Sudden Attraction

“Back to the stalker?”

“Yeah. You’d better sleep here.”

“So you can …”

“Protect you.”

He held his breath while she considered the advice. If she said no, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

Another lie. He would grab her arm to stop her. And then what? Give her another peek into his private fears and longings?

“You were here most of the time. Did you see anyone sneaking around?”

“I was inside most of the time—busy working.”

“But you didn’t see anybody,” she insisted.

“No, but in the absence of proof, I think you have to act cautiously.”

“Like you did when you started writing about Rudy Maglioni?”

“Somebody has to expose him.”

“Why you?”

“Because I’m willing to take the chance.” He could have added that nobody besides his editor would miss him if the mob caught up with him. Changing the subject, he said, “You can have my bed.”

“No, thanks.” She glanced toward the couch. “I’ll stay out here.”

“It’s not all that comfortable.”

“I’ll manage,” she said with an edge in her voice, and he warned himself not to press his luck. She was a woman with a strong will, and he couldn’t force her decision. It had to come from her.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” He hurried into the bedroom and glanced at the bed he hadn’t made in days. Well, maybe her coming in here wasn’t such a good idea.

After pulling the spare blanket from the top of the closet, he returned to the living room. He laid it on the end of the couch and stepped back. He wanted to say that they couldn’t keep from touching each other forever. Sooner or later it was going to happen again.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Thanks. And …” She paused again. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said stiffly, then added, “You can have the bathroom first.”

“Thanks.”

“Your mom put an extra toothbrush in there.”

“Right. She liked to keep the cottages stocked with conveniences.”

“Yes. I appreciated the food in the cabinets.”

They were getting into inane conversation territory again because they still had no idea how to deal with each other.

Before he said any other dumb lines—or did anything else he regretted—he made sure the front door was locked and bolted, then picked up a lamp and entered into the bedroom.

Chapter Four

Outside in the darkness, George Camden gritted his teeth. Abandoning the protection of the tree, he’d crossed the weedy lawn and gotten as close as he could to the window. He’d been able to see them, but he hadn’t heard a lot of what they were saying because of the damned rain.

After a half hour out there, he was wet and cold, and he needed a smoke. Bad.

He’d been all set to get his hands on Gabriella Boudreaux tonight. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen. It looked as if she was spending the night in the cottage. But not in Buckley’s bed, for some reason.

So why was she there if they weren’t going to do anything fun?

Maybe because her mom had died today. However, if Buckley was smart, he could have comforted her and then offered more than back patting. Despite how he’d acted outside, Buckley must be too honorable for that.

George’s mind circled back to the earlier question. Why was she staying there? Did Buckley think he was protecting her?

If he was, that meant they were worried about someone snooping around. Or worried about someone causing the mom’s death. Or maybe she was just upset about staying alone after coming home and finding her mother had kicked the bucket.

Yeah, that made sense.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he jumped, then cursed under his breath.

The only guy who had this number was the Badger, the one who’d hired him to snoop around Houma and find out about the clinic.

The phone kept vibrating as he stepped far enough away from the cottage to avoid being heard.

“Yeah?” he said as he flipped it open.

“You haven’t reported in,” the curt voice on the other end of the line said.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I got a lead on one of the women who was treated at the fertility clinic. I came down to Lafayette to … question her.”

“And?”

He waited a beat before admitting, “She’s dead.”

The curse on the other end of the line had him holding the phone away from his ear.

“I haven’t heard about any murders in the news.”

“Because it wasn’t murder. She fell down the stairs,” he said, stretching the facts. “An old lady tripping and falling isn’t news.”