The Witness (Miami Private Security #4)

27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Michael

“ Y ou really don’t have to drive us. We can get an Uber.” Sabrina tipped down the same oversized sunglasses she’d worn in Havana and looked me in the eye. She was teasing me. The sexy smile on her lips made me want to kiss her.

“No, I’m fine. The murder chicken has grown on me.” I glanced over to where Noah stood holding the oversized dog crate with the pissed off bird in it. The crate swayed and a new volley of screeching obscenities came from Captain Morgan trapped in its depths.

“No, he hasn’t. But that’s okay, dear, Captain Morgan forgives your prejudice.” Minerva patted my arm as she passed by on the way to supervise Noah loading the crated bird into the back of The Tank. Good thing I liked Minerva, or I would strap the damn parrot to the roof. Its beady eyes made my skin crawl.

Sabrina sniggered. I managed a long-suffering sigh, and she laughed harder. I’d be the butt of the joke to hear her laugh. It was infectious, light, free, and happy. Her persona had blossomed since learning Sandoval was in Cuban custody. She was becoming a different person than the terrified and guilt-ridden woman I’d first met.

I shouldered the big duffle bag I’d packed for Sabrina a few days ago. Walking in front of me, she pulled one of her mom’s small suitcases behind her. We strolled across the front parking lot of the Smith Agency. I let my gaze linger on her ass, encased in a pair of jeans that fit like a second skin. In Havana, I’d cradled those naked cheeks in my hands, and now I was drooling at the sight of them covered in denim. Yeah… we needed to figure this shit out.

About an hour ago, Gunter had gotten word from a contact at Interpol that what was left of Sandoval’s organization was at war with itself. Every henchman, criminal, and underboss was trying to claim their piece of the pie. The last thing any of them cared about was Sabrina. She’d hugged Gunter when he shared the news. I didn’t love that, but the joy on her face had been epic.

I was conflicted. Last night home alone, I binge-watched six episodes of Food Truck Fabulous. Sabrina had been incredible. The camera loved her; the judges loved her. Even the other contestants loved her. She was electric. I wanted to help her rebuild her restaurant and see if the chemistry we shared in Havana was still thermonuclear. On screen, new facets of her personality had enchanted me. I wanted to discover those parts of her in real life. My insta-lust had transformed into a full-blown I want to date this woman crush.

Today in the bright afternoon sunshine with my boss, her mom, and a handful of my co-workers watching, my brilliant revelation felt impossible to act on. Did I just grab her waist, pull her close, and kiss the hell out of her like I wanted to? Or did I play it cool until we got a moment alone to talk? This shit was worse than an internet dating app. No option for either one of us to gracefully ghost the other. Our lives were tangled up with my work and her safety. Not that I wanted her to disappear from my life. But I wasn’t sure if she’d welcome a declaration of intent in front of everyone. Dating in your forties is so much overthinking bullshit.

At the back of The Tank, I stood with Sabrina, itching to put my hand on the small of her back but refraining. Noah had put the bird crate inside the SUV, and Captain Morgan was flapping his wings and screaming, “I’m a pretty bird” loud enough I winced. I didn’t understand birds as pets. Freaky feathered dinosaurs.

“Easy, darling,” Minerva cooed as she draped a thick blanket over the crate. The bird calmed almost instantly. “He’s going to be so happy to get back home.”

“Aren’t we all?” Sabrina added as she gave Noah the suitcase to load into the car.

I remembered my lonely bed last night and couldn’t say I shared Sabrina’s sentiment. Staying in Cuba wasn’t realistic, but I’d missed sharing a bed with her. Not only the sex part but the quiet moments in the middle of the night when half asleep she turned into my chest and nuzzled against me. Her breath puffing over my skin. That I missed.

I added the big duffle to the growing cache of luggage in the rear of the SUV.

“Anything else?” John Smith asked. He scanned the area, his eyes not missing a detail. From the bird to the luggage, he took stock. His gaze stopped on me and he gave a nod that said load up this circus and get on the road .

“Hugs!” Quinn raced across the parking lot to embrace Sabrina and Minerva, her low-heeled pumps clunking across the pavement.

