“Should we—?” he began.
“We should get hot cocoa!” She jumped to her feet with the words. Then, looking toward the path added, “Or something else warm. There was a place near where we got the sandwiches. It gets dark so early this time of year. It’s only”—she glanced at her phone—“eight twenty-one.”
“The Rio Grande Cantina,” he said. “That was the name, wasn’t it?” It was only a fifteen-minute walk. He’d scared her, he realized. Or something had. Maybe she’d felt things shift between them, too. And this was her reaction.
Not exactly a big green light.
He didn’t like making her nervous, and he hadn’t meant to reveal his attraction or make her uncomfortable.
“There was a camping gear place near there, too,” he said, trying to figure out how to ease her mind. “We could even grab a second tent, if?—”
“We might need all our body heat in one, as chilly as it is tonight,” she said. “Besides, I trust you.” She reached for his hand, and when he took it, tugged him out of his chair. “Besides, there’s a room-divider that zips right across the middle of the tent, if you get out of line.” She narrowed her eyes at him in mock menace.
She was witty and quick and dang near the prettiest thing Wolf had ever seen.
They started walking together, their hands parting naturally but touching now and then as they headed up the path from their campsite to the narrow, paved lane and then down it toward the village. They walked in silence, while he tried to put words together. He liked to think before he spoke, so his words meant something when he said them. It took until they were entering the small cluster of buildings for him to say, “That means a lot to me, you saying you trust me. I trust you, too, Camellia, which is weird, because I’ve been raised to not trust people.”
“I know you have,” she said. “And I also know you trust me. I mean, you’re letting me read your mother’s journals. That says a lot.” She sent him a crooked smile.
“Don’t let that feel like pressure though, as far as the case goes,” he said. “I know you’re only human.”
“Dang, here I was hoping you thought I was supernatural.”
You kind of are.Wolf bit his lip to keep that particular thought from leaking through.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Camellia
The village consisted of a souvenir shop, three places to eat, one bar, a supply store with a post office inside, and a stand that sold charcoal and bundles of firewood, during seasons when fires were permitted. It also contained too many people.
Camellia had suffered some very real PTSD during and after Earl’s stalking. She’d been over it until that phone call, but since then, she’d felt it stirring inside her.
Until this place. Here, she’d been feeling safer and safer, tucked away in the wilderness, all alone with a beautiful, gentle man.
But now she was out among people again, and it felt like her security blanket had fallen away. All her old fears were nipping at her heels.
Her phone, in her pocket as always, made a sound, and she said, “A signal. What do you know?”
“That’s handy.” He pulled out his own phone, glanced at it, then looked sad.
Camellia knew his first instinct had probably been to check for messages from his mom. She gave his arm a squeeze and checked her own messages. “Oh, hey, there’s text from Detective Simms. Several texts,” she said, scrolling, reading. “She checked into Mary Jo Gallagher’s suicide.”
“Earl’s girlfriend,” he said, and she nodded.
“There’s no evidence of foul play.”
She texted back a thank you but didn’t expect a reply. It was after hours.
It was a sad kind of relief to know that Earl’s girlfriend had taken her own life, even though she suspected he might’ve driven her to it. But they were far away from him, Camellia reminded herself. She was safe here.
There was a lot of activity over by the bicycle rental kiosk, and not for the bikes. The booth was lined with maps and flyers. A book on the counter like the one where they’d signed in had one person after another flipping its pages.
“What do you think that’s about?” She looked up at Wolf as she asked it and was struck again by how handsome he was. She’d been feeling things back there at the campsite—like her whole body had been infused by the firelight.
But gosh, she’d told him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t interested. She’d look like an idiot if she went back on it, wouldn’t she?
“We can find out,” Wolf said. Then he walked over there. She didn’t go with him. There were chills chasing each other up her spine, like eyes on her back. It was so real that she turned to look behind her. Someone was walking away up the path. Someone with a familiar shape and posture and gait. She gasped and whirled right into Wolf’s chest.
