He eyed the folder like he’d eye a coiled rattlesnake. “What is that hideous thing?”
“I was asked to give it to you. It’s from the client I told you about, the one who requested that you work on her case. She put her pursuit of a master’s degree in criminal justice on hold to perform research on an alleged serial killer. She believes that you’re the only person who can convince the police that her conclusions are reasonable and help her catch him. She provided a summary of her research in that folder.”
Bryson snorted and shook his head. “If she’s convinced that a failed criminal profiler is the key to her theory, then she needs to go back to school. Her deductive reasoning is skewed.”
“Personally, I found her work intriguing, her theories compelling. And I’ve already got my master’s in criminal justice, not to mention a decade of experience as a chief of police and another seven years after that running The Justice Seekers.” Mason straightened and tugged his suit jacket into place. “But I can see that I’m not going to change your mind. The funny thing is, I never took you for a quitter. Even after the FBI.”
“Yeah, well. I never thought I’d be responsible for another innocent person almost being killed either. Guess we were both wrong.”
Mason stared at him a long moment, then looked past him again toward the dock. “That really is a gorgeous view. Let me know when you decide to go fishing. I can bring a pole, throw out a line.” He gave him a hard look. “Allof your brothers and sisters at Camelot would love to toss you a line, including Hayley. You just have to ask.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and strode away without waiting for a reply.
Bryson dropped his gaze to the ridiculous-looking pink-and-green folder in his lap. He stared at it long after he could no longer hear the sound of Mason’s car driving away. Long after the sun began to set and the mosquitos started buzzing around his ears. Long after the twinkling lights of Gatlinburg reflected in the sliding glass door, studding the night sky like glitter on a black velvet canvas.
Then he tossed the folder in the trash.
Chapter Two
Teagan whistled as she stepped out of her car onto the brick-paved driveway. It was as if she was standing on top of the world, with the entire Smoky Mountains range spreading out around her in 360-degree views. There wasn’t another house in sight, just the rambling one-story stone-and-brick mansion set so far back from the main road that she hadn’t seen it until she’d almost passed it.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected of the home of a former FBI special agent, but it wasn’t this. Either the FBI was paying way better than most people realized, or Bryson Anton’s post-FBI career paidextremelywell. He’d spent three years so far with The Justice Seekers, an agency of former law enforcement officers and ex-military whose professed goal was to obtain justice for people who couldn’t get it via the traditional route. Having seen their quirky, state-of-the-art headquarters that they’d dubbed Camelot, she figured it was a safe assumption that’s where Bryson had made his money.
When she reached the front porch, she was surprised that in addition to the broad front steps there was a ramp concealed behind the landscaping. No rocking chairs dotted the wide expanse. No flowers decorated the empty cedar window boxes, even though it was the middle of spring. If she had to describe the expensive, sprawling home in one word, it would be...lonely.
She was about to knock on the frosted glass double door when the left side jerked open. She blinked in slack-jawed admiration at the incredible work of art that greeted her wearing nothingbut a frown and a white towel draped around his hips. His dark, shoulder-length hair was damp. Beads of water clung to the hair on his golden, sculpted chest. It almost killed her not to reach out and trace the trail of one very happy bead that ran toward his six-pack abs and disappeared below the top of his towel. On a scale of one to ten, she rated him sexy-as-hell.
“Hi.” Of all the compelling, intelligent, well-formulated introductions that her summa cum laude education could have provided her, she came up with that one-word bit of brilliance. She cleared her throat so she could properly introduce herself.
“It’s about time you got here,” he practically growled. “I’ve been trying to work the cramps out of my hip all morning. If the muscles aren’t loosened up soon, I’ll end up in the wheelchair the rest of the day abusing an exquisite bottle of scotch.”
Leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand that she only just noticed, he limped across the expensive-looking shiny white floor before stopping beside one of the biggest black leather couches she’d ever seen. Except for the other couch in the room, which was just as big. The two of them formed an L with their backs to the bump-out of windows near the garage.
“Where do you want me?” he asked.
Was that a trick question? On a bed, on the kitchen counter,anywhere. Since he appeared to be waiting for an answer to his ridiculous query, she had to rewind the brief conversation in her head and remember what he’d said when he’d opened the door. Her previously absent brain clicked into gear, and she realized he was likely expecting either a massage therapist or a personal trainer. For his left hip, the one he was favoring as he leaned toward the cane on his right side. Apparently he wanted her to tell him where he should sit, or lie down, or whatever was required so that she could work out his muscle cramps.
Her ovaries screamed at her to say yes to anything he wanted. But it wouldn’t be ethical to let this go on any longer when it wasobviously a case of mistaken identity. All she had to do was tell him who she was and why she was there.
Now if she could just stop drooling long enough to remember her name.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?” He glanced down at his towel. “I’ve got boxers on if you’re worried that I’m naked under here.”
“Oh, no, trust me. That wouldn’t bother meat all.” Drop the towel. And the boxers.Please.She cleared her throat. “What I meant to say is that—”
The doorbell rang, followed by a knock on the glass.
He swore. “Ever since my old boss came by yesterday, you’d think this was a Walmart on Black Friday. This makes the third person to come by in two days.”
“Three visitors in two days. A veritable siege.”
He gave her an odd look.
She smiled. It was either that or give in to the barbaric urge to grab his towel and toss it away. She curled her fingernails against her palms, trying her best to keep him safe.
His face was a study in pain as he limped to the door. She wondered at the source of that pain. His employer hadn’t mentioned anything about an injury. Mason had only stated that Bryson was on temporary leave, but that he’d be more than happy to return to take her case. She had a feeling that Mason might have stretched the truth. A lot.
He opened the door with a bit of wariness this time, keeping his lower half hidden behind it.
Unable to make out what was being said, Teagan imagined it was far more clever than her conversation since they spoke longer than it took to say, “Hi.” When he stepped back, a rather impressive woman entered. Bright, attention-getting red hair floated above baby-blue scrubs. She marched across the room with the authority of someone who had a legitimate reason to be there. Teagan was quite certain that the woman’s muscular armswould have made a linebacker blush with envy. After snapping a white linen in the air and tucking it around the couch cushions, she ordered Bryson to lose the towel and lie down.
