She returned his nod, but her eyes did not clear as she said, “I’ll grab a few logs. You go get your lighter.”
Daniel half turned back toward the boathouse, his gaze lingering on hers for a moment. “Okay. You can wear something of mine in the meantime.”
Annie followed him inside, choosing clothes from his dresser and shutting herself in the bedroom to change while Daniel waited in the living room. When she emerged wearing his white T-shirt and boxer shorts, he stood from his seat on the couch, throat bobbing.
She looked angelic, straight out of a dream, and he couldn’t fight the surge of desire that flooded him at the sight of her wearing his clothes—hair loose and flowing over her shoulders like something from the Sistine Chapel. With effort, Daniel kept his eyes on hers.
“Are you going to tell me what you were looking for out there? Risking your neck in the dark.”
Annie held out the wet pile of clothes in her hands. “Let’s start that fire. Then we can talk.”
Daniel nodded and walked past her to the kitchen, where he pulled open the drawer beside the sink and grabbed the box of matches that lay inside.
“Let’s go.”
He walked to the door and pushed it open, but Annie did not follow him.
“Daniel…”
She had never said his name like that before, and it stopped him cold. Daniel turned to look at her, but Annie was staring at the box of matches in his hand like it was something venomous.
“Where’s your lighter?” she asked, her face oddly drawn. “Where’s the little orange lighter I’ve seen you use to start fires every time I’ve been up here?”
Daniel blinked at her in confusion as he held the box of matches in one hand and the open door with the other.
“What are you talking about?”
“Where is it?” she said, voice rising. “Where, Daniel?”
Something strange happened as he stared at her, something otherworldly. For a split second, bright light filled the living room like a silent streak of lightning, illuminating Annie where she stood, staring at him like he was holding a smoking gun instead of a box of matches—and then it was gone, and a horrible realization crashed over him like an ocean wave.
Headlights. Someone’s headlights had just swept across the clearing.
This was it, and he hadn’t even heard it coming.
Daniel whipped his head toward the open door and stared into the two bright lights of the vehicle that had just pulled up behind the gate, high beams, blindingly white, that stayed on as the driver stepped out and slammed the door.
A dark figure climbed over the gate and came striding across the clearing with quick steps.
“Jake,” Annie breathed behind him as the figure drew near, and Daniel shifted where he stood, closing the door halfway with some instinctive surge of protectiveness, blocking the view into the boathouse as Jake approached.
The shoulders Daniel had seen strain under the weight of a fish on the line were straight and squared now, the body of the only man in town he had ever called friend rigid with purpose as he marched straight to where Daniel stood in the doorway, the pair of handcuffs he held jangling with every step.
“Little late for fishing,” Daniel said, his voice low and humorless.
Jake came to a stop before him. “You know why I’m here.”
Daniel said nothing and Jake met his eyes steadily, the white light framing him like an eclipse.
“I don’t want to do this, brother, but it’s my duty.”
For a moment, Daniel did not move, and then, slowly, he dropped the box of matches and lifted his hands, presenting his bare wrists.
Jake slipped the cuffs on, the cold metal biting at Daniel’s skin, andslid them closed until they clicked into their locks. When they were secured, he gave each a stiff tug for good measure, and a hot surge of anger flooded Daniel.
He’d sworn he wouldn’t let it get the better of him, but it was rising, lifting its horned head and sniffing at the injustice in the air.
Jake cleared his throat. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Jamie Boyd. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you—”
