He coughed, the sound awkward and embarrassed, then nodded, his hand warm and solid around hers. “You should. I’ll keep you safe, Abby. Always.”
His confidence was misplaced, but she let him have it. It was amazing how easy he was to manipulate. He flicked a glance her way, eyes full of that raw sincerity he wore like armor. It almost made her feel something. Almost. Then he leaned forward and cranked the wipers up as the rain went feral, pounding the truck hard enough to make the frame complain.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?” Abigail kept her voice soft. “Since we’re, you know . . . engaged. I have been charged with murder.”
Wayne shrugged one broad shoulder. “I had a discussion with my boss. Told him it was self-defense. And if it comes down to you or the job? I choose you every time.”
She almost fluttered her eyelashes but chose to smile instead, letting him see just enough warmth to keep him hooked. “You are the sweetest.” The words were easy, automatic. Inside, she was already calculating the consequences if he truly did leave his job for her. If he did, he was of no use to her. But as long as he remained useful, she’d play the role he wanted. “But you really must keep working for the FBI.” She patted his hand, her touch light and reassuring. “We need you keeping us safe.”
“I know, baby.” He patted her thigh.
Baby.She should stab him for that alone. She cleared her throat. “You really do have an important job, and you can’t be protecting me all the time. My house has an excellent security system. I think you should go back to the city tonight and keep trying to find the person targeting Laurel. I would never want to interfere with your work.”
“Oh, hell no.” His response was immediate, forceful. “I’m staying with you tonight, Abby. There’s no way I’d leave you alone.”
Damn it. That didn’t fit in with her plans at all. She couldn’t tell him he was smothering her because then he’d want to know why, and that just wouldn’t do. “All right,” she said softly, her fingers trailing over his knuckles. “But you have to promise me, tomorrow, if I stay home and secure, and away from Laurel, that you’ll go do your job. It’s imperative you find this maniac. I can’t lose my sister, Wayne. I just can’t.”
“Of course. You have my word.” His eyes softened, the fierce determination melting into something achingly genuine. “But I won’t leave you uncovered.”
She dipped her head. “You’re too good to me.” Tomorrow, she could get to work and find the shooter long before Wayne ever could. She leaned over and kissed him on his rough cheek. “I’m so glad we’re together.” She put just the right amount of purr in her voice this time.
He grinned, his hand squeezing hers. “So am I.”
She had to ditch him soon if she was right about what was happening . . . and she was always right.
Chapter 27
After a fairly sleepless night,WalterSmudgeon listened as the rain hit his wooden roof with dull pings. He stood at his kitchen sink with a chipped coffee mug in one hand, watching steam curl off the surface. Dark roast. No cream. Not now that he was healthy.
He hadn’t slept well after the sniper had dared shoot into their office the night before. This guy didn’t care who he killed.
Behind Walter, the bedroom was quiet. He didn’t need to turn to know Ena was still sprawled across his bed, long legs tangled in the sheet, one arm draped over the pillow. Her dark hair fanned across the white cotton like spilled ink. Who would’ve thought he’d fall for a younger Fish and Wildlife Officer who somehow liked him back? It was way too early to get serious since they hadn’t been dating long. But he was serious.
She always looked peaceful in the morning. Peaceful and, honestly, a little dangerous.
He’d seen her take down a guy twice her size with a collapsible trout net once. Flipped him like she was landing a steelhead.
Walter took another sip, then checked the time. Almost eight in the morning. He needed to be at work by nine to head out and execute a warrant with Laurel and keep her from getting shot. Somehow.
He’d lived out about twenty minutes from Genesis Valley for six months now. One of his favorite things? The damn mail. Every morning, like clockwork, his rural route carrier came rumbling up the gravel road and dropped that day’s envelope-shaped pile of junk, bills, or bad news into the black metal box nailed to the post at the end of his drive.
By eight in the morning, he had mail. Rain or shine.
He grabbed his coat, shrugged it on, and spared one last glance at the bedroom. Ena shifted in her sleep, the blanket sliding off one shoulder, baring smooth skin and the thin strap of her cami. He paused.
Damn, she was beautiful. Way prettier, kinder, and smarter than he deserved. She was part Japanese, and he was trying to learn the language. Just so he could someday propose to her in it. When was a good time? Was it too early? His best friend, besides Ena, was Laurel Snow, and she didn’t understand relationships any better than he did. But it had to be way too early.
He thought, for the third time that week, about looking for an engagement ring, just in case. Ena didn’t exactly scream “diamond solitaire,” but he wasn’t going to propose with a fishing lure. Even if she might appreciate that kind of practicality.
Let her sleep. It was her day off, and he had a quiet moment before everything inevitably turned to—
He opened the front door and froze. A man stood at his mailbox. The figure hunched low, hoodie up, one hand inside the black box, his box, like it didn’t belong to a federal agent with a .40-caliber Glock and a mean hook.
“Hey!” Walter barked.
The guy spun and bolted.
Walter leaped down the porch steps in two strides, boots pounding wet earth, mud splashing up his jeans. The rain picked up. The guy slipped, scrambled, and ran like hell toward the tree line.
