Covert Identity (20 page)

Paul fell serious. "I know, she has been telling me that too. I didn't even like my place
before
I became Jimmy, and there's no reason I'll like it any more now. I won't be in shape to move anywhere for a while, or I'd suggest we'd get something new, together."

She didn't think her house was all that. It was cozy and comfortable, but small. Not that it mattered. If he liked it and thought they'd be safe there, it was fine.

He said, "It might not be the house, per se. Maybe if you were there, and it was filled with your things."

He sounded a little embarrassed, and she smiled. "Are you asking me to move in?"

"Let's go see it first."

It took another week before he was deemed well enough not to need constant supervision. He would still need to go in to the hospital on an outpatient basis, but they could go home. All they needed to do was figure out
where
home was.

A uniformed officer had driven them there, but on the way home, they were left to their own devices. It had to mean there was less of a threat, and it made Sharon breathe easier.

What would it be like to come home? They hadn't lived there together for so long now, she suspected it might feel weird.

When she was about to turn the rental car onto her road, Paul said, "Stick to this lane and go west for a bit."

She followed his directions and finally stopped outside a large house right on the beach.

"This? This is your house? You hate
this
?"

He seemed to find her opinion as alien as she found his. He said, "I inherited it from my grandmother. It's huge, it's lonely, and my ex-wife left a fucking stripper pole in the bedroom."

She tried not to laugh, but it was a losing battle.

He put the leash on Tiffy who hurried up to a flowerbed, sniffing the plants. She seemed to approve, especially when a lizard raced just in front of her nose and she got to chase it before it disappeared.

Sharon looked at the flowers. "Considering how long you've been away, it looks really well kept."

"I have a yard guy. Kinda had to, I never knew how long I'd be gone."

She reached for his hand and he led the way in through a large screened porch. It was a beautiful space, or could be, if it had furniture.

"Were you robbed?"

"Yes. I told you I had ex-wives, right? Last one didn't think I needed furniture."

Last one? How many exes do you have?

This wasn't a good time to ask. He unlocked the French doors into the house, and she stepped into a large and bright kitchen with skylights.

Paul headed for the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, handing one to her. "See this, I hate this stainless crap. Your fridge is white. A fridge with self-respect is supposed to be white."

"Are you messing with me?"

He looked honestly surprised. "No. Why? Do you like it?"

"Kind of, yes."

"Well, then, I guess the stainless crap can stay." He opened his beer and took a small sip. "See why I couldn't bring you here? Jimmy wouldn't live here."

He was right. She had a hard time imagining
Paul
living there. Jimmy with his biker friends, no way. It must have been near impossible to dodge all her questions for all this time.

The vast living room held a leather sofa and a TV. That was it. One room had a desk and a gun safe, but most of them were empty.

"You never thought of buying some furniture?"

He shrugged. "I got divorced and then I turned into Jimmy. Didn't see the point."

Upstairs she found the master bedroom.

It did have a stripper pole.

It also had a marvelous view of the gulf.

"The pole has to go."

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "That's it? You would live here with me if I throw that thing out?"

You're joking, right? This place is awesome.

She wasn't going to tell him
that
. She gave a slight shrug and said, "Yes. I'd live with you anywhere, but this place is fantastic."

He put his hands on her hips and inched her closer.

"Would you make it all, like a home and stuff? Like your house is?"

And stuff? That's cute.

"I think we should do that together, but yes."

"Would you marry me and be mine forever?"

She didn't see that one coming; she still thought about the house.

"I'm sorry, what?"

His eyes were serious and honest. "I said, would you marry me and be mine forever? Or at least until I do something really dumb and get shot and killed."

"How many ex-wives do you have?"

"Four. But none of them were you."

She had to laugh. "If you do your best to avoid the part about being shot and killed, of course yes."

He tugged her even closer, and the kiss reminded her of the first time they met.

The End

––––––––

M
aria Hammarblad is a Swedish author and bass player living in Florida since late 2008. Her fascination with books started early. Before she could read or write, she made her mother staple papers together to resemble books. She drew suns in them and claimed they were "The Sun Book." They were all about the sun. The four-year old also claimed her existence on Earth was a mistake, the result of a horrible mix-up, and that her real family would come to bring her home to her own planet at any time. This didn't happen, but her fascination with books and other worlds stayed with her.

Today, she lives in the Tampa Bay area with her husband Mike and their rescue dogs. Besides novels, she also writes award-winning screenplays. When not writing, Maria works at a cat rescue.

Website: http://www.hammarblad.com