Page 69 of One Wrong Move

She took a seat on the edge of the stone patio. ... Well, she didn’t know exactly what to call it, with its large fireplace and chimney standing at least twelve feet high, along with the side wings—one with an oversized grill, the other a prep station. She supposed it was an outdoor kitchen of sorts.

Not much later, Christian strolled back down the dirt path. He caught sight of her, and they both smiled. Man, he was handsome. But more important, he made her feel safe and strong and vulnerable and such a clumsy mix of emotions. It was crucial for her to not get tangled up in those feelings.

Tangled up. Warmth flushed her cheeks. The image of her and him tangled up in white sheets reading the paper on a Sunday morning flashed through her mind.

Whoa!Whatwas she thinking?Get it together, girl.

Christian tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Why?” She smoothed the sweatshirt.

“You looked really happy, then your expression rapidly shifted.”

“Oh?” She tried to will her cheeks to stop flushing.

“Yeah. Like shock or surprise washed over your face.”

“Hmm.” She shrugged.

“So what are you thinking?”

“What do you mean?” she blurted out with something akin to a snap.

“Whoa.” He held his hands up.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just all stirred up ... from the chase and all.”

“I get it,” he said.

She smiled and nodded. She needed to settle.

“I think we should watch the footage today. It’ll take hours, but it’s important to watch before we conduct our interviews,” he said.

“Agreed.” She nodded. “It may prompt questions we wouldn’t think of otherwise.”

“Or alert us if anyone tries to lie to us.”

THIRTY-FOUR

ANDI SETTLED INon the sofa and got comfy as Christian headed to the kitchen.

“I’m going to make some popcorn,” he said. “Do you want some? It’s amazing.”

“Amazing?” She smiled. “Pun intended?”

“Actually, happy accident.” He shrugged on a smile.

“You like puns?” she asked, sitting cross-legged.

“I love them,” he said. “As kids, we moved a lot, so Riley and I spent hours in the back of the car seeing who could come up with the better pun. It drove Deckard and...” He cleared his throat. “It drove Deckard nuts.”

She was about to press him on what he was going to say before he cut himself off, but he hadn’t pushed her, so she wouldn’t push him. As kind and relaxed as his manner was, his countenance spoke of a weight he carried. One of shame, perhaps. Deckard’s countenance spoke of pain and anger, Riley’s of fear and vulnerability. What had their parents done? No way three siblings struggled like that without something happening growing up. At least, that’d been her experience.

“I won’t be long,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He returned a moment later, catching her with her arms tangled in the sweatshirt yanked over her head. She composed herself and pulled her arms out of it, setting it aside.

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