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jokes and zingers.
    “Guess I’m not what you remember,” Nicola whispered, stealing a glance at Cash.
    Roman stood, rubbing his tattoo. It was beautiful, and it was a lie. How did she ever think it was right to hurt them?
    “Nicola.” He kissed her head. “That’s enough for me. For now. I’m headed to bed, knowing you’re alive. Best damn thing ever. And tomorrow, we’ll talk about calling Mom and Dad.”
    She nodded.
    Roman continued, “Cash, Rocco, good night, assholes.”
    Rocco stood, nodded, and bowed out without a word, leaving just her and Cash. Her and Cash and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. She nudged the bottle toward him. “Want another?”
    Silence hung in the air.
    She nudged it again. “How about this: do you need another?”
    A smile cracked the thick tension on his chiseled face. “That would be a hell yes.”
    It wasn’t a joke, but it was more his style. She wished he would smile the way he used to. Big and brawny, but so damn beautiful. Just once. “Me, too.”
    He poured them both a shot and watched her down the liquor.
    “Down the hatch, like a pro. Like shooting Jack?”
    “I’m pretty good at a lot of things now, but I’m more of a Jim kinda gal.”
    “You were before too. Good at things and a fan of sweet bourbon. But you dressed your drinks up frou-frou style.”
    “But I’m… a different person now.”
    “I think we both are.”
    “You saw me with Antilla.” Nicola didn’t ask. Just repeated what he’d already told her.
    “Yeah, I did.” He fidgeted with the shot glass, sliding it back and forth between his large hands.
    “Why’d you come up to the house? That couldn’t have been protocol.”
    “I couldn’t not come to see. To really see you. I was having some scope-sighted nightmare. It didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t.”
    She reached for the bottle. Ugh, bad arm. An ache hit her throat and bubbled out. Cash looked at her, forcing her to ’fess up without uttering a question. “I landed on my arm. It’s sprained. I need to wrap and sling it.”
    The thick tension couldn’t have been sliced away with a machete. Seconds ticked by, and the shot glass pinballed between his fingers. Cash studied her arm, and she flushed. “You need help?”
    “No. I think I got it. I’m just going to sit outside for a few minutes.” Because I need to cool down this absurd hot flash. She hobbled over to the back door and peered at the deck. It had a picnic table, nothing else.
    “It’s good to see you again,” Cash said.
    “You said that already.” She didn’t know what else to say and didn’t want him to go away. But that was exactly the reason he should.
    “So I did.” He breathed the words out slowly and stood. His broad chest loomed, and his beautiful blue eyes twinkled when he nodded good night.
    Good night, Cash .
    They were words she’d thought a thousand times since she left and couldn’t bring herself to say aloud now. What was her deal? One second, she was feeling a little hot under the t-shirt when he looked her way, the next she wanted to sob.
    It didn’t matter what she did or how she felt, he was gone in a blink. Silent and all shadow. Just like a sniper.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    As safe houses went, this wasn’t too shabby: nestled in some generic, upper middle class neighborhood, secluded from the neighbors by tree coverage, and packed with provisions like bourbon and protein bars. Cash couldn’t complain. He couldn’t complain, but he sure as hell couldn’t sleep. Turning over in the bed again, the sheets bothered him no matter whether he kicked them off or tugged them back to his chest.
    He flipped on the television, and despite the thousands of channels he skipped through, nothing held his interest. Well, nothing on the boob tube.
    “I can’t sleep,” he groaned, looking at Betty the Shitkicker, AKA Miss Betty, his .50 cal high-powered rifle. Most of his guns had names, but Betty was the nearest and dearest to his heart. She wasn’t the