Homeport

slapped a hand on his chest. “I’m not finished.”
    “You would be, honey, if I kissed you,” he said, with just enough arrogance to make her fight back a grin.
    “No side work,” she said primly. “Whatsoever, for any reason.”
    He winced. “For any reason? There might be a good one.”
    “For any reason.”
    “I’m retired,” he muttered, but had to rub the ache in his chest. “No side work.”
    “You hand over to me any and all fake identification you’ve accumulated over your checkered career.”
    “All? But—” He caught himself. “Fine.” He could always get more, should circumstances call for it. “Next?”
    “That should do it.” She touched his cheek, then framed his face. “I love you beyond sense,” she murmured, cherishing his words enough to give them back to him. “I’ll take the deal. I’ll take you, but that means you’re taking me. The Jones curse. I’m bad luck.”
    “Dr. Jones.” He turned his lips into her palm. “Your luck’s about to change. Trust me.”