Page 28 of Lethal Deceit

She groans. “Can we call a truce? I’m exhausted.”

“Truce.”

“Good.” She leans back with a sigh. “Now turn down the volume. You’re not exactly soothing.”

I grab the remote and lower the sound without a word.

She curls deeper into the chair, her head tipping back as her eyes flutter closed.

And for reasons I’m not ready to admit, I watch her a little longer than I should.

Just to make sure she’s breathing.

Seven

Samantha

A door closing jerks me awake. As the room comes into focus, I zero in on the food bag sitting on the coffee table in front of me. Thai food. Andhim.Staring at me.

My stomach grumbles, and I move to reach for the food when Mick hands me two shopping bags.

“Clothes. Get dressed, and I’ll dish up.”

I hesitate, and he sighs. “But if you’re that paranoid, I’ll wait for you.”

I snatch the bags out of his hands and hurry into the bedroom again. I close the door and tear open the bag, hoping they’ve provided something that won’t be memorable to anyone if I manage to escape.

I pull out gray sweatpants, a gaudy fluorescent-pink T-shirt, a yellow synthetic cardigan, and beige underwear that looks like it belongs to an overweight retiree.

Are they messing with me? That has to be the explanation.

“You aren’t the only one who’s hungry,” Mick calls.

Sighing, I scuttle across the room, keep my eyes on the door in case he enters, slide the gun under the mattress, and unzip my pack.

As I’d feared, my clothing is either damp or wet. Muttering to myself about my ongoing bad luck, I pull the ugly clothes on, pick up the underwear I discarded earlier, wash it in the vanity, and hang it up on the shower rail to dry.

I zip the bag, slide it under the bed, and glance at the mattress, trying to figure out how to keep the gun close with what I’m wearing. With a muttered curse, I leave it where it is and step into the other room.

I stop short—he’s setting the table, lining up water bottles like we’re about to host a dinner party.

Thankfully, the bag is still stapled shut with the order attached so I know he hasn’t touched it. My stomach growls in response to the savory aromas, and I don’t bother to sit as I reach for the bag. His hand covers mine, and I flinch.

“Take a seat. I’m going to give thanks first.”

Frowning, I shake my head. “I don’t want to sit at the table with you. This isn’t a date.”

His eyes travel over me, and he covers a laugh. “Nice outfit.”

I sit back, glowering at him. “Get on with it. I want to eat.”

His smile fades, and he clears his throat, shuffles in his chair, and stares at his plate for so long I think he’s changed his mind. “Lord, uh, thank you for this food. And uh… thank you that you’re a forgiving and merciful God. Uh… Amen.”

Well,thatwas painful. He looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to add my “amen” to his.

“Amen,” I say. Anything if I can finally eat something.

He tears open the bag and places the containers on the table. I grab the closest one, so hungry I don’t pay attention to what it is.

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