SHE WAS ASLEEP when he pushed open the bedroom door. The light from the kitchen illuminated the curve of her cheek, reassuringly flushed again.
Watching Alana Wentworth go white with shock slid an ice pick under his sternum. He’d apologized, and despite his brutal, uncalled-for words, she’d carried herself with considerable grace, offering to help him destroy the kitchen she was still using, then holding her head high as she walked down the hall to the bedroom she used as an office. She’d worked until after midnight, then asked him if he needed anything before taking herself to bed. He’d worked long past the point of exhaustion, going through the motions of stripping linoleum and plucking staples from the subfloor.
Eventually the noise got to Duke, and he walked past Lucas into the living room. But when his eyes began to sting from exhaustion and he went to claim his dog, Duke wasn’t asleep in front of the fireplace. Or the office.
The damn dog was asleep in a tight ball on the braided rag rug, nose tucked under his curled front paw, by Alana’s side of the bed. She was asleep, too, covers pulled up around her ears, blond hair gleaming in the moonlight.
His throat tightened. Add another emotion to the list of things he felt around Alana Wentworth. Regret for his harsh words. Shame for lashing out at a woman who’d made him no promises and done nothing but care about the people he was supposed to care about.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured again to the moonlight.
At the sound of his voice, Duke’s eyes opened. He studied Lucas without moving, waiting to see if he needed to get up or not before committing energy to the action. Alana didn’t move.
He crossed the walnut floor to stand at the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said a third time.
No response. Duke closed his eyes, apparently deciding that neither he nor Lucas were going anywhere tonight. How did he know what Lucas didn’t know himself, that he wouldn’t be going home to his own bed once again? Was it some signal in his body language the dog picked up on before Lucas’s brain recognized the decision?
He was too tired to bother undressing, but the demo work had coated his clothes with a layer of dust and shards of debris, so he stripped off his shirt and shoved jeans and socks to the floor. Then he lifted the sheet, blanket, and chenille spread just enough to slide into the bed and curl up around Alana.
Her body was warm and soft from sleep, her hair as cool as the moonlight. She made a little noise when he tucked her into the curve of his body, and turned, nuzzling in search of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She hummed, the uptick at the end asking a question.
“For what I said in the kitchen. For calling you shallow.”
A little smile curved her lips. “’S okay.” She rubbed his hip. “Go to sleep.”
He closed his eyes and dropped into the blackness, only to dream of dead-eyed teenage boys hanging off sheer cliff faces, then of Tanya, sprawled on the road. He was in his Denver PD uniform but on the county road leading to the cabin, and his cell phone was ringing. He fumbled at his hip until he woke up enough to realize the phone was actually ringing from his jeans pocket on the floor.
He lurched out of the bed. Duke pushed up on his front legs, ears alert. Alana struggled to one elbow.
The caller ID showed Matt Linden, one of his youngest officers and therefore stuck on the night shift.
“Ridgeway,” he said.
“Chief, sorry to wake you up, but I’ve got a situation with your cousin out on CR-46. I think you’d better come out here.”
The road to Tanya’s cabin. “On my way.”
“What’s going on?” Alana asked.
He thought about lying to her, about hiding whatever was coming with Tanya from her, but lying felt like an admission he’d rather not make. Lying insinuated that he had something to hide, that he felt one way or another about what happened in his life. “Something’s going on at Tanya’s place.”
She shoved the covers back and scrambled out of bed, nearly stepping on Duke in the process. “I’m coming with you.”
“This is police business, not a social call.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I heard CR-46. That’s the road to Cody’s home. His mother’s working. If anything’s going on with him, I’m coming along.”
He yanked his jeans over his ass and swiftly fastened zipper and belt. Duke stood at his calves, ears and tail perked expectantly, waiting for a hand signal to send him into action. “It’s not Cody.”
She stopped dressing. “Oh,” she said, clearly relieved.
“Go back to bed,” he said through his shirt.
Her eyes narrowed again. “It’s Tanya, isn’t it?”
If she’d phrased the question as a statement he could have ignored her long enough to get out the door, but ignoring the question answered it. “Yes,” he said, and gave Duke the signal to release him.