I knew what he was asking and, back before all of this had happened, I wouldn't have known what to say. Now, however, I knew what I wanted. I nodded. "I want a baby, maybe two." My hands wrapped around his forearms. "But only with you."

A little extra tension went out of him. "That's what I want, too."

I rolled over until I was facing him. "Then we'd better start practicing." I pushed against his chest until he was on his back. "You know, they say practice makes perfect."

He laughed as I climbed on top of him, my knees on either side of his waist. I put my hand over his heart.

"Mine."

He covered my hand with his and looked up at me, eyes blazing. "Yours."

I leaned down and covered his mouth. We would spend the night like this, exploring each other over and over again. And then tomorrow, we would take another step towards our future together. Each day would be like that, one after the other. For all the years to come.

The End Turn the page to start reading the free bonus books.

Bonus 1: Saints Of Sin - Prequel

Chapter One.

Jen "What the fuck was that?"

Rhetorical question. I knew what it was.

A bullet had whizzed past my ear.

I barely missed getting a new part in my hair. Man, I hadn't anticipated that one. This shit was real.

Panting, I tried to remain calm as I squeezed my Glock in a double-fisted grip.

I just robbed the Hogan's Alley Bank with two other career criminals. They thought a woman wouldn't be any help, but I was proving I'm no punk-ass bitch.

The streets in the plywood town were empty, except for three FBI beasts in black, drawing a bead on me to practice their aim. I took cover, plastering my back against the side of the building.

Better think fast.

My pulse raced. Electric adrenaline fire blazed through every vein.

Think.

Think.

Remember what you were taught.

Gunfire popped all around like firecrackers on Chinese New Year. I shot a glance to my right. Body down. A glance to the left. Another body, face planted in the dirt. No help coming from either one of them. I was on my own. Only one thing left to do.

I lunged out from my cover, guns blazing, and spun around the corner of the building, leading with my .40 caliber Glock. I only had one gun. They had several. I was out numbered in guns and men, but I laid down a spray of bullets like I'd been instructed. Good old Sergeant Major Cheshier. He taught me well. He'd be proud of me for the skill in that move.

Now, I faced the enemy. The long arm of the law. Only now, it was more like the short arm of the law, present and ready to spank me hard.

I blinked and that was my first mistake. In the split second it took to blink, the beasts had the advantage.

It was the strangest thing, because when I blinked I saw my sister's face. I didn't understand why, and no sooner than it happened, it was gone.

Then, mistake number two. I stalled a split second too long. Took too much time to think before I charged out.

Too late.

I felt the impact this time. The bullet hit, middle of the chest. Right to the heart. The shock of getting hit startled me, and I fell back, knocked off my feet. I crumpled to the ground with a cry. The dense pain of the first impact was followed by a different kind of pain, hot and searing in my left shoulder. I writhed in the open street, curling into the fetal position and then straightening back out. I couldn't hold still.

The sensation of the first hit was like getting kicked in the chest by a horse. My shoulder felt like someone drove a steel rod through it, and in my wretched delirium, I thought for an instant maybe someone really had pinned me to the ground with a spike. I couldn't move.

It was over.

I hit the ground clutching my left shoulder, trying to make the pain stop.

"Fu-u-uck! That hurts like hell!"

I spoke before I thought, words unfiltered thanks to the pain making my brain all fuzzy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to say that." I furrowed my brow as my mind started to work again. "Whose idea was this anyway? Those wax bullets are a bitch...I mean, well...whatever. Could ya just help me get up?"

Three FBI trainees, guns lowered, along with my firearms instructor stood over me now, all four of them smirking. The closest one, Riley, held out a hand to help me up. "You're the one who said you wanted to play the bad guy this time."

He laughed as I sprang to my feet, assisted by his strong grip, still rubbing my sore shoulder. I was going to have a killer bruise.

"You could've warned me." I scowled at him. "I didn't think they'd be worse than paintball pellets. I did that fun little warfare experience on the paintball range at Pendleton. In the Marines."

