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witness protection until the killers are ID d. Trust me when I tell you there wasn t a chance in hell of
keeping this from the Navy and goddammit the skipper deserved to hear it from me first.
Nodding, Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled foil-wrapped stick of Big Red.
After removing the wrapper, he popped it in his mouth the scent of cinnamon filling the air as he
started to chew. Still saying nothing, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Classic
Rhino thinking posture.
Taking advantage of the moment, Cliff stood and went to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later
with four opened bottles of Corona. He set three bottles on the table, then drank deeply of the fourth.
Ryan raised a brow. Are we getting drunk?
Maybe. Told you we were late for the party. I figured we could start here and take the other two
to-go.
What party? Is somebody celebrating?
No doubt someone is, but not the Chargers fans. The Pats and the Seahawks are in the damn
commercials better be good. Cliff tilted his head back to drain the bottle.
The commercials oh shit. It s Super Bowl Sunday? Well tie me up and call me bad, Ryan said,
his face perfectly composed as he stared at the bottles. Oh wait that s your role. He looked up, his
mouth twitching at the corner as he fought the laugh.
Cliff lowered his bottle and blinked. He couldn t believe his best friend had the balls to say
something like that. His lip started to curl as a spasm rippled across his stomach muscles. Without
further warning, beer spewed as the laugh he d momentarily fought won out over swallowing.
Ryan s eyes went wide as the spray of Corona went everywhere, including over his shirt. Then the
two of them lost it, laughing until they were both gasping for air.
I can t believe Cliff started, but broke off as another fit of laughter nearly doubled him over.
Oh my god& Ryan looked down at his splattered shirt. You are such a pig. The effect was
ruined when he snorted at his own joke.
The knock at the door didn t even slow them down as Ty stepped inside. I thought the party was at
my place Oh, are we having a wet T-shirt contest?
Laughing even harder, Ryan slid off the couch, knocking his elbow into a bottle of beer, and then
catching it before it could tumble over. Cliff sucked in a huge breath, forcing a fragile calm he wasn t
sure he could maintain.
Sorry, Ty we ll clean up and be right there, Cliff offered, his voice wavering with more
suppressed laughter.
Still chuckling and wiping the tears from his eyes, Ryan nodded. Yeah& right there. Sorry, man&
Cliff got tied up. The bottle landed on the table with a thunk, barely remaining upright, as Ryan fell
over sideways onto the floor, clutching his stomach as a fresh bout of laughter seized him.
Ty s gaze flickered to Cliff, who was barely holding it together. Glad to see you have this all
straightened out, see you soon. Ty backed out of the door, smiling and looking as if he was fighting
his own laughter.
Feeling lighter than he had in days, Cliff reached out his hand, and Ryan accepted the help up.
Come on, Rhino, before Cookie gets pissed and we don t get any of the ribs he s grilling.
Yeah& no sense in letting a little thing like this Dominate our evening&
Cliff rolled his eyes, before giving in and joining the laughter once again.
****
Ryan munched on a rib and watched the other men as they moved comfortably around the living room
of the main ranch house. Ty and Cass were relaxed hosts, expecting everyone to help themselves. The
dining room table and sideboard were practically groaning with platters of ribs and wings, and a
build-your-own-taco bar. Periodically, Ty would disappear for a few minutes, then return with some
new goodie& like the layered chili and beef nachos that appeared at the beginning of the second
quarter or the delicious potato skins that showed up between the halftime show and the talking heads
over-analyzing every detail of the game as if world domination were at stake.
Beyond the hot food there were veggie trays, chips, salsa& even a frijole clam dip that Cliff swore
was to die for. Ryan would take his word on it. There were too many other goodies to take a chance
on fishy beans& but no matter what Ty brought out, the men just kept eating. Twenty-one of them, in
fact. He knew& he d counted.
Black, white, Hispanic, tall, short, slender, husky, bald, long-haired, blonds, brunettes, even a
redhead. What there wasn t was a woman. Not one.
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