Depends On Who's Asking (SWAT Generation 2.0 Book 12)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  It was only as I was wiggling for the fourth time that I realized that there were too many pillows around me.

  Slowly I started to pull them off one by one.

  Once each was gone, I’d try to settle in. When that didn’t happen, I’d get rid of another one.

  It went on like that for a minute at least before I finally found the perfect number—two.

  Only, as I got settled, I realized I was missing something.

  I sighed.

  “What?” he asked, sensing the change in my mood.

  “Nothing,” I grumbled.

  It wouldn’t do to tell the man that I slept with the same stuffed animal every night since I was old enough to steal it from my brother.

  He moved, re-situating himself in the bed, and I felt him facing me.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  He was so close I could practically feel the heat rolling off of him.

  Even though I knew that he was on top of the covers using a blanket he’d pulled out of the linen closet, I still felt it.

  “I sleep with a stuffed animal,” I admitted. “Have for a very, very long time. I’m just… I use it to prop my head up at night. It’s weird, I know.”

  There was a long moment of silence and then he said, “Not weird.”

  I felt a little bit better about his easy, no-nonsense words.

  “’Night, Saint.” I paused. “Oh, and I snore.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Indoorsy.

  -Wine glass

  CAROLINA

  Day One of Quarantine

  I woke practically wrapped around Saint Nicholson.

  He was as far as he could be away from me, yet, even then I was still wrapped around him.

  Or, more accurately, his arm.

  I had his arm in a death grip and I was using it as I would my stuffed animal.

  I lifted my head from his arm that was out away from his body, and then slowly let it go, trying really hard not to wake him in the process.

  Only, he was already awake.

  He moved, his eyes coming to me, and he said, “You don’t just snore.”

  I blinked.

  “I don’t?”

  He shook his head. “You sound like a chainsaw being started.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “I don’t snore that bad!” I countered.

  I didn’t, did I?

  My family said I snore.

  I didn’t know if I actually did or not, but I wouldn’t doubt it.

  I’d had nose problems since I was a young kid. When my nose wasn’t bleeding over nothing, it was stuffed up—even if I wasn’t sick. When I was sick, it was even worse.

  I’d had surgery to correct a few things, but even then it’d only managed to fix a small amount of the problem. Leaving me to wonder if I’d ever breathe normally through my nose.

  But, I guessed, it was pretty normal for me.

  “You do snore that bad, and you did it right up against my body the entire night. I think if I could’ve just detached my arm and given it to you, it would’ve been better,” he teased as he got up out of bed, reached down, and slowly pulled sweatpants on over his black boxers.

  Since the blinds were still closed on the windows, I only got the vaguest of outlines of his body, but it was enough for me to see that he had a tattoo on his back.

  I gasped.

  “You have another tattoo!” I crowed.

  He grunted something unintelligible and went to the bathroom to relieve himself.

  “You pee really loud,” I found myself saying.

  There was a long pause then, “I guess we both have our faults.”

  Grinning at his quip, I walked to the blinds and yanked them open, realizing that it was just now around seven in the morning.

  We woke up too early.

  Now what the hell were we supposed to do for the rest of the day?

  There was television, sure, but that wasn’t enough to keep us occupied the entire day.

  “I’m going to work out,” he said as he washed his hands while looking at me over the sheet. “Do you want to work out with me?”

  “I didn’t bring any shoes,” I teased.

  He grinned. “We can do it barefoot until we get you some shoes.”

  I didn’t really want to work out, but what in the hell else was there to do?

  So that was exactly what we did.

  We worked out.

  And he told me what to do every single step of the way.

  By the end, I was sweaty, in desperate need of another shower, and couldn’t keep my eyes off of the man that was in sweatpants only.

  The only saving grace that I had was that the sweatpants were black, which not only hid the sweat but also fairly concealed his bulge outline.

  I was lying on the mat, back down, and staring at him as he finished up his last set of dumbbell presses.

  I watched as the muscles in his shoulders bunched, revealing a well-defined back that made me want to follow the paths of muscles with my fingertips.

  A drop of sweat fell from his hair, landing midway down his spine, and traveled all the way down until it disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

  “You might as well go get your shower done,” he suggested. “Maybe when I’m finished, you’ll be done.”

  I didn’t want to leave him. I liked watching his muscles. His sweaty back.

  I ignored his comment and said, “Why wings?”

  The tattoo on his back was massive. It took up the entire expanse of his back, starting from one shoulder and spreading to the other.

  The wings even curled onto his arm, but stopped abruptly as if it was just cut off right where his shirt sleeves would fall. At least on one arm, anyway. The other arm flowed right into a raven that was on his left arm.

  “Broken wings,” he corrected me. “And I got it because of its symbolism.”

  “Broken wings?” I asked. “Why?”

  He set the dumbbells down and turned to me, revealing his stomach.

  His abs.

  His very sexy, definitely has more than a six-pack, abs.

