“What?”

“Walkthrough, sweetheart,” he said, his arm curled around my back giving me a squeeze. “Go back to sleep.”

“Walkthrough for what?” I asked the shadowed planes and angles of his chest.

“The house,” he replied.

“For what?” I kind of repeated. “Did you hear something?”

“No.”

“But –”

“Once in a while, I just do it.”

“Why?”

“Because I give a shit about what’s sleepin’ under my roof. So I wake up in the night, scan the feel of my place and if I feel like it, I get up and walk through. It takes a minute, it makes me feel better and I can lie my head down and know the thing I give a shit about that’s sleepin’ under my roof is doing it safely.”

Seriously, he was killing me.

“I’m an independent woman,” I announced to his chest and his arm gave me another squeeze.

“I know, honey.”

“I can take care of myself,” I informed him.

“I know,” he whispered.

“But what you just said, what you did earlier, carrying me around the room, I’ve never had that. And I loved it. Since I’ve never had it, I didn’t know how good it would feel. And it feels good when you take care of me.”

As I spoke, his body went still except his arm went super tight, pressing me deep into his long, warm, hard frame.

I tilted my head back and with my lips to the underside of his jaw, I whispered, “Talking through stuff with me, listening to me, taking care of me, none of that I ever really had. Ever, honey. Not like this. Thank you for giving that to me.”

His chin dipped and his neck twisted so his lips were a breath away from mine, he whispered back, “You’re welcome, Dusty.”

“You should know I feel safe in a lot of ways with you, Mike Haines, and not just sleeping under your roof.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, rolling me, his mouth taking mine in a soft, sweet, middle of the night kiss that said a whole lot without a single word.

I ended up on my back with Mike pressed into me.

“I dicked you around,” he whispered, “and you just gave me that.”

“I forgave you, remember?”

“I dicked you around and you just gave me that,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” I replied softly.

“Thank you, Angel.” He sounded like he meant it. A whole lot.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous.” I knew I meant it the same way.

He touched his mouth to mine then settled but not rolling us back to where we were. He put his head to the pillow, pressed his face into the side of mine and pulled my body deep under his before he tangled his legs with mine.

Layla did some fidgeting then settled with a groan.

“Now, go back to sleep,” Mike ordered.

“All right, Mike.”

“’Night, darlin’.”

“’Night, honey.”

My hand slid down his warm, sleek skin from his lat to his waist.

He tucked me tighter to him.

Yeah, I felt safe. Definitely.

Then I fell asleep.

Chapter Eleven

Right Next Door

Tuesday morning, Mike was sitting behind his desk at the Station, the phone to his ear when he saw Joe “Cal” Callahan saunter up the steps to the bullpen wearing his winter uniform of faded jeans, tight black t-shirt, black motorcycle boots and black leather jacket.

Incidentally, this was the same as his summer uniform except in the summer he lost the jacket.

Since they hooked up, Violet Callahan and her daughters had wrought a number of miracles as pertained to Cal. But even in a house full of women who liked to shop, getting him to deviate from his uniform was not one of those miracles.

His eyes hit Mike the minute his boot hit the top floor.

Mike held eye contact as Cal strode through the bullpen and he kept it when Cal settled himself in the chair beside Mike’s desk.

Cal, being Cal, throughout this gave him nothing.

Cal being there at all meant Mike was alert.

Cal was around. If they were there at the same time, Mike would sit and drink beers with him at J&J’s Saloon. Cal was tight with Colt. And Cal’s stepdaughter was attached at the hip with Tanner Layne’s son so they’d grown necessarily close seeing as it was without a doubt the Laynes and the Callahans would one day be family. Tanner, as a local PI, was at the Station often. But a visit to the bullpen from Cal was unusual.

“We got the same,” Mike said into the phone to the detective working the same burglary case for IMPD. And when he said that what he meant was they had absolutely f**king nothing. “Somethin’ pops, keep me briefed.”

“Copy that. Expect the same. Later.”

“Later,” Mike muttered and put the phone in its base.

He lifted his brows to Cal then he watched a slow, wide grin spread across Joe Callahan’s face.

Just a few years ago, Joe Callahan had a quota of a smile and a half every five years.

Now with Violet in his bed, Cal’s smiles came a f**kuva lot more often.

“Wanna explain the grin?” Mike invited when Cal just sat there smiling at him and not saying a word.

Though, seeing that grin, he did not want to know.

“Girl next door,” Cal muttered through his grin and, getting it not to mention annoyed as f**k by it, Mike sat back in his chair. “What’d I say?” he went on to ask.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Mike asked back.

“What’d I say?” Cal repeated.

Fuck, they were doing this.

“Mine moved in right next door, man. Sounds of it, yours did too,” Cal stated.

“Fuck me, The Lone Wolf is gossiping,” Mike muttered and Cal’s grin got bigger.

“You gotta know, unless you keep it wrapped up tight like you have all the other ass you’ve been tappin’, small town, word flies. My woman’s tight with Cheryl. Cheryl works at J&J’s. Cheryl caught sight of you and your woman Friday night and she was on the phone faster ‘n lightnin’ sharin’ that shit. Then Mimi kicked in, providin’ the info you and your woman were cozy over coffee at her place. This means Vi, Cheryl, Feb, Mimi and Jessie been peckin’ over you and your woman all weekend. Jessie even did drive-bys of your house and yes, that’s plural. Reportedly, you didn’t come up for air all weekend.”

“Jesus,” Mike muttered, sensing an already annoying situation deteriorating when, from the desks opposite the narrow aisle, Colt’s attention came to the conversation and Sully, across from Mike, actually swiveled his chair to face them. It was worse because Merry was returning from wherever Merry disappeared.