After a plateful of steak and potatoes with a cursory healthy salad on the side, both men curled up in bed. Bobby checked his phone—Atkins still hadn’t called—and put it on the bedside cabinet. He lasted two minutes before the urge to throw off the bedcovers and pace threatened him with insanity. He resisted because the food enticed him to rest and Sam lay an equal ball of tension at his back. Searching for Sam’s hand, Bobby took hold and brought it around to his chest. He kissed Sam’s fingers.
“Sorry, Sam.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
“Perhaps not.” He rolled over. “I can’t help wondering if Atkins really will work through the night.”
“He said he will.” Sam’s fingers twirled with Bobby’s hair. “Sarge never let us down before.”
“True.” If he couldn’t rely on Atkins, God help the
