“Here. You’re hot.” What was wrong with her? “I mean it’s hot here, so you would be hot. Physically.” Not any better. “Your body would be hot.”Stop talking, Nadine.
“Thanks.” Wes had the decency to drag his shirt on, although that didn’t help Nadine, who was forced to witness how his skin slid oversmooth muscle as he lifted his arms through the sleeves. “Red is my favorite.”
“I figured it would be.”
“How?” He quirked an eyebrow, and Nadine was embarrassed at how it affected her.
“Easy. Red’s basic.” She waved her own blue one.
“A cheap and inaccurate shot, Barbault.”
Wes laid the freezie against his forehead, then his wrists, before he tilted his neck to place it on his jugular. Nadine watched avidly before she realized she was acting like a creep and pulled her gaze away from the long line of his throat. His hair was mussed and fell in his face instead of his usual smooth style.
“I didn’t know your hair was wavy,” she said.
Wes slid the freezie into his mouth. “It’s the heat.”
“Right.” Was she getting turned on from watching Wes eat a goddamn freezie? No. She had pride and self-restraint, and also this wasWes. “Did you find anything yet?”
“Actually, I did.” He answered calmly, but she could read him well enough to know he was excited. “I was about to call you in.”
“Tell me.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Tell me or I’ll hide the ice cream I bought yesterday.”
Wes caved instantly. “Give me a sec to get it.”
She did her best not to check him out as he walked away, and failed. Wes must focus on RDLs or something, because those thighs were transcendent, and when he came back, she saw how his quads…bunched? Flexed? Didsomethingthat made her fingers twitch.
He waved a paper at her. “It might not mean anything,” he warned.
“We’ve found nothing for days,” said Nadine, doing her best to focus on work and not his legs—a difficult task as the shorts had ridden up in a distracting way. “Not much is a huge step forward.”
Wes handed it over. “Have a look.”
It was part of a letter, and although the salutation and date were missing, the signature, written in a flourishing hand, remained.
“Allan,” Nadine said. “Allan Portson? Dot’s husband?”
Wes nodded, and she lifted the page to read.
…the story of what he’d done. I didn’t react well, and I apologize. I know you dislike speaking of this, and I don’t blame you. But think about what I said. It’s important. The world would be a better place if potato-faced clods like him faced the justice they deserve.
With love,
Allan
“It was in a box with some magazines, odds and ends like paper clips, and a recipe for something called a cheese ball,” Wes said. “Like the last box packed on moving day.”
Nadine looked at the letter again. It was something, but only barely. “‘Potato-faced clod’ could refer to a lot of people.”
“It could, but it’s also the first thing we’ve found, so I’ll take it.”
“True.” She felt her elation rise. A small triumph was still a triumph. “Better put it somewhere safe.”
“Great idea,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “Do you have any other very obvious tips for me?”