"Stop whining," Riley said, a playful lilt in his voice.

Here at the FBI Field Training Course, trainees didn't go it alone. We were supported by our classmates, and the tough regimen bonded most of us together, not unlike the Marines.

I teased back, "Oh, you mean, stop whining like a...girl?"

Riley laughed as we walked out of Hogan's Alley, the mock town used for real life training experiences.

"You said it, not me."

I glared at him. "You better not be implying that simply because I'm female I'm being a pussy. I can handle my own."

I knew Riley was just giving me a hard time. I wasn't the type to whine about things, like cry over a broken fingernail or a wax bullet to the shoulder. It might not be a real bullet, but it still hurt. They could pierce bare skin and draw blood. That's why I'd worn a sweatshirt over my vest even though it was almost summer, and I was pretty damn far from a shrinking violet. I toned it down when needed, acted all polite and demure when I was supposed to, but I could have a foul mouth, and it'd gotten me into trouble a couple of times in the past. My language and thick skin came from having been a Marine. Some people thought it was tough to be a woman in the FBI, but it had nothing on the Marines.

With our boots crunching on the dirt streets of training town, we headed to the staging area for a debrief on today's performance. An assistant instructor was waiting to collect our training guns, a bored look on his face. Glocks weren't issued to us until after the graduation ceremony. I was looking forward to having a gun again.

I reached to my side to rip open the Velcro strips of my protective Kevlar vest, still talking to Riley. "I think it went pretty well."

Riley dropped his vest on the table with the other training gear. "Good for us, not you. You got killed."

"Well, I was the bad guy. So that's a good thing, wouldn't you say?"

He grinned. "How's your shoulder? You really should've worn thicker padding."

I looked down at the thickest sweatshirt I owned, and then back at Riley. "No shit, Sherlock." I shrugged my shoulders. "Live and learn."

We took our seats around the long table set up in the warehouse, just one of many buildings in the training town at Quantico.

The town had been built and designed by Hollywood set designers specifically to be used for realistic training experiences. Recruits came here from all over the United States for training as police officers, security, and most other type of law enforcement training. I was here for the FBI's Academy, and this was my last, painful day of a twenty week course.

It was no walk in the park, but not as bad as the boot camp I'd gone through for the Marines a little over four years earlier. Boot camp required all recruits to experience gas chamber training.

That had been fun.

We were put in a small structure wearing gas masks, then told to remove them once the gas was released. It was the worst pain I'd ever endured - coughing from burning lungs, eyes tearing like crazy. We stayed in the gas chamber three to five minutes, the longest three to five of my life. When we all ran out, more than half of us puked our guts out.

So in my opinion, FBI pussies were nothing compared to Marines. But then, no one is as badass and hard charging as a Marine. Male or female.

Yet, being accepted by the FBI was more than a dream come true. I always wondered if I'd do anything exciting with my life, but I never imagined I'd be with the FBI.

Once settled into our seats, the firearms training instructor for the day addressed our group with his usual stern face, despite being the bearer of good news. "Great job, trainees. You all did a great job today. It's been twenty long weeks." A smile struggled to pierce through his stone facade. "A real vacation, wouldn't you say?"

Snickers and light laughter were heard all around the table, more because we'd never heard him make a joke before, that was actually funny.

After the final words from the instructor, details about the upcoming graduation ceremony, everyone stood and shook hands, offering heartfelt congratulations and promising to keep in touch after the Academy. I exhaled a big sigh of relief and relaxed for the first time in four months.

My roommate, Sheree O'Hara, her light green eyes shining, wrapped me in a big hug.

"It's over, O'Hara. Can you believe it?" I said. "We made it!"

"We did," she said. "I'd give you a fist bump and say, 'Go girl power!' but...too cheesy."

I laughed, feeling lighter than in ages. Sunday would be the ceremony and I'd be sworn in, get my badge and the credentials to prove I was officially an FBI Special Agent. I'd been proud when I graduated from college, proud when graduating from boot camp, but nothing compared to how I felt now.

