Page 37 of Broken Wheels
“He’s not wrong.” Dix let out a growl. “How many times did they need to hear the exact same story? You wanna know what was worse? The feds told them to cut us loose, but noooo, they kept trying to keep us a little while longer.” He glanced at his wrist. “It’s a good thing you booked rooms, Jazz. I’m way too wiped to fly back tonight.”
Jazz raised her chin. “I think we all are.” She yawned. “I already called home and told them I wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Lottie said she figured, and that she’d keep the bed warm for me.”
“You’re lucky your wife is so understanding,” Lance muttered. “Mine was pissed when I told her.” He snickered. “Of course, that’s why I took the assignment. It got me out of the house for a while.”
Jazz patted his arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll never tell Maya you said that—as long as you buy the coffee the next time.”
“Blackmail. Et tu, Jazz?”
She shrugged. “I’m not really into coffee, but if you’re paying, I’ll drink it.” Then she grinned. “Got it. Renzo’s Pizzeria and Trattoria. Looks as if it’s pretty authentic Italian, judging by the reviews.”
Lance snorted. “I’ll be the judge of that.” When everyone stared at him, he smiled. “Hey, my mom is Italian.”
Dix glanced at Doc, who seemed to have zoned out. “You okay?”
Doc blinked. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. I could eat, though.” He gave a half smile. “As long as you don’t try to feed me a vegan burger.”
“Speak for yourself,” Carl said with a huff. “I like vegan food.”
“Can we stop talking and go eat?” Brant whined. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
Lance gazed at him, eyes wide. “And what does that mean?”
“You mean it needs explanation? Jeez. It’s like my stomach thinks something terrible must have happened to my throat because no food is coming in.” Brant rolled his eyes. “My mom is Italian too, but my dad’s Irish. I learned all kinds of weird sayings growing up.”
Dix removed the car keys from his pocket and aimed the fob at the parked Chevy. “Then let’s go see how authentic Renzo’s really is.”
Maybe a little food would do Doc some good.
Dinner was a loud, raucous affair. Each of them told their favorite story about the people they’d guarded, and the more they talked, the funnier they got. Josh had asked about beer—not for him, because he didn’t drink—and they’d all stared at him like he was nuts.
“Doc, even if we’re done with this, we’re still your guards. We take that very seriously.” Dixon’s expression matched his words, and Josh felt a rush of warmth.
He’d never felt so protected, so safe.
“Are you going to eat that?” Brant indicated Carl’s plate.
Carl glared at him. “Touch my calzone and you’re a dead man.”
“Here.” Jazz handed Brant what was left of the Renzo fries, deep-fried pizza dough sticks with marinara sauce.
Brant rolled his eyes. He grabbed a couple of fries and dunked them, then demolished them in two bites. “That marinara sauce is heavenly.” He peered at Lance. “Well? Is the food like Momma used to make?”
Lance grinned. “Better, but don’t tell her I said that.”
Josh couldn’t repress his yawn, and the result was instantaneous as everyone around the table joined in.
Dixon laughed. “Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave.” He chuckled. “That is if we can tear Brant away from his fries.” He touched Josh on the shoulder. “Bed for you.”
Josh couldn’t resist. “A good night’s sleep is just what the doctor ordered.”
He was probably right. Josh might have considered the idea that Tanner was dead—discovering what had likely been his remains was something else altogether.
What now? Where do I go from here?
Those were questions he’d deal with when his mind was refreshed.
By the time they reached the room, Dix was more than ready for his bed. He opened the door—and came to a dead stop, blocking Doc’s view.