Page 82 of Lethal Threat
My head swims as I search in my mind for something, anything, at all that might be a clue.
Come on.Remember something.
Why was I boating?
In the winter, no less.
I’m staring blankly at the screen when I realize the chopping has stopped. The mudroom door opens.
Quickly, I close the browser window and the screen of the laptop. When I stand up from the table, Cole’s watching me, thunderclouds surround him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
COLE
After two hours more of chopping wood, I’m spent. But I’m not blind.
Sierra jumps up from the table. My laptop is more or less where I left it, but I know she’s been online.
I doubt she was shopping for fuzzy slippers if her expression is a sign.
“Find anything interesting?”
She swallows roughly. “A story about the police finding me. I saw an interview that I was in from the Air Force as well.”
My blood slows and ices up. “Yeah. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
I search her eyes for honesty. She holds my gaze with an expression more like determination than lying.
I hang my gloves on the rack by the door and start working at the laces on my boots. “It might be best if you go slow with that kind of thing.”
“Fine.” She spins and takes off.
Fuck. I’m fucking everything up. My mood is venomous as I stow my gear and drink a glass of water. I need to get a grip. That takes time. I stall and pace around downstairs until I’m clear-minded.
When I hit the landing, I immediately see that the guest room door is closed. Gathering my patience, I stop next to the closed door.
I knock twice. “Sierra?”
Thirty seconds later, the door swings open and we’re less than six inches apart.
She’s still angry from earlier. Not surprising. Once a firecracker goes off, it’s hard to rein back in.
Her narrowed lashes frame hard eyes. I guess she needs to chop some wood too.
“The axe is out back if you want to wail on some wood. I’m feeling a lot more civil than I was.”
She presses her mouth into a flat line, glares at me. “It’s probably not a good idea to leave axes lying around right now.”
I turn toward my bedroom. “Dinner’s at five at my parents’ farm. We need to leave here at four-fifteen sharp.”
I’m already prepared. She’s going to refuse to go. I head that off at the pass. “Be ready, or I’ll carry you out in whatever state you’re in.”
The guest room door slams behind me.
She’s no happier when we leave. But she walked out under her own power.
