involved. He didn’t trust anyone to do right by Reagan.
But what if Javier was on his way, or sending some goon after her? He couldn’t watch her all the time and watch out for strangers coming and going.
Dawnya Johnson would work. Female agent. High-class ass kisser. A better marksman than most of the guys Garret knew. She could befriend Reagan in a heartbeat and learn the personal details of her life without wanting to sleep with her.
He’d call Buchanan as soon as he got home.
• • •
“I am such an idiot,” Reagan said to Naomi later. They sat on the floor in front of the couch, the fire crackling beside them.
Naomi raked the fringe on the rug with her fingers. “No. You were only asking about your uncle. Completely understandable.”
The evening hadn’t started out so great and took a downhill slide as soon as she questioned the men about Ray and this other guy, Chris. Their meal came and they ate in silence, Chayton brooding and Garret reserved. They’d been polite, Garret kissed her on the cheek and left her at her doorstep, and Chayton smacked her on the shoulder and said good night, but it all felt forced.
“They lost Ray and this other guy within days,” Reagan continued. “I shouldn’t have opened my big fat mouth.”
“Stop beating yourself up. Anyone would have said the same thing.”
“You didn’t.”
Naomi sighed. “He’s not my uncle.”
“Would you stop combing that rug?”
“Would you stop calling yourself an idiot?” Naomi argued. “Ack.” Throwing up her hands, she rested her spine against the wall. “Fringe rugs should be illegal. First thing tomorrow, we’re going shopping for a new one.”
“I like that rug.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep with this thing here. Fringe rugs bother me, I can’t deal with it.” Naomi stood, pulled the rug from under the legs of the couch, and folded it into itself, tucking away the trimmings. Satisfied, she rubbed her hands together and rested on the couch. “Now stop being so hard on yourself.”
Reagan eyed her cousin, shrugging off her minor obsessions. If she didn’t like the rug, she didn’t like it. Naomi always had a few obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and Reagan would rather her be happy than worry about a rug. Besides, she preferred a bearskin in front of the fireplace.
Walking to the fridge, Reagan stopped to secure the slipper that escaped her right foot. She opened the refrigerator, searching for the orange juice and fresh mint.
“Something else we’re going to do is buy you new slippers,” Naomi said as Reagan set the juice container on the counter.
Reagan couldn’t argue that point. Her slippers were shoddy, but comfortable. One familiar thing she’d allowed to stay in her life.
“I could just wear those fuzzy socks that came in the mail today.”
“Nah. There’s something weird about those socks.”
“Besides the fact they’re all sparkly?” Reagan shuffled milk, butter, and yogurt aside in her quest for mint, but came up empty. She knelt to open the vegetable and fruit crisper. “What do you think Ray would have done with those socks?”
“Donated them to charity. If I see you wearing them, I’ll disown you.”
“Something tells me they weren’t meant to be worn.” Reagan slammed the fruit crisper and straightened. “Naomi, why does everything have to be so organized in this fridge?” she asked, intentionally knocking the blueberry yogurt from resting on cherry’s shoulders. The lemon yogurt stood in a straight line behind them, and she flicked it with her finger, moving it out of alignment.
Naomi joined her in the kitchen. “Oh come on, Rea, stop rearranging the refrigerator. Things are easier to find when you give them a place.”
“I can’t find anything.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The mint leaves.”
Naomi shifted Reagan aside and shut the fridge, opening the freezer. She retrieved a container and handed it over. “It lasts longer in the
But what if Javier was on his way, or sending some goon after her? He couldn’t watch her all the time and watch out for strangers coming and going.
Dawnya Johnson would work. Female agent. High-class ass kisser. A better marksman than most of the guys Garret knew. She could befriend Reagan in a heartbeat and learn the personal details of her life without wanting to sleep with her.
He’d call Buchanan as soon as he got home.
• • •
“I am such an idiot,” Reagan said to Naomi later. They sat on the floor in front of the couch, the fire crackling beside them.
Naomi raked the fringe on the rug with her fingers. “No. You were only asking about your uncle. Completely understandable.”
The evening hadn’t started out so great and took a downhill slide as soon as she questioned the men about Ray and this other guy, Chris. Their meal came and they ate in silence, Chayton brooding and Garret reserved. They’d been polite, Garret kissed her on the cheek and left her at her doorstep, and Chayton smacked her on the shoulder and said good night, but it all felt forced.
“They lost Ray and this other guy within days,” Reagan continued. “I shouldn’t have opened my big fat mouth.”
“Stop beating yourself up. Anyone would have said the same thing.”
“You didn’t.”
Naomi sighed. “He’s not my uncle.”
“Would you stop combing that rug?”
“Would you stop calling yourself an idiot?” Naomi argued. “Ack.” Throwing up her hands, she rested her spine against the wall. “Fringe rugs should be illegal. First thing tomorrow, we’re going shopping for a new one.”
“I like that rug.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep with this thing here. Fringe rugs bother me, I can’t deal with it.” Naomi stood, pulled the rug from under the legs of the couch, and folded it into itself, tucking away the trimmings. Satisfied, she rubbed her hands together and rested on the couch. “Now stop being so hard on yourself.”
Reagan eyed her cousin, shrugging off her minor obsessions. If she didn’t like the rug, she didn’t like it. Naomi always had a few obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and Reagan would rather her be happy than worry about a rug. Besides, she preferred a bearskin in front of the fireplace.
Walking to the fridge, Reagan stopped to secure the slipper that escaped her right foot. She opened the refrigerator, searching for the orange juice and fresh mint.
“Something else we’re going to do is buy you new slippers,” Naomi said as Reagan set the juice container on the counter.
Reagan couldn’t argue that point. Her slippers were shoddy, but comfortable. One familiar thing she’d allowed to stay in her life.
“I could just wear those fuzzy socks that came in the mail today.”
“Nah. There’s something weird about those socks.”
“Besides the fact they’re all sparkly?” Reagan shuffled milk, butter, and yogurt aside in her quest for mint, but came up empty. She knelt to open the vegetable and fruit crisper. “What do you think Ray would have done with those socks?”
“Donated them to charity. If I see you wearing them, I’ll disown you.”
“Something tells me they weren’t meant to be worn.” Reagan slammed the fruit crisper and straightened. “Naomi, why does everything have to be so organized in this fridge?” she asked, intentionally knocking the blueberry yogurt from resting on cherry’s shoulders. The lemon yogurt stood in a straight line behind them, and she flicked it with her finger, moving it out of alignment.
Naomi joined her in the kitchen. “Oh come on, Rea, stop rearranging the refrigerator. Things are easier to find when you give them a place.”
“I can’t find anything.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The mint leaves.”
Naomi shifted Reagan aside and shut the fridge, opening the freezer. She retrieved a container and handed it over. “It lasts longer in the
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