  “Just a reminder that though I may be here, right now, I’ll never escape.” He shrugged.

  That only made me realize that I needed more of an explanation than what he was giving me.

  Dammit.

  I opened my mouth to say something more, but he walked past me out of the workout room.

  “If you’re not going to take a shower first, I will.” Then he was gone.

  I lay there until I heard him out of the shower, then quickly stood up and headed to my own shower.

  All the while, I wondered what in the hell had made Saint Nicholson think that he could never escape.

  • • •

  “Hello?” I answered my phone, thankful for the reprieve in the intensity that was Saint.

  After his explanation earlier about his wings, I’d wanted to ask more. But it was more than obvious as I started to broach the subject each time that he wasn’t willing to talk anymore about it.

  “Hey,” my dad said softly. “Got some bad news.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Someone broke into your place last night,” he said. “Trashed your place. Burned your couch in the middle of the living room then put it out. When I went by there this morning to feed your fish, I found it like that.” He sighed. “They killed all your fish, too. Turned a hairdryer on and stuck it in the tank.”

  I gasped, my hand covering my mouth.

  The sound and the movement drew the attention of the man that was sitting next to me on the bed.

  He pushed a button on the television remote and the TV screen went dark.

  “Did the camera feed show anything?” I asked, sounding more hopeful than I actually felt.

  “It did,” he said. “It was a couple of teens who saw an opportunity. They’ve already been questioned and said that they saw no one was home and thought to have some fun. I’m sorry, baby.”

  I d
rooped. “That sucks.”

  “It does,” he confirmed. “I just wanted to let you know in case you heard it go over the police scanner or something.”

  I looked over at the man next to me that was lying on the bed.

  “We don’t have a police scanner,” I told him. “We’re like isolated little castoffs right now. Nothing in or out unless y’all tell us. The Wi-Fi isn’t working just yet—but they’re working on it—and for some reason, the hotel itself blocks signal. I’m only able to get signal at one single spot in this whole place. I feel like I’m in the dark ages.”

  My dad chuckled.

  “Damn,” he said. “That sounds like it’s so tough.”

  I mentally flipped him off.

  “Anyway,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry. We’ll fix it up and get it set to rights. I just wanted you to know.”

  I sighed.

  “Okay, Dad,” I murmured. “Thank you.”

  “You holding up okay?” he asked. “Saint treating you okay?”

  I paused.

  “How did you know that Saint was with me?” I questioned. “I didn’t tell Mom that.”

  He scoffed.

  “Well,” he said. “It happens to be that I’m a cop, and I can go up there and talk to people that have information that I want, and most of the time they give it to me without too much lip.”

  I moaned. “Dad.”

  “Are you in the same room as him? Or are you sharing a hotel room that’s next door? I didn’t actually understand that part,” he continued.

  I looked over at the man that was staring at the blank television screen now.

  “Same room,” I answered. “It’s not bad. He’s a gentleman.”

  Saint snorted so loudly that my dad asked, “What was that?”

  “That’s Saint,” I answered, not seeing a point in lying. “He snorted at the comment of me saying he was being a gentleman.”

  Dad was about to say something else when I saw my phone ping with an incoming call.

  “Your wife is calling me,” I said. “Should I answer it?”

  My dad hung up instead of answering my question, giving me my answer more effectively than anything he could’ve said.

  I let my head fall back against the headboard, then answered the phone and put it on speaker.

  Might as well share this little nugget of fun with Saint.

  He’d ask anyway.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Baby,” Mom said. “Your dad told you about your couch and your fish.”

  “He said that my couch was burned, and my fish were electrocuted, yes. He said that someone broke in last night,” I answered, looking over to Saint when he went stiff.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I’m sorry, baby. We got the place pretty cleaned up. Daddy is putting in a new security system, and we’re moving your car into the garage so nobody can touch it without actually breaking in. Daddy said that the alarm system he’s putting in won’t be connected to the Wi-Fi, so it won’t matter if they somehow cut the power. He’ll be alerted if the power goes out suspiciously, too.”

  Saint sat up and turned slightly toward me.

  I knew he wanted to talk, so I said, “Mom, Saint wants to talk to you.”

  “Saint?” she said. “Who’s that?”

  “Saint’s the man that I’m in quarantine with. Daddy didn’t tell you that?” I asked.

  “No.” She drew that one syllable out for long enough that I realized she wasn’t happy I hadn’t told her in the first place. “Is he a nice guy? Is he hot?”

  Saint grinned wickedly at me, and I closed my eyes and let my head bounce off the headboard a few times when I said, “You’re on speakerphone, and he can hear every word you say.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “Oops.”

  “Did any of the neighbors see anything suspicious?” Saint asked. “Did they have any of their camera systems working?”

  “That’s what Michael’s doing right now,” she said. “Canvassing the area to ask the neighbors if they did. Are you the Saint who is on the SWAT team?”

  Saint made an agreeing sound. “I’m the new Saint that replaced the old Saint.”