“You are still coming for the New Year’s bridge tournament? I’m counting on you for my partner.” Minerva held both of Quinn’s hands in hers.

“Absolutely. We’re going to kick Morris and Janet Green’s asses! Anyone that doesn’t love Captain Morgan deserves it.” Quinn kissed Minerva’s cheek.

“Thank you for everything.” Sabrina pushed her sunglasses up so she and Quinn could see each other better.

“Your mom is awesome, and you are a seriously brave woman.” Quinn patted Sabrina on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch in a few days. Sydney is organizing an FBI interview to satisfy the open material witness warrant. It will be in a few weeks, nothing to stress over. The interim Special Agent in Charge of the Miami office is an old contact of John’s from DC, and he’s personally vouched for your safety.”

“You’ve got all my contact info, right?” Sabrina checked her own phone for Quinn’s info.

“Yes. If you need any help with insurance paperwork for the vandalism claim, call. I’m your girl.”

“You’ve already done so much. I can’t believe that you scheduled the appointment with the claims adjuster already. Thank you again.”

“Paperwork is my bitch.” Quinn winked at them and turned on her heel to rush back inside, her cell phone pressed to her ear as she handled a Smith Agency call.

John turned to me and in a voice that only I could hear said, “Get out now while the getting is good. Or you’ll be stuck here until rush hour. Gunter and Kira will be back here any minute.”

“Sabrina, Minerva, let’s roll.” I opened the back door of The Tank and gestured them inside.

“Hold on.” Sabrina stood in front of John Smith. “Thank you. I’ve got my life back, and that’s not something I can ever repay you for.” She held out her hand to shake.

John took her hand. “You don’t need to repay me.”

“I’m still inviting you to opening night at Viande.”

“I look forward to it.” John brushed a kiss over her cheek and escorted her to the open car door. After Sabrina was inside, he offered Minerva his arm.

“I have nothing to offer a man like you, other than my gratitude. I’ve lost too many people in my life; no way I’d have recovered from something like that again.” Minerva closed her eyes and composed herself. “Thank you, John Smith.”

“You are most welcome.” He helped Minerva into the car with all the reverence reserved for a queen.

I took my place in the driver’s seat and switched on the radio station playing holiday favorites to lighten the mood. Our off-key sing-along made the drive across town to Sabrina’s bungalow fly by.

I parked The Tank behind another Smith Agency SUV that was already in the driveway. Simon and a few of his techs were hard at work installing the alarm and surveillance systems.

“First stop.” I turned down Little Drummer Boy and put The Tank in park.

Sabrina gave her mom a hug while I got out and opened her door. She hopped down, and we both went around to the back to get her things. I hesitated before opening the hatch, gathering the words I wanted to say. She looked at me expectantly.

“Hey! How’s it going?” Derek, a machete in hand, strolled from the side yard, sweat dripping down his face and arms.

“Sawyer, what are you doing here?” I asked, curbing the desire to punch him in the face.

“Lee is working overtime at Oleander. Holiday jewelry buying season. So, I volunteered to come whack some bushes.” He hefted the long blade menacingly. “Better than home alone on my day off.”

It was smart to trim some of those big branches back. I’d used them to sneak into Sabrina’s backyard a few days ago. The problem was, I wanted to rip the machete from his hand and tell him that I’d do it. And I’d do it later, after Sabrina and I had three minutes alone to talk. Frustrated, I jerked open the back of The Tank.

“Wow, thank you, Derek. I didn’t think lawn care was part of the Smith Agency package.” She gave Derek a kind smile. Sabrina pulled a small bag out of the SUV, and I took her duffle.

The three of us walked up to the front door. It swung open before we touched the handle. Simon had a new lock in one hand and a screwdriver in the other.

“Steel, drop that bag right there and I’ll bring it in for Sabrina later.” Simon barely looked up from his task.

“Sure.” I hesitated but set the bag in the shade on the front step and shoved my empty hands deep in my pockets. I took a couple of steps back, not sure what the fuck I was doing. But any thoughts of kissing her, sweeping her into my arms, and ravishing her seemed impossible. This was worse than the parking lot at the office.

