“I’ve got something planned for you at the club later. A real hero’s welcome. Swing by around eleven.”
“When the vampires come out to play.”
Sinclair waggled his thick brown brows. “These lovely women will suck a lot more than your neck.”
Both men laughed as the driver pulled into the marina. Sinclair held down a button on the side panel. “Drive to the end.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I love you, brother,” Maverick said. “Thanks for everything these past several weeks. You were really there for me.”
“I’m still paying you back.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Just a better life,” said Sinclair. “By the way, you’ll get a lot more pussy with that wild-man look.” Sinclair chuckled. “Looks good on you.”
Laughing, Maverick got out. “See ya later.” He shut the car door and headed toward his yacht, berthed in the last slip on the left.
He entered the ship’s main cabin and bit back the raw emotion tightening his throat. There were days he doubted he’d get back. After downing four ibuprofens, he poured himself a finger of whiskey and made his way toward the ship’s bow. He parked his butt on the upholstered bench and silently cursed all the evil he couldn’t eradicate.
Like every rescue mission, he risked his life to save others. While he should have felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment, the emptiness in his soul wouldn’t leave him.
It hovered over him like one of his prized drones. For the past twenty-one years, he couldn’t shake the loss, no matter how much success he achieved or how many lives he saved.
And now, after overcoming every damn obstacle to get back home, he had to deal with a senator who decided now was the best time to call in a favor.
Thirty minutes later, Maverick felt little pain. He took a relaxing shower, ignoring his raging boner. Any surprise Sinclair had planned would be better than his fucking hand.
Wiping the steam from his bathroom mirror, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d let his hair get this unruly. After scraping his fingers through the mangy mess, he examined his beard. Not shaving for two months had turned him into a wildebeest.
In his stateroom, he pulled on his old, reliable button down jeans, no underwear. He slid into a pressed white shirt and eyed his reflection in the mirror. As he tucked in the shirt and rolled up the sleeves, he didn’t recognize himself. He peered through the facial hair and wavy, dark blond mane to the root of the problem. Pain stared back. He painted on a smile, but the anguish in his eyes didn’t vanish. He’d grown used to the mental toll of each mission, but the physical agony was something he’d never encountered. Like everything else he shouldered, he would manage through this, as well.
Let’s roll.
Rather than text Carly, he’d swing by her place and surprise her. When Carly’s grandfather had died earlier in the year, he’d left her his Arlington home. That had caused a Stone family uproar. Despite her sister’s temper tantrum and her mom’s snide remarks, Carly had moved in.
His Porsche purred to life and he peeled into traffic. He couldn’t wait to see her, but as he rolled onto I-395, he realized she could be on a late-night stakeout. It was after ten thirty when he pulled down her quiet residential street. If she’s asleep, I’ll wake her ass up.
Just the opposite appeared to be true. The front exterior light shone brightly and several cars lined the street in front of her house. No sooner had he knocked on the door than his heart started pumping faster. I’ve missed her…a lot.
The front door opened to a woman wearing a gold masquerade mask. “Hiya, handsome.”
Temporarily baffled, he paused. “Wrong house. I’m looking for Carly St—”
“Shhh.” She pressed her index finger on his lips. “Good to see you. No real names, tonight. Come on in.”
What the hell?
Several masked guests mingled in the cozy living room. Definitely the right place, but since when did Carly have masked parties? She was more of a chill-with-a-six-pack kinda gal.
As the woman handed him a black, leather mask, he realized it was Carly’s roommate. Rather than put up a stink, he tied the mask on. “Anything else I need to know?”
“If you like someone you see up here, you can invite them to join you in the basement. Upstairs is off limits. You’ll find drinks and munchies in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Silenced by confusion, Maverick headed toward the kitchen. Normally, stacks of dirty dishes filled the sink. Tonight, however, there were two platters of fancy finger foods on the tablecloth-covered kitchen table, glasses of bubbly on a silver platter, and beer bottles plunged into a mountain of ice cubes in the sink.
Maverick confirmed he was standing in Carly’s kitchen when he spied the picture of them from her second grade birthday party. He was the only boy she’d invited and the only one she’d gotten into a mud fight with. They were grinning like idiots, both missing front baby teeth and bathed in clumps of wet dirt. Decades ago, her mom had placed that photo in a magnet frame and slapped it on the refrigerator as a reminder of why Carly got grounded for a week.