“You want to go out?”
Roscoe turned, looked at the window, then snorted. Torrential rain poured down in buckets instead of streams. Scott should be upstairs in bed with Millie, keeping her warm, but he needed space.
The violence of the dream haunted him. But it was the ominous warning he’d felt during it that wouldn’t allow him to get any more sleep tonight.
He hadn’t been in control with her the night before, and that concerned him. He always maintained control. But he was also as screwed up as screwed up could be. How could he cover her if he couldn’t even shield himself from the dreams?
He lumbered over to the chair by the window and fell into it, listening to the storm as it continued to rage. Roscoe padded to his side and slapped his big maw onto Scott’s thigh.
Scott absently petted the dog and ran his mind through Millie’s case. He didn’t like the lack of other suspects. She’d not only invented but touched the murder weapon at the time of the killing, and she’d been found covered in the victim’s blood, both of which concerned him greatly. Oh, he excelled in trial. But every lawyer realized the unpredictability inherent in every jury.
He reached for his phone, then paused before setting it down. The plans that he needed to make for her in a worst-case scenario shouldn’t be traceable. He’d never broken the law in his life, but he would create contingencies in the event Millie’s case didn’t go the way he wanted.
For the first time, he put somebody above the vow he’d taken to the law. When it came to Millie, he harbored no qualms at blowing up his entire belief system. He would keep her safe. Period.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Millie hummed softly to herself as she finished scrambling eggs and throwing in a copious amount of cheese. She’d also tossed in onions and peppers, so the concoction could be considered healthy.
She’d risen early to compile the picnic baskets for Alex’s charter, then had assisted him with the safety checks for the anglers. One client hadn’t purchased the correct fishing license, so she’d taken care of the requirement online.
JT provided a two-hour lesson on the riverbank with his usual gruff manner. The group of young teachers on vacation had seemed enthralled and must like the grumpy type of man.
Verna had dropped off Alex before taking their eldest to school for the day, and Millie wondered what it’d be like to have a family. She’d always seen herself getting married and having children. Aunt Mae would love to spoil the next generation.
Millie’s heart warmed that she could help Verna and Alex. He’d thanked her profusely for the job before instantly charming his group of four couples, bowling champions from the next small town over. The assembled anglers appeared excited to hit the river, even though the rain would continue sporadically throughout the day. There was something truly enjoyable about a river after a wild storm like the one they’d had the night before.
As Alex had pulled the boat away from the property to head to the bigger river, she’d longed to go with the group. There was nothing like fishing a calm stretch of stream before the rain splashed it. But then she’d returned to bed, immediately falling into peaceful dreams until later that morning.
Now she looked out the window at the mellow, almost peaceful rain dropping to the earth; she couldn’t see either Scott or Roscoe. They’d gone for a run at least half an hour ago, and she had started to make breakfast.
The night before had been both a little intimidating and a lot exhilarating. She had seen a side of Scott Terentson...hell, she had experienced a side of Scott Terentson that most people probably didn’t know existed. In fact, until the night before, she hadn’t realized the depths to that man.
She rubbed her chest. She was falling for him, and she knew it. How confusing. She felt both unsettled and vulnerable, and yet he’d intrigued the heck out of her last night. What kind of adventures could she find with Scott if she stayed with him? Not that he had proposed forever with him, but still. Considering whisker burn pinkened almost every square inch of her body, the matter bore contemplation.
Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see that the transfer from her bank account to the business had gone through. She didn’t have a lot of available funds, but she was happy to share what she could. The Derby would bring in necessary cash flow, but she needed to pay Alex now.
She should check on her patents again. She’d invented a few fishing gadgets and had applied for patents, which should be coming in soon. Then she needed to somehow find a partner or a manufacturing firm, a matter beyond her experience. But after studying her great-aunt’s finances, she realized she needed to step up and right now.
She heard the rumble of an engine before a black SUV came into view—so somebody had opened the closed gate. She didn’t recognize the vehicle, so she rushed to the cupboard near the door and drew out her Glock 19, her heart hammering against her rib cage. She opened the door, kept her back to the frame, and swung out, pointing at the vehicle. Her great-aunt still slept peacefully, and Millie would shoot anybody trying to cause harm.
The SUV rolled to a stop and all four doors opened. She set her stance.
“Yo, Mills, put the gun down,” Clarence Wolfe called cheerfully from the driver’s seat as he emerged into view and shut his door. “I tried to find a latte place in town to bring you a treat but failed. Sorry about that.”
Holy crap. She instantly dropped her arm.
Brigid Banaghan jumped out of the passenger seat, hauling several laptop bags with her. “Hey, Mills,” she said cheerfully, not quite meeting her gaze.
Millie crossed her arms, careful to keep the gun loose. “Brigid,” she said warningly, as the other two occupants of the vehicle, Ian and Oliver Villan, came into view. The twins had recently left MI6 and seemed a little lost to her.
Wolfe and Brigid walked toward her across the damp ground, while the twins moved to the back of the SUV to begin hauling out luggage and what looked like computer and surveillance equipment.
“Whoa, what is happening?” Millie put up her hands, momentarily forgetting the gun.
“What’s happening is you should never point a Glock at me.” Wolfe easily secured the weapon and tucked it in the back of his pants. “You look good.” He leaned down and engulfed her in an all-encompassing hug. She hugged him back, unable to do anything else.
Wolfe was six and a half feet of pure, raw, dangerous muscle. He wore a torn shirt, a very worn leather jacket, and ripped jeans. He had brown eyes, short hair, and a jaw most certainly chiseled from solid rock. The scar cutting from his left temple down to his jugular gave him the aura of a wild man instead of detracting from his good looks.
