Page 7 of Disappearance at Angel's Landing
Images blurred on the screen as her mind drifted back to Branch Thompson for the hundredth time tonight. He’d corrected Risner’s use of her last name, though she wasn’t sure why. In what world did Branch do anything that didn’t involve scowling, growling or prowling? It didn’t make sense and had ultimately landed her higher on Risner’s hit list. The district ranger had removed her from the investigation in retaliation.
It was just as well. What did she know about murder? Her expertise—as far as her supervisor and coworkers were aware—extended to pairing the right eyeshadow to her uniform, coatingherself in sunscreen becauseew, wrinklesand changing out her boot laces with a pop of color.
No one took her seriously. And that was the way she liked it.
Pounding registered on the front door.
Her entire nervous system flinched at the onslaught, and she nearly dropped her Cherry Garcia on her favorite blanket. Dribbles of ice cream slid down her chin. She wiped it with the back of her sweatshirt sleeve. “Who is it?”
“Branch.” His voice was throaty and low.
Nope. Not what she was expecting. Her heart rate shot into overdrive. She scrambled to clean up her face, smooth down her hair and make it look as though she hadn’t spent the last three hours trying to drown her sorrows in calories. Then again, maybe he’d feel better she’d eaten, considering he’d gifted her that protein bar earlier.
His presence practically bled through the thin wood door. “You still there?”
She didn’t know. Maybe this was an out-of-body experience. Or a dream. Never in all his time at Zion had Branch crossed the development from his house to hers.
“Um, just a second!” Squealing. Sure. That was the way to go. Lila nearly tripped over her extra thick fuzzy socks as she rushed to the front door. She scanned the house with her hand on the doorknob. There was no saving the Netflix-and-chill vibe she’d lost herself in, but at least it didn’t smell like animal carcass in here. She wrenched the door inward, setting sights on the mountain of a man she had to remind herself would only visit for official reasons. “Uh, hi. Who died? I mean, who else died? I mean, what can I do for you in the middle of the night, Branch?”
What wouldn’t she do was more like it.
He answered with a low growl that could mean anything fromI don’t understand your joketoI only speak to animalsas he stepped past her into the house.
She gestured over the threshold behind his back. “Won’t you come inside?”
He didn’t fit here. Though she imagined he didn’t really fit anywhere given his size. It worked well for him out in the open, but in her tiny-ass house that she had to share with a roommate to afford? Not so much.
Branch surveyed her kingdom as she closed the door behind him. She’d changed out of her uniform into one of her oversize T-shirts from a secondhand shop in Springdale. Sans pants. This was going really well for her tonight. He watched a few seconds of the movie before taking in the melting ice cream and discarded spoon on the scuffed wood coffee table.
Then took a seat on her couch she was sure struggled to support his weight and grabbed what was left of her Cherry Garcia and the single spoon. That she’d eaten off of. “I love this movie.”
“What is happening?” Lila slapped both cheeks, trying to wake herself up. Because there was no way in hell Branch Thompson—Mr. Don’t Look at Me if You Don’t Want a Tree Shoved Down Your Throat—was sitting on her couch, eating her ice cream and watching her favorite movie. She must’ve died on Angel’s Landing today. Yeah. That made more sense. She was dead, and this was her purgatory.
“Sit down.” Branch nodded toward the butt imprint on her side of the couch.
Lila didn’t know what else to do. Rounding the coffee table, legs bare and a little prickly, she lowered herself onto the couch beside him, careful to keep a minimum of six inches between them. She sat stiff as a board, her mouth dry. She tried to clear her throat, but two pints of Ben & Jerry’s had the unexpected ability to make that impossible.
“As much as I loved our time together today, Branch, my shift is over. I’m a free woman for the next six hours, and I’m curious as to why you’re here. In my house. Eating my ice cream.”
“Did you want more?” He offered her the container, only to reveal less than a bite left. Rude. Settling back into the thin couch cushions, Branch spread his legs in front of him as though he had nowhere else to be. Or like he made it a habit to visit her in the middle of the night.
“I’m good.” No. Her voice did not just crack on that last word. Closing her eyes against the rush of heat in her face and neck, Lila tried to get a handle on herself. Then she set her full attention on him.
Shadows had settled under his eyes, deepening the lines in the corners. Like he was in the kind of pain no one could fix. His shoulders seemed tighter, and it took everything in her not to offer to rub out the tension. He wouldn’t appreciate being touched, and honestly, no matter how many times she’d fantasized about this exact moment—having him in her house—this entire situation made her nervous as hell. Maybe she hadn’t actually accomplished scrubbing the day off in her too-hot shower until her skin turned raw.
“Are you a serial killer?” She’d never seen an attractive serial killer, but if they were out there, she bet they would look just like him.
Branch turned those dark eyes on her. His mouth twitched at one side as if she’d surprised him. Then again, maybe he got accused of committing murder all time. She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about him. The man wasn’t exactly keen on engaging with society. “No.”
“Okay.” She dragged the word out longer than necessary to try to get her brain in drive. “So if you’re not here to kill me, what are you doing in my house?”
Setting the now empty pint on the coffee table with a last lick of the spoon, he scanned her house. Though she couldn’t imagine what it was he was looking for. All these government houses had the same floor plan and upgrades, which meant he was looking at an identical layout as his. “You’re back on the case.”
That…was not what she expected to come out of his mouth. Shock held her brain hostage for a minute. Maybe two.
Branch didn’t seem to mind the resulting silence.
Then she couldn’t stop the torrent as though she’d finally been released from a year-long vow of silence. “I don’t… I don’t understand. Risner sent me back to headquarters. He wrote me up and told me to make sure I met with HR in the morning. As of three hours ago, I was convinced I was being fired. What could have changed?”
