his first instinct had been to lie in bed with her all night long. He’d forced her to do it doggie style because he didn’t trust himself not to kiss her. Because the minute he’d gotten her naked and alone, all he’d wanted to do was get inside her and stay there for hours and hours until he was tired and he could wrap himself around her and sleep with her in his arms.
He pulled the car into the driveway. Alex and Eve’s house was nice. Big. It looked like the perfect place to spit out a couple of rug rats and grow old. It was also covered with trees and shit and they were too close to the house. What was he thinking?
“Stay here.” He turned off the ignition and reached for his SIG.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, reaching for his own and checking the clip. “Eve, get your head down. All of you.”
“He’s worried about the trees,” Charlie said in a monotone. “He thinks assassins will be hiding in the trees and they’ll drop down on us, and he’s wondering why you picked a place where so many people could lay in wait to kill you. I think it’s pretty. I like the trees.”
“The trees help cut down on electricity bills,” Alex said, shaking his head. “We weren’t thinking that someone would hide an army in the live oaks.”
“Which just proves that you’re losing it, my friend. I bet you don’t even have perimeter sensors set up.” He carefully opened the door, checking the trees in front of him for any movement.
“I haven’t even moved in yet.” Alex proved he could still move quietly. Ian heard the quiet snick of the passenger door closing and then Alex was beside him, his eyes watching their six.
They moved together like the team they’d been for the last five years. Back to back, they checked the yard.
“I can’t exactly set up motion detectors and freaking laser rays. I would fry every poodle and stray cat in the neighborhood, not to mention the out-past-curfew teens.”
“It would teach ‘em to not be out past curfew.” He didn’t get what the problem was. A little laser never hurt anyone. Much.
“You’re demented. And what the fuck happened to Charlotte? I thought things were looking up when you carried her off to the privacy rooms.”
Ian turned, checking the ground for any signs of disturbance. Alex moved cleanly, never giving up his back.
“Charlotte is just realizing that I won’t be as easy to manipulate as last time.” He relaxed a little. There was nothing out in the yard. He didn’t like the neighborhood they’d driven through. There were too many people, too many cars parked along the street that might or might not belong to residents. How was he supposed to properly assess risk in an area like this? He had to hope Alex had at least remembered to triple bolt the doors and install a decent security system. “I think we’re clear.”
Alex stepped back, shaking his head. “Well, you’ll be fun at the housewarming party. Eve, come on. We’re not going to be murdered in the front yard. Let’s go see how much the contractors fucked up.”
Eve hopped out of the SUV, straightening her skirt.
“Come on, Charlie, Chelsea. Let’s go find out what the fuck soapstone looks like.” He wasn’t about to stand out here in the middle of the night with nothing but a SIG between him and however many Russians were trying to kill Charlie. God, he hoped Liam caught at least one of the fuckers. Maybe these assassins were like Alex and held teas to talk about each other’s love lives. Then all Ian had to do was squeeze the fucker’s balls until he gave up how many of them there were.