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“But don’t call,” he ordered. “Text. I don’t want you to get stuck talking.”

“Yessir.”

“Knock it off,” he snapped irritably. “And we’re gonna talk about you smoking again.”

“I wasn’t smoking,” I assured him. “I was just in and out of a lot of back rooms and clubs last night. I quit. I told you I would, and I did.”

“Okay,” he said as he went through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Watching him, I realized that he must have been in bed with me before he got up. He was still dressed in his flannel pajama bottoms, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and heavy wool socks. But this was November in Royal Oak, Michigan, so it was already cold. By December Landry would have the space heaters out of storage. The radiator was not enough to keep the apartment the toasty warm that he liked it to be.

“Sorry,” I said to Chris as I punched in the security code on my phone. “I won’t be long.”

“Sure,” he replied, smiling at me.

I just needed to send a message with my total for the night. I was carrying close to sixty grand, but I sent the message that I had thirty and knew that when they saw the net, somebody would call to arrange a pickup. Usually I never carried even thirty, much less double that, but more than one of my usual clients had finally paid what they owed me. I had been floating several guys for a couple of weeks, and it was nice that they had all come through as promised. I had never thought, as close to the holidays as we were now, that they would all make good on their debts. It was a testament to the relationship we had that no one had welshed. It wasn’t my favorite thing to do, pay other guys’ vouchers to the house, but I didn’t like to be a hardass and collect with muscle unless I had to.

“Done,” I told Chris, putting the phone face down on my right thigh.

“So, Trevan.” He squinted at me. “What is it you do?”

What to say. “I’m in collections,” I answered vaguely, so not wanting to get into it.

“Like, what kind?”

“He’s a runner,” Landry supplied as he walked back into the room with a cup of coffee for Chris and one for himself. He passed his brother a small mug and put his enormous café au lait cup down on the coffee table before leaning back beside me so his back was pressed into the left side of my chest.

I put my hand in his soft, silky mop of hair, pushing it back out of his face, pulling his head down into my shoulder. The sigh that came up out of him made me smile, and watching his eyes close was very satisfying.

“You collect for a bookie?” Chris asked me, dragging my attention away from my boyfriend, who was basically thrumming with need.

“Yes, that’s what a runner is.”

“Do you carry a gun?” Chris wanted to know, scrutinizing my face.

“No, that’s asking for trouble.” I shook my head. “And most of the time I don’t get into any. I have regulars, and it’s not a big deal. When I do need backup, I have a friend that comes with me. My boss is a businessman. He gets the line from Vegas; guys bet with me once they know what it is; some lose, some win; I collect what’s owed.”

“It’s still illegal,” Chris reminded me.

“True,” I agreed, “but in all seriousness, with no record and the extent of my crime being the movement of money from point A to point B… what do you really think the cops would do to me if they caught me?”

“I guess not much.”

“Not that I want to find out, but I also must point out that the number of cops I collect from is vast.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

“Is that how you met Landry?” he asked me with a trace of a smile. “Is he a closet gambling addict?”

“Hardly,” I assured him. “No, we met the old-fashioned way, at a party, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.”

“Eyes,” my boyfriend scoffed, nestling closer, turning his head to kiss my cheek.

“What?” I chuckled.

He turned to face me, his left hand reaching, fingers trailing over the right side of my face as he leaned forward so his lips could open on the side of my neck.

“I’m here,” I soothed him, my voice soft, coaxing. “Baby, I’m here.”

He nodded, and I heard him breathe. He had been holding his breath, seconds away from a full-blown panic attack that I had missed because I was tired. Normally, I would have been passed out in bed, and he would have gotten up and done his morning ritual and then kissed me before he left. As long as everything went along smoothly, nothing out of the ordinary, familiar sights and sounds, the normal pacing of his day, he was good, he was fine. But if there were changes, bumps, like a blast from the past, it was possible for him to combust. The breakdown I had just quelled was his typical reaction to glitches in his life, at least for as long as I’d known him. If I was there, he reached for me, I soothed him, and he took a breath and went on. It had been like that since we met.