Page 75 of Threat of Danger
She called his cell when she was outside his front door, but he was opening the door before she finished. He must have heard her car come up the driveway.
“Everything OK with Chuck?” He wore black boxer shorts and nothing else, the house dark behind him, his eyes sleep-heavy.
Her heart gave a hard thud. The parts of her that made her a woman were wide awake.Resist, she ordered those parts, and slammed the door on their needs.
“Chuck is fine. Can we talk?”
He stepped aside and let her in. His living room smelled like wood fire. Red embers glowed in the grate.
When he flipped on the light, she blinked against the brightness, then against all that firm, muscled male flesh that faced her.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Let me throw on some clothes. Want to make coffee?”
“Sure.” She walked into his kitchen as he padded up the stairs. She did not look at his ass because she had that kind of stuntwomany discipline. She looked around instead.
The Daley farmhouse was about the same as her parents’, built around the same time from local fieldstone, less than two thousand square feet, still had all the original fireplaces and wide-plank wood floors. The kitchen was all blond oak cabinets, Formica countertops, brass light fixtures. Her LA friends would have thought it outdated. Jess liked the hominess.
The coffeepot sat on the counter. She found a bag of coffee in the cabinet right over it. By the time Derek returned in jeans and a United States Navy T-shirt, the scent of fresh brew filled his kitchen.
They sat at the table, across from each other, fingers curled around identical mugs. The overhead light—built into a fan—hung right above them. They were both lit up, could hide nothing.
He took a couple of quick sips, his massive chest rising under the soft cotton of his shirt as he filled his lungs. “OK. I’m ready.”
“Sorry for coming over this late.”
“You can come over anytime. You’re always welcome here.”
She wasn’t sure how to say what she came to say, so she jumped right into the middle. “You didn’t find the bones by accident.”
Derek watched her over the rim as he drank more coffee. “No.”
“You’ve been looking.”
“Yes.”
“For more victims?”
“Mostly for the masked man. I don’t like the idea that he’s never been found. I wanted proof. Dead animals get washed ashore all the time. Why didn’t he?”
“Have you found any sign of him at all?” She held her breath.
“No.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
“Yes.”
The kitchen spun with Jess.
When she’d gathered herself, she said, “Me too.”
Then she spotted a copy of Derek’s book behind him on the counter, and then the kitchen spun again, this time harder.
“Oh my God.” She let go of her mug with a clunk and pushed to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair.
She stepped away from the table, her gaze darting between Derek and the book. When she said, “You wroteDark Woodsto draw the man out,” her voice came out hoarse.
Derek stood too, slower than she had, his movements more measured. “I did. Which is why I’m not crazy about the idea of you being back home right now.”
