“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I tease. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” I slide a hand over my stomach. I still can’t believe I’m actually pregnant. “This baby needs a daddy.”

Sam looks concerned all of a sudden.

“Is that the only reason you said yes? For the baby?”

“I’m marrying you for me,” I say. “I honestly think I fell in love with you before we ever met. I spent weeks studying you and looking at your photos. When we finally met on the mountain, it was like our future started that day.”

“Do you want a wedding?” he asks. “The last Steel Infidels wedding was a fucking disaster. I’m not sure we want to go through that again. Jesse and Trish decided to go with a small private ceremony at the house for their wedding.”

“I know all about Flint’s wedding,” I say. “No, I don’t want a wedding. I’m not a lace and flowers kind of girl. All I want is a piece of paper that says Delilah Mason on it. The sooner, the better.”

“Can I still call you Lila?” he asks. “You will never be Delilah to me.”

“If I can call you ‘all mine.’”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lila

––––––––

I arrive at the field office early on Monday morning with a car full of photos and surveillance tapes. I nod at the receptionist as I make my way to my cubicle with the first load of boxes.

“Delilah!” she says in surprise. “I almost didn’t recognize you with the new hair color. I like it.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I dyed it for the undercover job I was working on. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going back to the old color.”

That’s a lie.

I’m never going back to mousy brown, and soon I’ll never wear a drab business suit again either. My boss, Frank, spots me walking past his office. He hurries out to greet me in the hallway.

“Were you able to pull all of the surveillance equipment?” he asks.

“Yes, I got it. All of the cameras and bugs. There’s nothing left to retrieve so we’re out of there. Operation Thunderclap is no longer an undercover job. All I need to do is put a group together to help me go over the tapes and we’ll nail these guys.”

“You’ve looked at all the tapes?” he asks.

“Not yet,” I reply. “I pulled them Friday and had a bunch of family stuff to catch up on over the weekend.”

He’s practically salivating over the thought of what he thinks is on the tapes. Little does he know that there is absolutely nothing worthwhile to the ATF on any of them.

“I’ll need your full written report by the end of the week,” he says. “I hope you documented everything.”