He paid their bill, they shrugged into their jackets and headed home. Home being Lucas’ hillside chalet, which was within walking distance of the village.
They spent a companionable evening watching TV and having another drink. All their evenings were companionable; they were very compatible. Maybe Riley was quieter than usual—which was saying something, since he was not exactly a chatterbox—and maybe a little reserved?
He wasn’t distant, certainly wasn’t sulking. It was nothing Lucas could really put his finger on.
But there was something…
Something that, after waking an hour ago to find Riley had indeed already left for the office, compelled Lucas to drag his ass out of bed and hightail it over to the Pine Cone Café where he’d been waiting for fifteen minutes in near-subzero temps to get this frou-frou coffee.
Special Agent Christopher, inexplicably, had a taste for such things.
Mission accomplished. Eventually.
The Silver Sleigh Mocha turned out to be a decadently sweet iced coffee with a swirl of caramel and dusting of cocoa on the whipped cream—the finishing touch was silver edible glitter. Lucas felt queasy just looking at it. It was too pretty (and way too sugary) to actually drink, but Lucas had seen Riley down an Iced Sugarplum Bliss, which was iced coffee infused with a hint of plum syrup and vanilla, topped with whipped cream and purple sugar crystals, with no apparent ill effects.
(Although, come to think of it, that was the very night Riley had come up with his 12-Days-Or-Else, so who could say?)
His precious cargo stowed in the console cupholder, Lucas made the short drive to the office, nearly concealed by the wall of towering Ponderosas.
Riley’s SUV was in the parking lot but there was no other sign of life.
Lucas parked next to Riley’s vehicle and got out. The wintery air smelled like pine trees and snow. “Christmassy” according to tourists, but in fact, that was how Silver Pines smelled a good six months out of the year. He carried his coffee and Riley’s liquid dessert to the back door, typed his code into the keypad, and let himself inside the small, single-story building.
The tidal rush of wind through the pines snapped off as the security door settled silently into place. The overhead lights were still off, and the entire office was cloaked in a soft and sleepy gloom. Lucas made his way to the bullpen, the fuzzy glow of emergency exit signs illuminating empty desks and pushed-in chairs. A modest string of unlit Christmas lights stretchedacross the room. A few Christmas cards and holiday mugs littered the otherwise tidy space.
Heading down the hallway, he absently registered the faint buzz from powered-down computers and the softly whirring HVAC system, the smell of industrial cleaning supplies, the subtle scents of paper, ink, and printer toner…and the faint but familiar fragrance of Dove Men+ soap and Proraso aftershave.
Cause I’m already lonely
And I don’t know what to do
Lucas’ mouth curved as he picked up the faint sound of music. SafetySuit. One of Riley’s favorite bands.
They did not share similar musical tastes. He preferred blue collar rock and roll. Springsteen or Chris Stapleton or (at Riley’s urging) The Gaslight Anthem. But he’d developed a tolerance for pop-pop rock/alternative rock/ alternative rock-pop-rock-whatever-you-called-it. Peppy emotional breakdown in musical form? Riley’s music meant Riley was nearby, and that was always going to be okay in Lucas’ book.
Plus, they both hated Coldplay, so that was something.
Whoa oh, whoa oh, whoa oh
I want you to notice me
Yeah. No worry there. Lucas would have to be dead not to notice Riley.
Lucas passed the case board, barely glancing at the gallery of pinned-up photos, maps, and notes of ongoing investigations, making straight for Riley’s office with his peace offering.
From the angle of the doorway, he was able to see Riley—well, Riley’s boots, which were propped on the edge of the tidy desk—before Riley saw him.
And, as always, the sight of Riley—or apparently even Riley’s boots—was enough to warm his heart. And if that was a cliché, so what? Like a lot of clichés, it was also the truth.
It was hard to say what it was about Riley that made him so damned attractive. Well, no. He was a good-looking guy, no question, but his kind of good looks were not the brand trending on TikTok. He looked like he’d stepped out of a black-and-white war film—maybe the kind where the hero didn’t come back. Square-jawed, clear-eyed, with the type of bone structure that used to grace cigarette ads and military recruiting posters.
His wavy hair was the color of brown that looked red in certain light. Chestnut? His eyes were a striking blue. He was just over medium height, and wiry. Built for speed rather than heft. But he had a presence that conveyed solid authority. Authority, stoicism, and reliability. He was all of those things. Looking at him, you’d never think he had a sense of humor. But he did. He laughed easily, saw the humor in most situations.
Lucas found his quiet laugh one of the most pleasant sounds in the world.
He also had a terrific smile. In fact, Lucas had been a goner from the first time Special Agent Riley Christopher turned those baby blue eyes on him and then offered that rueful, boyish grin.
Riley wasn’t smiling at the moment, however. He was leaning back in his chair, long legs comfortably crossed. It looked like he’d been reading through a stack of old case files, though he was now gazing attentively toward the doorway. He’d have heard the security door, of course; sometimes Lucas suspected Riley had infrasonic hearing, like an elephant. To match that inconvenient memory.
