L Witt - Nine-tenths of the Law

I wasn’t going to walk out. I couldn’t be sure if he would. I hoped to God he didn’t.

The next move is yours, Nathan .

He took the kind of deep, deliberate breath that suggested he was steeling himself against something. Preparing to say or do something, to take a step in one direction or another. I couldn’t predict which way he would go, only that he was about to do something .

When he released that breath, the air rushed past my face and I realized he’d moved a little closer.

His gaze shifted down and momentary panic swept through me as I expected him to back away, but when his eyes came back up, so did his hands. First one, then the other, touching my face and drawing me closer.

Looking at me, he hesitated. No, that wasn’t right. His pause was neither uncertainty nor hesitation.

If the half-grin and the look in his eyes-somewhere between lust and reverence-were to be believed, he was stopping on purpose. Enjoying the moment. Savoring it.

One hand went from my face to the back of my neck. My arms wrapped around him as if they had a mind of their own, and we came together in the gentlest, most passionate kiss I’d ever experienced.

It wasn’t our first kiss, not by a long shot, but it may as well have been. The gentleness, the tenderness, the intimacy. This was uncharted territory. This was a degree of “us” we’d never before encountered.

That was the moment I realized I was in love with him. It didn’t matter how we got here, only that we were here, and I was undeniably, unabashedly and unflinchingly in love with Nathan Forrester.

He broke the kiss and looked in my eyes. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, and my own hand mirrored that motion on his face. Neither of us spoke, but a million things ran through my mind, every last one of them halting right at the tip of my tongue.

I had no doubt that I loved him. It made perfect sense. In fact, I couldn’t comprehend that there was ever a time when I wasn’t in love with him. But knowing it was a far cry from saying it.

He kissed me again, then said, “So where do we go from here?”

Anywhere, as long as you’re there . “I was wondering the same thing.”

Running his fingers through my hair, he kissed me gently. “There’s always the bedroom.”

I don’t want this to be over yet . “Or…” I traced the edge of his goatee with my fingertips. “We could stay here.”

He smiled. “There’s more room to move in the bedroom.”

“Who says we need to move?”

“We don’t need to,” he said. “But if you want to…”

“I don’t,” I said, letting my fingers disappear into his hair as I pulled him closer. “Not unless you do.”

“In that case…” His upper lip touched mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The clock on the wall above the office door moved as slowly as it always did, but I willed myself to be patient.

Since the night Nathan and I brought out the handcuffs, things had changed between us. The sex was hotter. The nights were longer. The stress of constantly trying to prove myself trustworthy was gone. Just the thought of seeing him again tonight-even though it had only been a few hours since he’d left my apartment to go to work-made me almost giddy.

As the evening wound down, I tried to ignore the clock, since it seemed to be slowing down with each passing minute. Soon. I’d be with Nathan soon.

“Someone’s been in a good mood today,” Dylan said as he walked into the office and dumped some folders on his desk.

I shrugged, not bothering to try to hide the smile. “I’m allowed a good mood once in a while, aren’t I?”

He laughed over the rim of his coffee cup. “The underlings will thank you for it.”

“Hmm, maybe I should go on the warpath just to keep them on their toes.” I laughed.

“Anything to keep them honest,” he said, but there was decidedly less humor in his voice this time.

I cleared my throat, my own humor fading. “Keep them honest?”

He muttered something I couldn’t quite hear.

“Dylan?”

Looking me in the eye, he sighed. “I think we’ve got a thief among us.”

My blood turned cold. “Oh, really?”

He nodded. “Discrepancies in the tills the last few days.”

“How much are we talking about?” No, good mood, come back. Don’t go, don’t -

“Added up over the last two weeks,” he said, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “Almost three hundred.”

“What!” I sat up so fast I kicked a cup of pens off my desk. Pens and cup clattered onto the floor, but I didn’t pay attention to them. “Dylan, how long have you known about this?”

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Morgan brought it to my attention the first day it happened. Then it-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, red-hot anger filling in for my good mood, which had vacated the premises. “You’ve known about this for two weeks?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out who’s doing it,” he said. “But hell if I can.”

“Fuck,” I said. “You could have told me.”

“I thought I could chase them down myself, but-” He shrugged again. “Evidently not.”

I let out a breath. No sense arguing about things that couldn’t be changed. “So what have you found out?”

The more he explained, the worse the situation got. By the time he’d told me everything, the only thing that was clear was that there was a thief on our payroll, but it was nearly impossible to figure out who.

And with three hundred dollars-and counting-missing, we needed to figure out who it was as soon as possible.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long night,” I said, eyeing the information Dylan had compiled in his search for the thief.

“The money won’t magically appear if we figure it out tonight,” Dylan said. “Might as well get some sleep, then work on it.”

“Go ahead,” I said, flipping through copies of bank deposits, time cards and till summaries. “I’ll stay.”

“I thought you had plans tonight?”

My stomach twisted into a knot of fury and disappointment. “Yeah, I do. But this has to be done. Now.” Whoever you are, you thieving little fucker, you’re stealing money and you’re keeping me from getting laid. When I figure out who you are …

“Zach, you might as well do it tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.” I spread the folder across my desk and leaned down to pick up the pens I’d knocked over minutes before. “Between trying to keep everyone and everything working. Might as well do it now before anything else goes missing.” I unclipped my phone from my belt.

“You’re not calling the cops, are you?” Dylan asked.

I laughed as I hit speed-dial. “For three hundred? Please. No, I’m just-” I stopped when Nathan’s voicemail picked up. When the recording finished, I said, “Hey, it’s me. I got hung up at the theatre. It looks like this could take a few hours, but I’ll let you know when I leave. Let me know if you want to get together tomorrow night instead.”

After I’d hung up, I tossed my phone on the desk and looked at the papers in front of me.

The deeper we dug into the time cards and till summaries from the last two weeks, the more confused and frustrated I became. No one employee was on the clock on every single shift when money was missing. All of the till summaries and deposit slips were double-counted, initialed by two employees, and there was no pattern that I could see.

My phone rang as I pored over the time cards for the seven hundredth time. I knew from the ringtone that it was Nathan, but didn’t answer it. He was probably just calling to let me know whether or not he still wanted me to come over after work, so he’d leave a message. As much as I hated blowing him off, I didn’t want to lose my concentration as I sorted through this mess. The more I focused, the sooner I’d finish, and the sooner I could be with him.