After breakfast, I walk back to my cabin with the agent in tow, a large canvas bag strapped over his shoulder and a leather laptop satchel over the other.
The cicadas are buzzing in every direction, and the sun is hot on my head as I follow the little path I’ve worn into the grass.
“That’s some family you’ve got. I don’t think I’ve ever been around a family that big.”
And exhausting. I had to put up with Mason pulling me to the side to give me the third degree about going to my cabin without letting anyone know, so I reminded him I have a shadow that already chewed me out yesterday.
“Yeah, they can be a bit overbearing sometimes.” My irritation with Mason is still fresh in my mind.
“I take it you don’t like overbearing.” There is humor in his voice at the irony of the situation right now.
Stepping onto the first step of my porch, I turn on him. The extra height of the step puts me almost eye level with him. “No, I don’t. I also don’t like bossy.” My voice is sharp with the subtle reference to the comment I made to him yesterday when he told me I had to let him know when I want to go somewhere. “I stay in this cabin to get away from that and get some peace and quiet.”
His eyes move over my face, pausing on my lips, before meeting mine again. His neutral face is like stone. “It’s too bad that you’re stuck with overbearing and bossy for the time-being.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn and walk into my cabin and stop in the middle of the living room, sniffing the air, the subtlescent of cloves and smoke tickle my nose, and it pisses me off that he’s only been here one night and I can smell him.
Inmyhome.
The memory of the kiss the other night slams to the front of my mind, attached to his scent. The gentle way he held my wrists and the way he commanded me with his lips, my core tingles at the vivid picture in my head.
He almost bumps into my back. His arm protectively wraps around my waist when he stops himself, his palm settles on my stomach. “What? What’s wrong?” Concern is in his voice.
God, he feels good.
Damn it.
Pushing his hand from my stomach, I shake my head and walk to my studio. “Nothing.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
RHYS
SITTING ATthe little table in the kitchen with my laptop, I’m going through emails and checking reports as the music from Ms. Harlow’s studio fills all the quiet spaces. As soon as we got back to the cabin, she unceremoniously walked into her studio room and hasn’t come back out.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I look down to see Swan’s name on the screen.
Putting the phone to my ear, I answer. “Abbot.”
“How are things in paradise?” The teasing humor in his voice gets my hackles up.
“Did you call to socialize or to talk about work?” I deadpan. I’m not in the mood to joke.
When Ms. Harlow stopped in the middle of the living room when we walked into the cabin, I thought something was wrong and I almost bumped into her. I didn’t mean tograb her, it was an instinct, but the way she shoved my hand off her has bothered me since it happened.
I don’t know why she stopped so suddenly, and it pisses me offbecauseshe pushed my hand away. Everything about her fucks with my head.
He laughs like he actually said something funny. “Fine. Did you see the emails I sent you? I included all the files I could find for Trendell, he’s led a colorful life.”
Trendell’s our stabbing victim.
Holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I switch screens to my email. “I was just about to open them. You want to give me the cliff notes version?”
“Sure. I’ll start with the arrest report, it’s longer than my fucking arm. He’s got distribution, intent to distribute, possession, larceny, domestic abuse. You name it, he’s been busted for it.”
I open the attachment with the list of charges. “What types of drugs?”
“It would be easier to list the drugs he hasn’t been associated with. They vary from schedule one to schedule five, but you can tell he got ballsier with each charge.”
