A pounding on my window startled me just as I was halfway into my sleeping bag. I shot back, clutching my chest. The muffled laughter of Dax followed, which, considering I thought I was about to be murdered, wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
“We seem to have had the same idea,” he said as I opened the car door while attempting to free myself from the nylon cocoon. He leaned against the driver’s side door while my legs flailed. He looked about as calm as someone evaluating the surf conditions on his day off, and it infuriated me. His black t-shirt and jeans that matched the five o’clock shadow on his square jaw mildly made up for that though.
“Except this is my house, not yours,” I huffed. I gave up on my flailing and flopped out the door, grunting. What the hell was my foot caught on?!
"Need a hand?" Dax smirked at his feet while I squirmed again.
"No," I groaned. My frustration getting louder as the fabric caught in the zipper. I'd loved Chinese finger traps as a child, but my tolerance was slim for the full-body experience.
"Need a hand?" he asked again as my throat growled. I must have looked like one of those inflatable balloon people that flop around at car sales. I stopped moving and blew a strand of hair out of my face, my hands still trapped in the bag trying to free my foot.
“Fine,” I sighed.
He crouched, wide shoulders blocking the moonlight. Pine and cedar, with a hint of mint, filled my nose as his tilted neck moved into my space.
“There,” he said, standing.
“What the hell?”
The bag was completely unzipped, and the black cord had been removed from around my ankle.
“I find it’s best to go gentle when it comes to matters of the hands,” Dax said, wiggling his fingers.
I gulped. Where had all the air gone?
“I didn’t trust the station to respond the way they should,” he added, replying to my earlier comment and skirting the innuendo he’d just made. He leaned down, peering into my car. “Cute set-up, by the way. You going to defend yourself with that pillow?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you here again?”
“I told you." He stubbed at the car tyre with his heavy boot, and then his forehead creased. “And maybe I think the loyalty of some at the station is in another person’s pocket.”
I got the vibe he hadn't meant to share that. Or wasn't supposed to.
"Minions of Miss Lissy's?"
"Seems that way," he said, dragging his hand across the line of his jaw. "What did you do to her anyway? People tend to avoid crossing Liss. She comes out swinging."
Didn't I know it.
"I was born." I laughed out a sigh. “Came here,” I waved at the house. “I was a child. I may have briefly threatened her the other day. Take your pick.”
Dax's brows arched, and he chuckled, dipping his head. “You threatened Lissy Fotherington? You really are something, Riley Walls.”
A shiver ran across my shoulders as his dark eyes met mine, and I had to look away.
“What’s the plan here?”
“Well, no offense, but you’re not the most observant,” he said not missing a beat. He pointed at the front gate, now open, with his black ute parked just inside by the old playground.
How did I miss that?
“Where’d you get a key for the gate?” I snapped.
“I’ve had it since I changed the locks. Keep forgetting to give it back to you.”
I narrowed my gaze and held my palm out. He rolled his eyes, pulling the keychain from his front pocket before dropping it into my hand.
“Seeing as we’re both here, want to stand guard together? I promise not to take any calls. Or act like we’re mates. Business only,” he said, drawing a cross over his chest with his finger.
