The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

And he’d just fallen asleep. Dammit, Asher knew what it was like those first few weeks out. Between the nightmares of the day Jack got hurt, among many messed-up-as-fuck ops they’d been on, he still jerked out of bed every few hours, thinking the rest of the team had been called out on a mission, and he’d slept through it.

Tossing on a pair of jeans, he grabbed a shirt, clicked off the music he had blasting in his headphones to keep the monsters at bay, and paused at the door.

What if she was right? Fuck. He shook his head, hating the damn indecision. If there were really a shooter out there, he’d tell her to lock up and lay low, that neither of them should be going outside right now. Not much chance they were targeting either of them.

But she was probably wrong. This adorable little town probably hadn’t had a murder or violent crime in the last half century.

And if she was too chickenshit to call the cops like she should, she might spend the whole night sobbing in the bathtub. Wouldn't be the worst hostage rescue he'd pulled off. Five, maybe ten minutes, and he’d be back in his own bed.

Rubbing the sleep from his bleary eyes one last time, he pulled on his shoes and checked outside through the windows, then slipped out the door. Nothing unnatural about the night; he heard only the wind rustling through the trees in the distance. Sticking to the shadows, he crossed the yard until he reached the front door.

Not wanting to scare her more than she already was, he rang the doorbell to announce his arrival, still scanning the area while he waited. Out in the open like a sitting-fucking-duck. Asher owed him more than a few favors for this one.

Half a second later, he heard a voice ask through the door, “Asher?”

At least she wasn’t a complete idiot. “It’s Zane,” he responded.

The door creaked open, while she hid behind the door. Running a hand through his hair, he geared up and stepped inside, dreading the weepy mess he’d be walking into. A dim light on the ceiling cast an amber light across the entry, the rest of the house otherwise was cloaked in blinding darkness.

Instead, he was knocked on his ass by the fierce woman that greeted him. He swallowed his damn tongue as every logical thought in his brain was pulverized by… everything about her.

Pushing the door closed, he stood and stared like a gawking dumbass. That wild black hair was curled with inherent rebellion, a few strands framing her angular jaw. Piercing blue eyes saw and understood every deep imagining that had passed through his soul from the moment he’d stepped foot on this earth.

Fuck, that wasn’t even the half of it. A lacy tank left little to the imagination, and miniscule shorts revealed some perfect, curvy legs that should be wrapped around him right now.

Okay, brain out of gutter, he chided himself, clearing his throat and trying to say something before he melted to the floor.

“Hi,” she said, as breathless as he felt. At least it was a mutual dumbfounded ogling.

He raised his eyes to her face again, ignoring the spectacular breasts under that top, pretending he hadn’t noticed her nipples tighten under the delicate cotton as she responded to him. And hoped to hell she didn’t notice his cock salute back.

“Hey,” he nodded, burying the overwhelming visions of peeling off those tiny shorts to find out if that ass was as grabbable as he’d dreamed. “So, uh, have you seen any more sign of anything?”

“No. It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’m still a little jetlagged, so, I’m sure it was my imagination.”

“Well, I’ll hang out until we know it was nothing.” And absolutely not make a move. Hell, after the divorce, he’d played the field more than he should have. When Asher joined up, the pair had wreaked havoc on the single female population of San Diego. But the last few years, the job getting to him more than it should, he hadn’t even pictured a woman naked.

“Thanks. I’m really sorry for waking you. If I thought it was anything serious, I would have called the police.”

“So you called Asher instead?”

“I got my driver’s license first and hauled his ass all over town for months, so he owes me many a late-night rescue.”

Nodding, Zane found an easy smile quirking up the corners if his mouth. “And I owe him a favor or two. Could you tell where the shot came from?”

“I haven’t heard a lot of gunfire, and I was asleep, so I couldn’t even begin to guess.”

“Well, I have. Show me where you saw them.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and led the way across the main room and toward the back bedrooms. “It was probably my overactive imagination, but I would swear I saw something move just to the right of that maple.”

“Okay.” He hung back in the shadows and watched out the door.

Standing next to him, she stared along with him. Wasn’t even touching him, but his skin prickled at the heat radiating between them.

She didn’t strike him as the sort to make a big something out of nothing. Maybe it was the sharply sketched flower tattoo on her arm or the tree of life over her left upper back. That she'd jumped in to help unload his truck, without even sticking around for a thanks. Or maybe it was simply a vibe; she was solid, not crying or fussing. Instead, her breath came slow and easy, her eyes scanning the darkness, sporting a scowl of frustration that she might be right.

“Seriously, it was probably just my imagination. You should head home.” She stepped back and sighed.

“Do you imagine a lot of gunshots? I mean, I do,