I weaved a bit and giggled to myself, cooing to Boo, “Mommy’s drunk!” as I walked to the bathroom, washed my face, slathered it with moisturizer, changed into a nightgown and Boo and I climbed somewhat gracelessly up into the bed.

Then the phone rang so I grabbed it.

“Hello,” I sang happily (okay, more like drunkenly).

“Go set your alarm,” Vance said in my ear.

“What?”

“Bobby just called me, told me you got home, Lee walked you to the door but you didn’t set your alarm. Go set it.”

“Okay,” I said, again happily (yes, more appropriately drunkenly) and scooted to the end of the bed.

I took the phone with me and held it to my ear as I jumped down, stumbled a little and muttered, “Shit,” before giggling.

Throughout this there was silence in my ear. Then, “Are you drunk?”

Shit.

“Um…”

Vance was an alcoholic. I was a social worker so I knew all about alcoholics. Still, I’d never read a book about how to deal with one when he was your shit-hot boyfriend (actually, I was pretty sure I had but I was forgetting in my drunken state what it said).

Therefore I stayed silent after my initial “um”.

“How drunk are you?” Vance asked as I made it to the alarm keypad in the living room.

I didn’t answer intent on the task at hand. I punched in some numbers and the keypad started beeping angrily.

“Whoops,” I said and narrowed my eyes at the keypad.

“Jules,” Vance said in my ear.

“Quiet, I’m concentrating,” and I was.

I heard him chuckle.

“Quiet!” I demanded.

His amusement still came at me as I punched the right code in and the alarm stopped beeping.

“Did it!” I announced as if I’d just cracked the code to the security system protecting the Hope Diamond.

I started walking back to the bed as Vance asked again, “All right, Princess, now tell me, how drunk are you?”

Oh well, honesty, Auntie Reba and Nick always told me, was the best policy.

“Five cosmos drunk,” I told him.

“Five?”

I decided to fib by omission and leave out mentioning the shots when I started up the steps to the bed platform and cracked my head against the hall ceiling.

“Ouch!”

“Jules?” Vance said in my ear.

“Okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. Everyone’s okay,” I declared as I shoved myself in the opening and collapsed on the bed.

Vance was laughing again.

“You aren’t mad?” I asked.

“Fuck no. Five cosmos drunk means you’ll still be drunk when I get back.”

“Is that good?”

“Yeah, Princess, it’s good.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, he just said, “The skip was wanted in C Springs. I’ve just processed him at a station there and I’m passing the Academy now. I’ll be home in a little over an hour.”

“Okay,” I replied happily (this time more happily than drunkenly).

“Take off your underwear.”

My breath caught and I went instantly sober. “What?” I whispered.

“Go to sleep without any underwear.”

“Vance,” I was still whispering.

“Princess, do it.” His voice was silk and it slid through the phone and across my skin like it was alive.

“Okay.” Yes, still whispering.

“See you soon,” he said.

“Okay.”

Disconnect.

I laid there a second, wondering if I could sleep without my underwear. Considering the fact that I was seriously turned on, I figured I wouldn’t sleep anyway so I took off my underwear, turned off the light and settled in, cuddling Boo and waiting for Vance.

In about two minutes, I was asleep.

* * * * *

I was yanked off the edge of the bed with hands at my ankles.

I let out a surprised gasp, Boo went flying, I landed hard on the floor and an arm came around my waist while a hand went over my mouth.

I stared up, thinking (or, more like hoping) I’d be seeing Vance, but in the darkness I saw Hector Chavez.

I screamed against his hand and started struggling.

He pushed me into the bed platform, his body hard against mine and again I felt his immense heat.

“Quiet. Roam’s in trouble,” he hissed at me. I stopped struggling immediately at his words and he dropped his hand and stepped away from me. “Get dressed, get your gun. Now.”

Without asking a single question and flying through the house, I grabbed my clothes and shoes then ran into the bathroom and dressed.

I thanked my lucky stars I had worn a longish nightgown to bed because I was still panty-less when Hector pulled me out. I also thanked my luckier stars that fear for one of my boys made me sober as a nun. Vance wouldn’t be happy I was sober but maybe I’d do a shot or two of tequila when I got done with this gig.

After I dressed I exited the bathroom, knelt in the hall and put my black Pumas on. “What’s happening?”

“Cordova got him,” Hector answered.

“God dammit,” I snapped.

I went to the sliding doors under my bed, opened a drawer and rooted through my underwear until I had my gun. I knew Cordova had been released from the hospital (it was only a flesh wound) but I thought he’d been released to jail.

As I looked for my gun, I asked, “Why?”

“Fuck knows. He’s pissed at you. Maybe he thinks he can use Roam to make you pay.”

“I thought Cordova was in jail,” I said while I tucked my gun into the back waistband of my cords.

“Bonded out.”

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Let’s go,” he said.

We went.

* * * * *

It’s important to note at this point there were a lot of things I should have done.

I should have taken my purse. I had my panic button and phone in my purse. Not to mention a tracking device.

I should have called Vance, told him where I was going so he wouldn’t worry.

Not doing that, I should have left a note.

I should also have called the surveillance room at Nightingale Investigations. Even the Nightingale Men didn’t go into a situation without backup.

But I had Hector. Hector was deep cover DEA which meant he was his own brand of badass mother, perhaps scarier than them all and this was Sal Cordova we were talking about. Sal was an idiot.