Page 52 of The Scenic Route
“Bennett and I were at the bar when a fight broke out—a verypatheticfight that I was not a part of,” Felicity quickly added before her sister could ask. “We think it was a distraction so that someone could slip something in our drinks without us noticing. Our main suspect is—”
“Your stalker?”
“No,” Felicity said with absolute certainty. “The bartender. I’m guessing he was paid by Dino, because the bar owner said he walked off the job when we went in there this morning to punch our main suspect in the throat—or the balls. We hadn’tcome to a consensus on the location yet.”
“Are yousureit wasn’t Green?” Molly asked. “The number one suspect is always the stalker.”
Felicity rolled her eyes at the empty room. “The number one suspect is always thehusband. I learned that from old reruns ofMurder, She Wrote.”
Bennett chose that moment to emerge in a cloud of steam from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle. His eyebrows shot up at her last statement, and she waved a hand in an I’ll-explain-later gesture. Tearing her eyes from his once-again-naked chest, she unfortunately ended up staring at the painting of the embracing couple. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
“Just because he acted drugged too doesn’t mean he was,” Molly continued as Felicity fought sleep. “It could’ve been just to throw you off.”
Felicity was too tired to keep defending Bennett without letting him know what they were talking about, so she continued her tale, hoping Molly would drop the issue. “Dino ran after us, possibly with a gun.”
“Definitely with a gun,” Bennett muttered, just loud enough for Felicity to hear, with a pointed glance at her still-covered calf.
Ignoring Bennett’s comment, she grimly plunged ahead, wanting to get the call over with so she could climb into the very comfortable-looking bed. “We made it to a well-lit and populated diner and ate pancakes, and then Bennett’s friend Ronan picked us up and drove us back to our hotel.”After helping usget married.“The next morning, the bartender had quit, the bar owner wouldn’t give us his name or location, plus Dino and Clint had checked out of their hotel, so we gave up and drove back to Simpson.”
“Hmm…” Molly’s hum was so skeptical that it basically accused Felicity of leaving out huge chunks of her story. “So what’s your plan?”
“We’re going to stay and see if Dino returns to his militia’s compound. I’m extra determined to bring him in now.”
“Okay. Be careful—ofeveryone—and keep me updated…daily. Buy another phone charger.”
“Charlie’ll just steal that one too.” Felicity wasn’t even mad about it anymore, it happened so often.
“At least you’ll have it while you’re in the mountainous boonies. What’s it like there?”
“Beautiful.” Especially her current view of Bennett’s chest. “Weird. There’s an unusually high percentage of very attractive people here.”
“Huh. Maybe I should go visit to see for myself,” Molly teased. “Need backup?”
“Oh please,” Felicity scoffed. “As if you’d look at anyone who’s not John.”
“I look at other guys,” Molly protested, and Felicity heard John object in the background. “Fine, I never look at other guys. Happy now?”
Felicity was pretty sure that last bit wasn’t directed at her, so she stayed quiet.
“Okay, John’s here now, so neither of us is going to get aword in edgewise.” More male grumbling on Molly’s end of the call proved her point. “Stay safe, I love you, and remember what I said about cute guys in stalker clothes.”
Felicity didn’t want to hear more about that subject, so she resisted calling out Molly’s nonsensical metaphor. “Love you too.”
Once she’d ended the call, she instantly felt the tension of the room press down on her, making her skin heat and prickle. Without letting her gaze wander over to the mostly naked man sharing the honeymoon suite with her, she unzipped her bag, hoping to find something to use for pajamas. The slightly wilted bouquet of blush roses lay on top where she’d carefully placed it that morning, unable to leave it in Vegas. After all, it was herwedding bouquet. She may never have another one.
Gently placing it to the side, she dug through her clothes. Wrinkling her nose, she sniff-tested a few tanks. Her trip to the mountains was stretching longer than she expected. Soon she was going to have to find out if Simpson or Rosehill had a laundromat.
“Here.”
Startled out of her gloomy thoughts, she looked up to see a folded T-shirt inches from her face. She kept looking up, up, up from her crouched position to see that Bennett had lost the towel but had gained a shirt and shorts. Since he was still holding his T-shirt extended toward her, she accepted it with a “Thanks? What’s this for?”
“You. To wear.” He gestured at her body without looking squarely at her, the edge of his cheekbones splashed red. “Tobed.”
“Thank you,” she said again, accepting the shirt, humor creeping back at the sight of Bennett, awkward and tongue-tied from that short discussion about her pajamas.
He glanced at her suitcase, his gaze catching on the bouquet, and his lips curled up in a tiny, pleased smile. As sappy as it was, his expression made her extra glad she hadn’t abandoned the flowers in Vegas.
Thirteen
