So damn smart. There’s no way he’d meet the same fate as Brett. Maybe Pop was right.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Michaels brushed dirt off his pants, filthy from sliding down that bank. He rode in the back of the squad car Syn had sent over for them after his contact had made sure the streets were clear.
“Is the motel clerk alright? He was a young hippie-type guy,” Judge asked from beside him. Michaels had also thought about the clerk, but he was too terrified to ask.
“He’s fine. He gave a statement and was sent home,” the officer reported.
Judge and Michaels weren’t asked any questions. The officer pulled next to Judge’s truck and let them out. The motel office’s windows were already boarded up but it didn’t look like much else was damaged. None of the rooms had been hit by stray bullets, thank goodness, so the motel was still operational, although the parking lot was exceptionally empty.
Michaels hurried to the rear door of Judge’s truck, throwing it open. Bookem’s head popped up and he bounded out of the truck. It was crazy but the dog appeared almost relieved. Like he knew his master could’ve been killed. Michaels knelt down and rubbed the fretful dog around his scruff. “It’s alright boy, we’re safe,” Michaels murmured quietly, patting the dog soothingly. “Good boy, good boy.” When Michaels stood up Judge was watching him like he’d never seen him before. Michaels frowned at him, not sure what was happening. “What’s wrong?”
Judge shook his head slightly and cleared his throat a couple times before he was able to speak. “Umm. Nothing. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Judge surveyed his truck, checking for any bullet holes or damage.
Michaels let Bookem go and he immediately ran around to the driver’s side and nudged at Judge’s thigh, needing comfort and reassurance from him. Judge encouraged Bookem back into the truck and drove off.
It was dark, but the city was alive. There was traffic on the interstate, so Judge got off and took the back streets. Recognition of what they’d just gone through settled in Michaels’ chest. What if Judge had been hurt? The idea caused an unfamiliar pain to blossom in his stomach. He noticed how Judge had tried to shield him when they were running. What did that mean? Did he feel Michaels couldn’t protect himself? Was he just as nervous at the idea of him being hurt as Michaels was of Judge? He didn’t want to go down that line of thinking.
“Do you think the plan is totally fucked now?” Michaels asked, instead.
Judge didn’t answer right away, he reached into the center console and dug another sweet cane out of a plastic bag and stuck it in the left side of his mouth. Michaels took the opportunity to simply stare at him while he waited. Judge’s hair was getting longer; the dark strands angled straight back resting on his neck. The thick black and premature gray strands matched Judge’s rugged look perfectly. There were a few strands of gray in his beard too, and Michaels thought it was one of the sexiest looks he’d seen. Judge was a mature man. His eyes, his look, his wisdom, his entire demeanor gave away his age, which meant experience in Michaels’ book. Which also meant a huge fucking turn-on for him. He discreetly adjusted his hard dick, trying to look unfazed.
“No. Well. I hope not. We’re tracking the girlfriend now, so hopefully she sticks with her plan. God said she was gone before the shooting so maybe she didn’t get spooked,” Judge finally answered. “There’s no definites or surety in my line of work, Michaels. It’s mostly instincts, thinking like a caged beast. Because that’s what fugitives and criminals on the run are. Desperate animals trying to stay free. Switch is going to stop at nothing to get out of the country. My gut tells me to keep waiting… he’ll show up on Friday as scheduled.”
“Why the hell do you think the Navigator came after us?”
“Somehow they made us.”
“They can’t know I’m law enforcement.” Michaels frowned.
“Probably not. They could think we’re after Switch for the same reasons as them and were trying to eliminate us.” Judge looked over at him and winked. “You do look street bad in clothes like that and I probably look like your enforcer.”
Michaels liked the wink a little too much. “Street bad, huh.”
Judge stopped at a red light and turned that hot obsidian gaze on him. His voice was a husky rumble that had Michaels’ cock firming even more. “Yeah, you do.”
Michaels hummed and nodded his head. “If you say so.” Silence stretched out again.
“So what are you cooking tonight?” Judge asked expectantly.
Michaels busted out laughing. It felt great; it’d been too long.
“What? What’s so funny?” Judge smirked. “You said you were cooking for me.”