The thought startled him. Pushed him from the room. In the kitchen, he poured a drink then slumped onto the sofa. Alone with his thoughts, he went over the night’s events. Tonight had been about a veteran wrestling his demons. What happened when the devil himself came looking for her? Danger inherently came with her.
Stone shifted on the sofa, his anger bubbling beneath the deceptive quiet of the night. It was too risky having her here. If the inspector saw what happened tonight … Would she put the pieces together?
Yeah, that’d go over great. He’d be shut down faster than he could blink.
He resented thinking about that when Brighton’s very life could be hanging in the balance. What was he supposed to do? Sacrifice his career this time? She’d taken it the last time??—or rather, her captors had.
Stone set aside the drink and pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. Need to get her out of here. Uncomplicate things.
He pulled out his phone and hit Cord’s number. Pressed the phone to his ear as he kneaded the tension knot between his eyes. The call went to voicemail. “Hey. It’s me. We need to talk. This isn’t working. You need to retrieve the package.”
He ended the call and leaned back against the sofa. Crossed his arms.
Moving her was risky. Increased the chances she’d be caught again.
Not my problem. Because keeping her here was riskier. He could lose the lodge if Pellet realized who Brighton was and what she was to him.
That was the question, wasn’t it? The one that tormented him.
No … the question didn’t torment him.
It was the answer.
Stone shoved up, wiping away the haranguing guilt, and made his way to his bedroom. He considered calling in Grief but decided his dog’s protection skills were better used guarding Brighton. He closed his door, pulled off his shirt, and noticed the laundry stacked on his bed. Mom must’ve done his laundry. That’s when he saw the sweatshirt on top. The one Brighton borrowed a few nights ago. He lifted it from the stack and dropped onto the bed. Recalled how twisted up he felt inside seeing her wear it. All his idiocy and sentimentality in a size L shirt that swallowed her petite frame. Though it’d been laundered, he held it to his nose. Drifted back to the date …
. . . . .
Baltimore, Maryland
She handed the small gift bag across the table to him.
He set down his fork and sat back. “What’s this?”
“A memento,” she said, grinning, the chiffon ruffle around her blouse making her seem an angel. “Just wanted to make sure you don’t forget …”
He reached in and found a sweatshirt. Pulled it out. Saw the lobster logo and laughed. “You seriously bought me a hoodie from this restaurant?”
“Our restaurant,” she corrected, sipping her wine as he set the gift on the floor and went back to his meal. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s nice. Thank you.”
“But you don’t like it.” She set down her glass. “But you love this place.”
Stone swiped his tongue along his teeth and leaned on the table, bringing his face closer to hers. “I love being here. With you.”
Though she grinned, it fell away suddenly. “Wait.” Nudging aside her plate, she leaned forward too?—but with a frown. “You don’t like this place? But you love seafood.”
He snickered. “Actually, I don’t.”
“But you set up our meets here.”
Stone smirked. “Because you love seafood.”
She drew back, lips parting as she stared at him. “I …” Her shoulders drooped. “So you hate this place.”
Now he laughed. “No. I love this place?—and now the shirt. Because of you.”
“Why would you repeatedly go to a restaurant you don’t like and eat food you don’t like?”
