After dinner, Millie racked her brain as to who the mysterious witness could be. Who would lie about her like that? She said good night to her aunt and stared at the rain pouring outside the window while wandering through the otherwise vacant house. Scott and JT had better not be installing more booby traps without her. Such methods concerned her, but keeping Aunt Mae safe was far more important than anything else.
She caught up on paperwork and went through the company finances, her mind reeling. She also called Brigid two more times, but the woman didn’t answer. Maybe she had been called out on a case.
Her phone buzzed. “Frost.” Hopefully it would be good news.
“Agent Frost. Hello there. My investigators have informed me that you’re in a world of trouble in your cute little town,” Werner Dearth drawled.
Millie’s lungs stuttered. “I told you never to call me again.”
“Please. I think you love the attention.”
She watched the storm outside. “What do you want?”
“I, ah, want to know if you’ve found my wife. I’m so worried, you know.” He chuckled.
The cretin. If she reported his call, he could claim concern for his missing wife. “This is harassment, Dearth.” She clicked off, surprised that her hand trembled.
Then she got back to work, irritated that neither Scott nor JT had checked in with her.
Around ten that night, the rain started to batter the ground as if the gods were trying to hammer through the soil. Tension rode the air. She couldn’t breathe, so she stepped out onto the porch, surprised at the thick humidity that slapped her. She looked around and spotted Scott and Roscoe jogging from the gate.
“Where have you been?” she snapped, stepping into the wild rain. The droplets drummed against her face and she tilted her head to take more of them. Water had matted Scott’s hair to his head and his light T-shirt to his hard, cut chest. Roscoe panted next to him and shook, sending water in every direction.
“Scouting the property,” Scott said. “Go back inside. It’s raining.”
“You go back inside,” she snapped, still angry at his high-handedness. Fury and frustration surged through her like a torrent, unyielding and hot. “I’m so tired of you telling me what to do.” She recognized her unreasonableness, but the anger needed an outlet, and the man had threatened to spank her. Furious and confused, a part of her felt lost. Millicent Frost never felt lost.
“I’m your lawyer, and the man who was inside you not too long ago,” Scott retorted.
“Not if I fire you,” she snapped back, blinking water out of her eyes and refusing to acknowledge the second part of his statement.
He stepped into her space, bringing with him the scent of man and storm. “You’re going to fire me?”
“Maybe.” A surge of rage stole all her thoughts. “I’m tired of you playing games.” She knew the second the words flew from her mouth that they were unfair.
“Games?” he asked, rearing back.
“Yeah.”
Roscoe sat and panted, looking from one to the other, his tail wagging on the wet ground.
“Great. Now I’ll have to give him a bath,” she yelled.
“What is wrong with you?” Scott wiped rain off his face.
“You. You’re what’s wrong with me,” she muttered. “I’m tired of this. Tired of the tension, tired of the uncertainty. I’m just tired.”
He cocked his head. “Do you want to go for a run?”
“No, I don’t want to go for a run.” She shook her head. “I want to figure out who killed Clay, and we’re not doing it here. I’m going into town, to Snarky’s Bar, to see who’s there. Maybe a regular or two will have something to say that’ll remind me of what happened that night.”
“There’s a raging storm going on and if I just heard right, a tree came down at the far end of the property. You’re not driving anywhere.” Scott’s face was a hard, unyielding mask.
Ire rolled through her like a runaway freight train. “Oh, if you think you can tell me what to do because we fucked one time, Scott Terentson, then you’re crazy.”
His eyes blazed an unholy blue.
Then he moved.
