I threw on sweats more appropriate than my silky pajamas and headed downstairs, desperate for coffee.
“Hey,” I said as I breezed into the main room, finding Lane on the couch. Half of his first floor was a wide-open space that included the living, dining, and kitchen.
He lifted his hand in greeting but didn’t speak, and that’s when I heard a second voice coming out of his phone.
A woman.
Addie?
Grabbing the milk out of the fridge—it would have to suffice until I had a chance to make a grocery run—I added it to a mug, then topped it with coffee. Turning toward Lane, I wiggled it in his direction, silently asking if he wanted more, and he shook his head.
For a moment, I stood at the island and stared at him. He had relaxed against the couch, phone on speaker and resting on one of those thick thighs, arms behind his head.
Then I realized I was eavesdropping, and snapped myself out of it, shuffling from the room.
I’d barely passed out of Lane’s sight when Addie asked, “Did I hear someone else there?”
Peeking around the corner, I watched as Lane dragged a hand down his face.
His stressed/nervous tic.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding resigned. “It’s, uh, Sutton.”
Addie was silent for several beats before saying, “That was fast.”
The hell was that supposed to mean?
“It’s not like that,” Lane said quickly. “Someone broke into her house the other night and destroyed it. She needed somewhere to stay.”
Addie snorted. “And you’re the only person in the world who has a spare room?”
“Addie…” Lane warned.
“Well, I hope she’s okay.”Yeah, you sure sound like it. “I’ll keep you updated on the Jane Doe thing,” she added tersely, then hung up.
“Fuck,” Lane muttered.
Pulled from my hiding place by some invisible force, I stepped out into the living room. Lane’s wide eyes snapped to me.
“Trouble in paradise?” I couldn’t resist asking.
He grumbled low in warning. “It’s not like that.”
“Funny,” I said. “I just heard you say the same thing to her. Which one of us are you lying to?”
“Neither,” he said in a way that told me maybe the person he was actually lying to was himself. “I’m not lying to either of you.”
I hummed noncommittally, then remembered something else Addie had said.
“What’s going on with Jane Doe?”
Of course, I knew exactly who Addie had been referencing. We’d found that poor woman several months ago, strangled to death in the foothills of the mountains outside town. She still didn’t even have a name.
“Turns out her case is tied to an active serial killer, so the FBI is officially taking it off my hands.”
“Well, that’s good, right? The movement on the case, I mean.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said absently, not meeting my gaze as he scratched his fingers through the stubble on his chin, seeming a million miles away.
