If he wondered why she had not taken perfectly good plates from her old home, he did not ask.
When he sat, she did as well and bit into her sandwich, discovering it had exactly the right ratio of ham to cheese, lettuce, and bread. Nothing fancy, but it reminded her that she needed food. She ate the entire sandwich before she crumpled her paper towel and tossed it on her plate.
He was watching her with a measure of satisfaction. And for the first time in a long time, she felt as if the world slowed a little.
She had spoken to Bryce and his patrolmen in Helena months ago, and of course he had been here with Nate, and she had been in the car with him yesterday. But each of those times had been filled with distractions. This was the first time it had been just the two of them. Her curiosity grew, and whatever shyness she might have had vanished as she cataloged the details that told part of his story. No wedding band—in fact, no rings. Crow’s-feet etched at the corners of his eyes. A faint white scar along his jawline. The little finger on his left hand bent slightly, as if it had been broken. He was the kind of guy who found the path through the storm.
His interest in her was as keen, and she sensed he was cataloging her features and maybe searching for the marks left behind by her past. Good luck with that one. She had worked hard to make sure they were not visible.
“I hear the wheels in your mind grinding now,” he said.
The rough timbre of his voice did not chase away her gaze. “They tend to do that.”
“The case?”
She did not know how to read the cues the sexes transmitted between them. She had thought she knew in college, but it was clear she picked very imperfect men. She opted for honesty because it cut through the BS quickly. “Thinking about you.”
“Me?”
“I’m attracted to you,” she said carefully. This might be the moment where he told her she was off base. And if the attraction was mutual and he liked her, then she had to worry about what was wrong with him.
“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears,” he said lightly. “Do you always overthink?”
“Always.”
He arched a brow, intrigued and amused. “That so?”
“I’ve been off the market for a long time, so if I sound crazy or am out of line, tell me. We can pretend I never said anything—we can finish our drinks and get back to safer waters, like homicide.”
“No reason for that.”
“What does that mean?”
He came around the island and stood in front of her. She shifted on the stool so she faced him. Gently, he took her hand and pulled her up. The feel of his calloused skin against her palms awakened the nerves in her entire body.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
She moistened her lips, quickly trying to remember the last time she had kissed a man. Was it last year, two years ago?
“Stop overthinking,” he said.
“Right.” A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “Yes, you can kiss me.”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Desire singed her nerves like liquid fire. She leaned into the kiss, knowing the hunger that had been there for months was suddenly ravenous. Was she overdoing this? Did he feel this, too? As if he felt her thoughts, his hand came to her waist, and the touch silenced the questions. She raised her hand to his side.
“How’s that?” he asked, his lips close to hers.
“Very nice.” She wished now she had more than a mattress covered in rumpled blankets on her bedroom floor.
“Well, then how about we quit while we’re ahead?” His hand did not move from her side.
When she had been with Elijah, it had been hurried and so hormone fueled it was almost over before it began. And with Clarke every kiss ended up with them in the bedroom. Both men had left her physically satisfied but emotionally empty. “What? You don’t want to?”
“Oh, I surely want to, Dr. Bailey. And if you still have a mind to do more of this, I am your man.” He kissed her on the lips again. “But I find things worth having take time.”
“This isn’t what I’m used to.”
“That’s what I figured. Which is exactly why we’ll take our time.” He kissed her again and stepped back with a look of regret in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We have that shop to visit.”
Her body hummed with longing, disappointment, and a deeper sense that Bryce McCabe was a good man. “Great.”
“Good. In the meantime, you can look at those financial records and let me know if you see any patterns. And I’ll get that list from the warden.”
“Perfect.”
“By the way, I’m trying to reach Sarah Cameron’s boyfriend. I want to talk to him about her and who she might have known.”
“Let me guess. He’s avoiding you.”
“He is. But I suppose he’s gun shy when it comes to the cops.”
“Gun shy I can appreciate.”
He winked. “Like riding a horse, Dr. Bailey. It’s not that complicated.”
That provoked the first real laugh she’d had in a long while. She walked him to the front door and watched as he settled his hat on his head. “When should I meet you at the Classy Cat? It opens at ten tomorrow.”
“Ten it is.” He strode to his truck, and when he was behind the wheel, he nodded toward her before he drove off.
Her phone buzzed with a text, and when she pulled it from her pocket, she saw it was from Gideon. All is well. Attached to the text was an image of Nate, Kyle, and Joan. The boys were sporting wide grins, and Joan looked pointedly toward the camera like a hostage trying to send a message to the world.
Ann studied Nate’s smile and realized it telegraphed the youthful joy that had been missing the last year. He was going to be okay. So was she.
As she turned to go back inside, she glanced down to the card that had fluttered out when she had removed her phone. She picked it up and saw Paul Thompson’s name, phone number, and the scrawled address of his motel.
Thompson was on a fishing expedition, too. And the bait he was using was her darkest secret.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Sunday, August 22
2:15 p.m.
Ann grabbed her purse and decided it was time to find Elijah. If he had leaked or suggested the truth to one of his groupies, she wanted to know about it. A quick address search, and she realized he was living blocks away. Paul Thompson might be the least of her problems. She drove the blocks separating their homes. She parked, walked up to the front door, and knocked.
Christ, he had to know the truth.
A full thirty seconds passed before the door opened. Elijah stood with a blue-tipped paintbrush in his hands and looking a little annoyed by the interruption. When he saw it was her, his expression turned curious.
“Ann, did you bring me a welcome basket?” he asked.
“I heard you’d moved in.” Her heart pummeled against her ribs, slamming blood through her arteries.
“Would you like to come inside? Still in the midst of decorating. I could have hired someone, but I really don’t like strangers in my home.”
She ignored the small talk. “There’s a reporter in town. His name is Paul Thompson.”
“He’s left me messages,” Elijah said warily.