“Old sins cast long shadows. So they say,” Daphne said.
Lovell’s smooth brow wrinkled. “Who says that?”
“Agatha Christie made it popular, but it was around long before she was even a twinkle in her great-grandparents’ eyes.”
He stared for a beat, then turned back to Ryan. “That may be true, but I was a good kid. I kept my head down, got through school, played a lot of sports to keep me busy. Was even offered scholarships, one for football, the other for baseball, to different D2 schools. Home life sucked, especially after my grandpa died, but I never got into trouble.”
The image of a young Lovell—James—appeared in her mind’s eye. Tall, lanky, maybe even gangly. She didn’t know why, but she assumed his muscles only came later in life, after he’d joined the military. With his looks and his athletic prowess, he’d probably been popular. But with an unstable home life, she wondered if his accomplishments masked insecurities.
“We’ll keep looking,” Ryan said. “In the meantime, can you have a look at a video clip from the pass? We caught Weeksleaving the area, but getting your confirmation would help,” he said, a question in his dark eyes.
“Of course,” she replied, wishing she could force Weeks off the road with the power of her mind. Sure, the video would be hours old, and Weeks was probably already in LA or wherever he was headed. That didn’t mean she couldn’t fantasize about his accidentally slipping off the icy road, though.
Fifteen minutes later, they were donning their coats and hats again after confirming that the man driving the twenty-year-old Yukon, which he’d hot-wired from god knew where, was in fact Weeks.
“I’m glad he appears to have left,” she said, pulling her hair out from her collar. “Not that he can’t come back, but I’m going to live for a while in a little fantasy where he’s far away.”
Lovell chuckled, not a common sound, and she looked up to see his warm eyes on her. “I would think you could come up with a better fantasy than that.”
She blinked. Had he just made a joke? Well, more like a teasing commentary. But still… She ignored the swoop in her stomach that hinted at all the fantasies she’d have no problem coming up with if she let her mind go there. But she would not. As tempting as it was.
Instead, she hooked her arm in his and led him toward the door. “I’m also fantasizing about French onion soup for lunch. Maybe with some of the delicious bread the café gets from that bakery in Sonora. Then long hours of walking the streets with Callie shopping. I’m thinking of moving here, or at least getting a place, since I’ll have a little peanut niece or nephew soon. If I do, that means I’ll need to furnish it. Which means hours and hours of shopping.”
Beside her, he grunted. “Woman, you need to work on your fantasy skills.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lovell silenced his phone, another unknown number, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He could hear Daphne rummaging around in her room, no doubt getting ready for bed. Intentionally, he turned his attention to the fire crackling in the hearth. No need to think about Daphne undressing.
Shopping wasn’t high on his list of ways to spend his time, and today hadn’t changed his opinion. At least he’d had Daphne to hold his attention. Playing the role of her personal protection had its benefits: He could watch her all he wanted and chalk it up to his job. No need to acknowledge that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Not even if he wanted to.
Dinner had been the reprieve both he and Philly had needed from the hours of what felt like aimless wandering around town. Good food, excellent wine, and even better company. All capped off by Daphne having more to drink than she planned, so he’d driven the Bentley.
He grinned at the memory. He hadn’t pushed or tested it, not on the ice-slick roads, but he had enjoyed the power of the engine, the smoothness of the ride, and the responsive handling. Definitely an experience he’d never forget. Carsweren’t everyone’s thing, but he remembered, as a kid, feeling awed when a sleek ride slid through his neighborhood, like a shark gliding through the ocean. He remembered how people responded to it, to the power and wealth it symbolized. As relative as those were growing up where he had. The men, and it was always men, driving them weren’t good people. They weren’t people he wanted to emulate or be anything like, but the allure of power, of the ability to move through their part of town without fear, stuck with him.
Now, at thirty-five, he’d accepted that his love of luxury cars didn’t stem from a healthy place, but it wasn’t a terrible thing either. He worked hard, didn’t have a lot of other expenses, helped people, donated to charities he cared about. If his biggest hang-up from childhood was a weird obsession with luxury cars, he was doing pretty damn good.
The door opened behind him, and he craned his head to look over his shoulder as Daphne emerged from her room dressed in a silk pajama set—long pants and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, both a deep green—covered with a thick moss-green cardigan. She wore the same woolly socks he’d pulled on her feet the day before, half slippers, half socks.
“Everything okay?” he asked. She couldn’t see all of him from where she stood, but her eyes skimmed over him. He’d changed into a hoodie and his sweats. Her gaze lingered on his feet still propped up, warming by the fire.
“Fine,” she said with a little shake of her head. “Just wanted some water before bed.”
He tracked her across the room to the kitchen. The entire cabin was essentially a rectangle. At one end was the garage with a door into the main room that was informally broken into two parts, an eat-in kitchen and a living room. The bedroom, bathroom, and a storage room took up the third part of the rectangle. The safe room was belowground, occupying the samespace as the communal area above it. He’d scoped out the two access points—the first a set of stairs from the bedroom closet, the second a ladder underneath a small door in the floor by the fireplace—when they’d first arrived. Once belowground, the room required a code and a palm imprint to access. How Daphne’s biometrics were introduced to the system, he didn’t know, but he’d made her test it the night before, and everything worked as it should.
“What are you up to?” she asked, pulling a glass from the cabinet.
“Mail, staring at the fire,” he said, lifting a pile he’d picked up from his apartment the day before.
“Want me to shut this off?” she asked, gesturing to the kitchen light.
“Sure, I won’t be up much longer.”
She flicked the light off, leaving only the table lamp and flames lighting the room. The muscles in his stomach tightened as the shadows danced across her face and figure.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, then shook her head. “Never mind, a dangerous question to ask at eleven at night when a fire dances in the fireplace and the snow is glistening under a full moon.”
The left side of his mouth lifted. “I was wondering how many men have fallen at your feet.”