As we filtered out of the room to go celebrate, my stern-faced instructor caught me by the elbow. "Hold on a minute, Goodwin. Agent Gutierrez wants to see you in his office, immediately."

Shit. My heart sank. Was I in trouble? The instructor's perpetual poker face revealed nothing. I nodded and he walked away. Maybe the training hadn't gone as well as I thought. I frowned as I headed in the direction of Building 42A where Gutierrez had an office.

Armando Gutierrez had recruited me into the FBI, lead me through the long and tedious application process, and mentored me every step of the way. I probably shouldn't be so pessimistic. Maybe he just wanted to congratulate me, since he had taken a special interest in helping me. Of course. That was it.

Still, despite my little optimistic pep talk along the way, I couldn't shake the ominous feeling rolling through my gut...it wouldn't go away. I picked up my pace.

His office door was open and I stepped in as I spoke, trying to sound bright and cheery, "You wanted to see me, sir?"

From behind his desk, he motioned with a hand, palm up. "Goodwin, yes. Please, close the door and have a seat."

I bit my lip and did as he asked, aware of an uncomfortable silence hanging in the compact room. I slid into the vacant chair opposite his desk. He wasn't smiling, and my stomach rolled with newfound anxiety.

He waited for me to be seated before he began. "First, let me congratulate you. I heard you completed your field training in Hogan's Alley today and all of your training with flying colors. I had no doubt you could do it. With your language skills and your Marine Corps experience, you were a shoe-in. I wish you all the luck and success, wherever you go for your first assignment."

I smiled and said, "Thank you, sir. It's been an honor."

I didn't know what else to say. For delivering a congratulatory speech, he didn't look very happy, and he still wasn't smiling. He straightened in his chair, laying both palms flat on the desk.

"I'm sorry, Goodwin, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. I wanted you to have a moment to enjoy your success, but..." He paused, as if steeling himself. "I just received a call. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your sister, Charlene...she's dead."

His words sounded hollow, like they were coming from far away. A sharp pain flashed in my chest, like someone grabbed my heart in a large fist and squeezed, tightly. I could barely breathe, but I forced myself to ask the one thing I needed to know.

"How?"

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes told me I didn't want to know what he would say next.

"She was...shot. Found last night. I'm so sorry, Goodwin. I know this is hard to hear, and you must have a million questions, but that's all I know."

I leaned back in my chair, trying to absorb what he'd said. My baby sister was dead. It was a shock, of course, but not as much as it should've been. Considering Charlie's lifestyle, I'd expected to hear this news some day. Maybe that's why, despite the pain I was feeling, I wasn't crying. I should've been. Anyone else would've broken down in a heartbeat.

Instead, I nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll...I'll call my family immediately."

The room was getting warm, even more suffocating than before.

"Are you alright, Goodwin? Can I get you some water?"

The normalcy helped me focus. "I'm...okay." I wasn't sure that was really the word for it, but it worked for now. "Is there anything I need to do?"

He pushed a paper and pen across the desk. "Yes, actually, you need to fill out and sign this leave form. I've already filled in part of it and listed the reason for leave as hardship. If they schedule the funeral for the middle of the week or later, you can go home after graduation."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." I signed the papers, barely paying any attention to what I was signing.

I pushed them back to Gutierrez and sat frozen in my chair, staring blankly into space. The funeral. Graduation. Right. My parents wouldn't be coming to graduation. I still hadn't told them about being accepted in the FBI. I'd lied. They thought I'd signed up for another four years in the Marines. Which explained why they hadn't called me. I just hoped they hadn't tried to contact me through the military.

"That's all, Goodwin." His voice softened. "You can go now."

I stood, resolving to stay strong. At least until I was out of the building, and then...

I nodded and left, hoping he didn't notice the wobble in my weak knees. I only needed to make it clear of the building, so he wouldn't see me throw up.

Chapter Two.