Page 28 of Wicked Ways

Even though he often annoyed the hell out of her.

Yeah, they were just like a real family.

She exhaled heavily. “So, now you know all about me. My weird fears, my past⁠—”

“And you learned more last night than you probably ever hoped to know about me.” His hand fell away.

No. Her fingers reached out and caught his.

Cain stilled. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

But he’d been beautiful. Ferocious. Strong. Deadly.

Also, absolutely terrifying.

But the most amazing creature she’d ever seen. “I wanted to see. All of you.” She wasn’t going to turn away from him because of what she’d seen. He needed to know that. She’d made love with Cain because she wanted him. Every bit of him. Good and bad.

“Miranda…”

The door flew open and Sam sauntered in, pushing a wheelchair. “All right, cuz, I know you’ve got to be going nuts in here, so it’s time you got sprung!” He caught sight of Cain, and his brows jerked up. “Hell. Are you still here?”

Cain’s face tightened as he stood. “I’m here for Miranda. Got a problem with that?”

“Look, Lawson, this shit with the killer might be all fun and games to you FBI guys⁠—”

“I’m former FBI.”

“Bull. You’re running the case. That means you’re active. And this blood-and-guts crap is all in a day’s work to you, but it is not Miranda’s life.” He moved to the bed, standing protectively over her. “Is it, cuz?”

Cuz. He’d started calling her that on her thirteenth birthday. Told her then that it connected them. Made them a real family. Their last names were different, so people knew they weren’t real brother and sister. They’d pretended to be cousins. Pretended to be family, and, well, they’d become family.

“I checked up on you,” Sam said, directing his words to Cain before Miranda could answer him.

“Good.” Cain didn’t budge from his position beside her bed. The men were less than two feet apart.

“Called Atlanta. Wanted to talk to some folks other than those Bureau assholes here in our town.” Sam had always had a thing against the FBI suits, as he called them. She didn’t really know why. He’d just told her, after working a few cases with them, that the Bureau boys “didn’t like to get their hands dirty.”

“Um.” Cain didn’t seem particularly concerned with Sam’s dislike of the FBI. “And did Santiago tell you to call the Atlanta PD?”

“Yeah, he told me you walked the beat there when you were first in uniform. Got your street cred before you joined the FBI.”

A slow nod from Cain.

Sam’s lips pursed, then he admitted, “I talked to Captain Danny McNeal.”

Cain raised a brow. “And what did McNeal have to say?”

“That you were a tough bastard who wouldn’t stop until you brought your man down.”

Yes, that sounded about right. It certainly seemed to go along with all she knew about Cain so far.

“I don’t.” Simple. Direct.

“Miranda’s not like that,” Sam growled. “She’s not used to this crap, she⁠—”

“—is right here,” Miranda cut in to say, glaring up at him. She appreciated that he was worried about her. She knew he was scared, she could see the fear in his eyes. Sam might not be perfect, often he was far, far from perfect, but he cared about her. She’d always known that, so she refrained from screaming at him. Instead she said, “I’m right here, Sam, and I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Getting shot. Getting assaulted. That’s what you’re doing!”