“Well, I guess that’s everything.” Sabrina stood next to her duffle bag, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The way she nibbled her lower lip made my brain half shut down, overwhelmed with longing to bite that lovely lower lip myself.

“Ah, yeah.” I extended my hand. And instantly wanted to use it to smack myself in the face. A handshake… really? What the hell was I thinking?

She leaned forward like she’d expected a hug, and I ended up effectively karate chopping her in the stomach. I was pretty sure I heard Derek smoother a laugh. Asshole.

I jerked my hand back and clasped them both behind my back before I did something worse like give her a black eye.

“Promise me you’ll stay here.”

“What?” She wrinkled her forehead and tilted her head, considering my request.

“Stay here. The team hasn’t had time to put any security measures in place at Viande. You deserve time to relax; it’s midafternoon. You can’t do much over there today but stress out.”

“How did you know what I was planning?”

“I’ve not known you long, but I’m not an idiot.”

Another snort laugh from Derek.

I turned. “Dude, go whack a bush.”

He held up his hands in defeat and slunk off, reducing our audience to Simon working on the door and Minerva in the car. Better.

“It’s killing me to not have been there already.” She rubbed her forehead like she was getting a headache.

“I know Gunter’s contact said you weren’t on anyone’s radar, but please, be smart. Wait until tomorrow morning. I’ll take you over bright and early.” I’d be fully armed and have called ahead for a police drive-by, just in case.

She bit her lip again and sighed. “Fine.”

“Excellent. Tonight, take care of you. Relax. Pop a bottle of wine. Get in a bubble bath and read a romance novel. It might be your last chance to relax before you throw yourself into the repairs.”

She laughed. “That’s not how I self-care. Other than the wine.”

“Okay, what’s your prescription?” I waved a hand, encouraging her to tell all.

“My favorite 80s music, a stack of old cookbooks, and as much homemade carbonara as I can eat while I lie on the couch in a mound of pillows.” She counted off the indulgences on her fingers.

“I’m up for pasta!” Simon added from behind the half-closed front door.

I groaned. This was a disaster.

She shrugged and tossed up her hands like such is life.

“You do all that, and I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.” I leaned in for a quick peck on her cheek, and before I could mess anything else up, I jogged back to The Tank without looking back.

Worst kiss in history.

All I wanted to do was make Derek drive Minerva home, kick Simon and his team out, and help her make that massive bowl of carbonara. Then hold her in my arms while she read her cookbooks. Then kiss her like I meant it, like I had in Cuba.

I pulled open the driver’s side door and heaved myself into the seat. I wasn’t looking forward to the traffic on I-95.

“You’re going to have to do better.” Minerva caught my eye in the rear-view mirror.

“I’m not sure what—”

“Please, I’m old, not blind. She isn’t an easy woman. You only get one chance, and you’re about to blow it.”

“It’s been awkward since we got back from Havana.” I rubbed the back of my neck with a suddenly sweaty palm.

“Don’t wait too long to make your move. Sabrina doesn’t give men do-overs. You have one chance to show your true colors, and if they are lacking, she will boot your ass to the curb. She let her baby daddy lie his way out of a million small disasters until there was one too big to ignore. Now she has a zero-tolerance policy; she will not come that last inch on her own. You need to motivate her.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I changed lanes and merged with the northbound traffic on the highway.

“You look like my last and best chance to find someone to take care of her when I’m gone. If she’s alone when I die, she’ll end up living in that restaurant and working herself to death. Don’t fuck this up.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed hard.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder. I’m overlooking the tattoos and Harley, because so far you have been there for her in a way no man ever has. Not even her father, God rest his soul. He died when she was too young. She never got to really know him. He was a good man, so was my second husband, and I want the same for her.”

It had been a long time since a virtual stranger had labeled me a good man. An unexpected warmth bloomed in my chest at the praise.

“And suggestions for ways to impress?”

“Ha, not on your life. You figure that out on your own. But if you can free up your schedule, I need a bartender for my holiday party. Sabrina will be there.”

“I’m in.”