She stared at him, hoping he’d explainthatcomment. But instead, he turned back to the papers in front of him. After a few minutes, she said, “If you change your mind about you and me, and I miss a signal, just let me know, okay?”
He let out a deep sigh and pinned her with an exasperated look. “Teagan?”
“Yes, Bryson?”
“Shut up.”
She grinned and scooted back on the couch to sit cross-legged while he reviewed her research. It was taking him far longer than she’d expected. The folder wasn’tthatthick. She’d brought the summary, not the detailed reports. But he kept thumbing through the pages, comparing things, rereading. She was dying to know what he thought. She was also dying for an entirely different reason.
She climbed off the couch. “Where’s the nearest toilet in this monstrosity? I’m about to pee my pants.” She hopped back and forth from one foot to the other. “Never mind, I’ll figure it out.”She ran into his master bedroom and chose door number one. “Found it!” she called back, before slamming it closed.
BRYSONSTAREDAThis bedroom doorway where Teagan the Tornado had just disappeared. He’d expected a different woman when she woke, figuring her earlier actions were a type of bravado, a coping mechanism because of what had happened to her. Then again, she hadn’t slept long enough to sober up.
He took his cell phone from one of the piles of paper on the coffee table, idly rubbing his aching hip as he reluctantly pressed a programmed number that he should have deleted months ago. When the line clicked he said, “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Delightful, isn’t she?” Mason chuckled.
“You mean she’s always like this? There isn’t a cure?”
“I’m not taking her back. If that’s what you want, I’m hanging up.”
He turned his head, looking through the glass doors at the back of the kitchen. The creek was too low to see from here unless he stood. But the pilings holding the dock in place reached like spindly fingers toward the bright blue sky overhead, a reminder of his last conversation with Mason. Had it been only yesterday?
“Bryson? You still there?”
“I’m here. You mentioned when I was ready, that you’d throw me a line. Looks like I’m going to at least dip my toes in, whether I want to or not.”
“She’s a hard person to say no to.”
“Yes. She is.”
“Whatever you need, it’s yours. Just name it.” Mason’s tone was all business now.
“My files, all those boxes I foolishly—and against FBI policy—saved from the Ripper case with the Bureau. I asked you to storethem along with other case files you archived for The Justice Seekers. Is it possible to get them sent here, when you have time?”
“You’ll have them within the hour.”
Teagan appeared in his bedroom doorway, looking slightly green and more than a little woozy as she gripped the doorframe. She really didn’t know how to hold her liquor, which for some reason he found adorable. “Thanks, Mason.”
“For the files?”
He tightened his hand on the phone. “We’ll start with that, for now.” He hung up. Then he grabbed his cane and laboriously climbed to his feet.
Teagan trudged toward him and stopped a few feet away, her hand clutching her stomach. Bryson had a feeling he was about to finally meet the real Teagan.
She looked up at him, misery drawing tight lines at the corners of her eyes. “Did I really tell you I had to pee?”
He smiled. Maybe he’d already met the real Teagan after all. “Come on. I’ll make you some fresh coffee and my special hangover blaster.”
Chapter Six
When Bryson had mentioned a hangover blaster, the name alone should have warned Teagan to just say no. But she had to admit, even sitting on his master bathroom floor with her head hanging over a toilet, that awful concoction had done the trick. Too bad that meant throwing up everything she’d eaten or drank for the pastweek.
She shuddered and sat back. At least she could be grateful that the man was a neat freak. Either that or he hired really great cleaning people. His bathroom floor was spotless. She winced. Or it had been, until she’d come along. With her tummy finally settling, she pushed herself to her feet and then wobbled to the sink.
After rinsing her mouth out with some mouthwash that she’d found in a cabinet and brushing her teeth with her finger and a dab of toothpaste, she felt almost human again. She washed her face, made sure her stubborn hair hadn’t escaped its braid, then did a quick refresh of the bathroom. The sound of voices engaged in conversation had her hurrying through the master bedroom and opening the door.
The front double door was wide open. Bryson was in his wheelchair directing a man with a hand truck full of bankers boxes toward a hallway that ran across the back of the house. Careful not to get in the way, she plopped down cross-legged on a leather padded bench just outside the bedroom and waited.
