Not a glass, one of those coffee mugs she’d seen on her social media feed that had a built-in heater to keep hot drinks hot. A wave of gratitude nearly had her weeping. Someone had brought her coffee. Hot coffee. She could smell it now.
Braving the pain because coffee was worth it, she reached for the mug, and as she did, her hand brushed against a note. Picking up both the mug and slip of paper, she took her first sip, the blessed black nectar of the gods warming her body as she glanced at the writing—a note from Callie.
Morning, beautiful. So sorry I can’t be here when you wake but today is my last day before vacation and I need to tie a few things up, then I’m all yours. I hope you slept as well as can be although I’m sure you’re sore as hell after last night. There’s a bunch of ibuprofen in the drawer, and I checked your water bottle. Take a couple before getting out of bed and sip your coffee while they kick in. It won’t stave off all the pain, but it will help.
Ryan wants to come by when you wake up. No doubt he has more questions, maybe an update, too.
Amber is around, so is Lovell. I’ll see you at 3. Call if you need anything. Stay safe and warm. XOXO
She smiled and set the paper down before doing exactly what her sister suggested, downing a couple of pills before returning to her coffee.
Halfway through her cup, her brain started working. Had Weeks and Beeks been caught? Or had they managed to slip away again? For two seemingly low-level criminals, they were either exceedingly lucky or much better at their job than the info Ava dug up suggested. Well, they weren’tthatlucky. After all, she was propped up, warm and cozy at the Falcons’ clubhouse, drinking excellent coffee and not tied up in their cabin waiting to be bartered away.
As she thought about how the morning could have unfolded, her mind wandered, as it often did, from topic to topic. How had Daisy found Weeks and Beeks? How much had she paid? Where had their intel come from to find Lovell in the first place?
So many unasked and unanswered questions, but the more she turned everything over in her mind, the more doubt crept in about Daisy’s involvement. She couldn’t put her finger on a single specific reason why she believed what she did. It was more a collection of little things mixed with a healthy dose of intuition.
A knock at the door pulled her from her musing. Too sharp to be Amber, she braced herself for her visitor. “Come in.”
Lovell stepped through, shutting the door behind him. His eyes skimmed over her, or what little of her he could see, before resting on hers.
“How are you?”
“A steamroller ran me over, but the coffee and ibuprofen are helping.”
A ghost of a smile touched his eyes. The man hadbroodydown to an art, although she didn’t think he had to try hard. He wore it well, but still… Then again, her lady bits might not survive it if he smiled a real smile. He wasn’t a thing like the gorgeous models and actors she’d worked with over the years, but none of them had ever made her feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun. As intoxicating as Lovell might be, though, the story hadn’t ended well for the boy, and she would do well to remember that. Which would be easier if she could forget how almost-tender he’d become when he found out about Callie’s pregnancy. How he’d instantly switched from angry to concerned, caring. Her sister was her Achilles’ heel, and while his solicitude hadn’t been for her sake, his aim had struck true.
Reining her thoughts in, she asked, “What time is it?” Her phone had been taken into evidence, and she had no idea where her watch had gone after Hawkeye cleaned her wrists.
“Almost noon. You hungry?”
She scanned her body, weighing whether it could handle food. She needed to eat, she needed to refuel, but her body didn’t always react well to stress. Some people turned to food to soothe them; she’d never been one of them. Back in the day, her model friends often envied her, but while definitely convenient for her profession, it wreaked havoc on her system—maybe not in the short term, but it wasn’t healthy long-term.
“Maybe some oatmeal with a little brown sugar if you have it?” Her go-to meal when she needed easy-on-her-stomach fuel.
“With milk?”
“Is there any other way?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were one of those oat milk or almond milk or soy people.”
She chuckled. “I live in a country with some of the best dairy in the world. Whole milk is my god.”
His lips flirted with thinking about smiling. “I’ll make it now. You want to come down, or do you want me to bring it up?”
The thought of getting dressed and walking down the stairs to the lodge room sounded about as awesome as pulling her toenails out, but if she didn’t move at all, she’d regret it even more.
“I’ll come down. It might take me a while, but I’ll make it. Besides, I hear the police want to chat with me.”
He nodded. “They do. The storm moved out this morning, as predicted, and the roads are getting cleared. Want me to call Ryan and tell him you’re awake?”
“Give me twenty minutes? I’m moving slow. At least for a few hours.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll start the oatmeal, then come back and check on you.”
He shut the door behind him, and she took another minute to gather her courage and make a plan. After setting her coffeedown, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, trying not to stiffen her body even more. With her feet solidly on the floor, she manifested both her personal trainer and yoga instructor. Reaching her hands overhead, she clasped them together, then slowly stretched side-to-side. Her muscles protested, everything in her body protested, but after a dozen or so gentle rocks, they quieted down from a scream to a dull grumble.
When her spine and torso felt a little looser, she pushed herself up to stand, sucking in a breath at the pain scorching a path through her body from her toes to her lower back. Knowing she simply needed to move through it, she took a step forward, then another, slowly pacing the room. When her muscles and joints got the message that they had to start working again, she paused for a few easy stretches.