  My mom started to giggle. “Y’all are such weirdos. I bet you’re no more of a saint than my own.”

  I looked at Saint to gauge his reaction to her laugh.

  He was grinning, so I knew that he wasn’t offended.

  “That is highly likely,” he agreed. “I have a couple of buddies I can call. They’re in surveillance. They can help out if needed.”

  “If we need anything, I’ll let Michael know, and he’ll get in touch. I just wanted my girl to know that I was on top of the issues.”

  Five seconds later, after a round of ‘I love yous’ on both of our parts, she hung up.

  I dropped my phone down to my side and looked at the bare room around us.

  • • •

  SAINT

  I didn’t like seeing that look in her eyes.

  Not at all.

  I liked the playful, give me shit, girl. Not the one that looked sad.

  “Couldn’t they have just quarantined us at our own houses?” she asked crossly. “I mean, at least at home, I have a lot of my own stuff. I have chairs. And clothes that aren’t brand new and not washed.”

  I hated itchy things, so I knew what she meant by that.

  Hence the reason I wasn’t currently wearing a shirt.

  I gestured to the shirt on the floor with a nod of my head.

  “I don’t think I’ve worn a shirt with a tag since the option of ‘tagless’ became a thing.” I crossed one leg over my opposite one. “As for your question about why not at home, I would say it’s more because here they can control us. Here, we don’t pull a fuckin’ Martin who started all of this and go possibly infect everyone that pissed us off in our life. Here, they can monitor who does and doesn’t get to visit us. They can monitor our bodies as well.”

  “They haven’t even been in here,” she pointed out. “In fact, when they bring supplies or food, they tell us to back away and then push it into the room without looking at us.”

  “True,” I agreed. “But I’m in here with you. You don’t think I’d kick up a stink if something started to happen to you that was bad?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest with a grumble, and my eyes were once again drawn to her breasts. Her unbound breasts because, apparently, when she didn’t have to, she didn’t wear a bra.

  I’d found that out when she’d come out of the shower last night after we’d eaten.

  She hadn’t put one on since.

  And her breasts weren’t the type of breasts that you could just leave unbound and someone not notice.

  If I made it out of this quarantine without taking advantage of her, it would be a goddamn Christmas miracle.

  Working out with her earlier had been terrible. Seeing her breasts jiggle and shake with her movement was downright control destroying. That had to be why I’d told her anything at all about my tattoo. If I’d been under the right mindset, shit would’ve totally been different. I wouldn’t have said a goddamn word.

  “I wish we had a Christmas tree or something,” Carolina grumbled as she looked at the bare room. “Or a chair for that matter. Possibly some washed clothes that don’t feel like they came straight from Walmart and itch like a motherfucker.” She kicked the covers at the bottom of the bed. “I don’t understand why they can’t get us these things. It’s no fun.”

  I stared at her for a few seconds before turning on the television again and giving what I wanted to do some thought.

  Since I did have the connections, I sent a text out to Brad and asked him if he could see what strings he could pull.

  Then, the rest of our day was filled with a Die Hard marathon, some eating of bad food that I would have to eventually work off in the gym in the alcove off the main room and conversation with a woman that was very intelligent and knew exactly what to say to get a rise out of me.

&nb
sp; CHAPTER 6

  Drinking tip: hold two drinks so you don’t text the person you know you shouldn’t.

  -Beer mug

  SAINT

  Quarantine Day Two

  The morning started the same way the morning before it had started.

  My eyes opened first to the sound of her snoring.

  Damn, but she really snored loud.

  And not even a cute snore, either. But a great big, massive snore that you would expect to come out of a three-hundred-pound man. Not some little slip of a woman.

  The second thing I noticed other than her snoring was the way she was practically wrapped around my arm.

  She had it in such a tight grip that the entire thing was numb.

  Her forehead was pressed to the outside of my bicep, and her lips were slightly parted.

  I slowly tried to disentangle myself when there was a knock on the door.

  I frowned and glanced at the clock that was on the bedside table.

  Six-forty in the morning.

  Nice.

  I walked to the door and asked, “Yes?”

  “Got a few deliveries for you,” Jace said.

  I backed up as I said, “Okay. I’m back.”

  The door opened and the butt of a tree was forced into the room. It kept coming and coming and coming until it was where I was nearly standing.

  Bags were put beside the tree, followed by a few boxes.

  And then two more large boxes followed by something so large that they could barely fit it into the room.

  By the time they were done, they could barely close the door due to all of the crap.

  But manage they did, and then they said, “We’ll be back with your breakfast.”

  Then the door was closed, and I was left standing there with my eyes on the sheer amount of shit that was in front of me.

  “Is that a tree?”

  Her gasped words had me looking at her over my shoulder just as the shades were pulled open on the room.

  My eyes automatically went to her ass that was covered by my t-shirt, and then moved up to her face.

  She was staring at me with her mouth slightly parted.

  “I asked for it,” I admitted.

  She walked to where it was and stared at it.