She glanced at Gill, then at him, her eyes wary, full of the knowledge that they’d almost gotten into a fistfight. Over her.
He started toward her. Gill shifted, blocking his way. “I’m only looking out for you.”
Lathan rammed into Gill’s shoulder, practically plowing through him. Gill was probably contemplating jumping him from behind, but knew better. That would’ve qualified as an unforgiveable sin in their friendship.
“I’m sorry we woke you. Go back to bed. You’ve got lots of sleeping to do before you need to wake up.”
A pretty pink color spotted her cheeks. “Come up with me.”
Her words painted a masterpiece in his mind. He imagined lying in bed with her again, holding her, stroking her bare skin, kissing her. God. Kissing her. His gut trembled. His fucking dick twitched and started to get hard.
She grabbed his hand and tried to tow him toward the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, then finally remembered how to cogitate. The eye. The murder in West Virginia. The square mile of tension between him and Gill that needed to be resolved.
“I’ll be up soon. Gill and I need to talk.”
She stopped tugging his hand, but she smelled faintly of garlic. She was worried about him. Him. No one worried about him. Except Gill.
“Then I’ll stay down here with you.”
Should he feel flattered or offended? Flattered she wanted to be near him. Offended she didn’t think he could handle himself against Gill.
“Do what you want, but if you stay, Gill’s going to question you.” He leaned in close and tried to whisper, “Don’t worry about me. I can paint the shutters with his face if I need to.”
She smiled, the scar on the side of her mouth hitching up higher than the other side, giving her a slightly goofy grin that was utterly adorable. “I know. But he’s your friend, and you shouldn’t be fighting about me. I’ll answer his questions, but he ain’t gonna like the answers.” Her midnight-blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “I don’t really like the answers either, but they’re the only set of truth I’ve got.” She dropped his hand and walked to the kitchen. At the kitchen table, she sat with her back straight, her head held high.
Damn. He liked her.
By the time he followed her, Gill had her name written across the top of his legal pad. Evanee Brown.
Evanee. No wonder he couldn’t lip-read her name. Those damned f’s and v’s.
*
Evanee emerged from the land of dreamless sleep and knew exactly where she was. Alone. In Lathan’s bed. When she woke at Morty’s there was always a moment of confusion when her brain struggled to remember where she was and how she’d gotten there.
Outside, the sky was an indeterminable shade between white and gloomy that perfectly matched her mood. She didn’t need to look at a clock to know it was well past time for her to be at work.
She’d made a stupid decision. One that just might’ve incinerated her source of income. Without so much as a phone call, she’d missed work. Ernie usually looked at such an offense as inexcusable. Many a waitress at Sweet Buns had been booted out the back door for less.
She needed to call Ernie and explain. She’d say she was sick—she had vomited. Then she’d apologize. Then grovel. And if that failed, she’d beg and plead and humiliate herself to get her job back. She needed that job. Needed the money. Because she needed to get out of Sundew before Junior caught up with her again.
Ken Doll had kept her up most of the night asking, then re-asking the same questions over and over. He’d tried to trip her up, tried putting words in her mouth, tried to get her to confess to something, anything other than the story she’d told him. The upside: It wasn’t hard to piss him off. She’d just told him the truth, and truth was always stronger than a lie. It wasn’t her fault the truth didn’t make any sense.
She got out of bed and went in search of Lathan. She found him in the kitchen. His broad shoulders stretched the material of his T-shirt, highlighting each ripple of muscle as he moved. Damn, he was a big guy.
He quietly worked over something on the counter. A golden-brown loaf of homemade bread was neatly sliced and waiting next to him. Her stomach whined a high-pitched sound that dropped to a low, ominous gurgle. She giggled, but the sound died when his dog—easily the scariest animal she’d ever seen—sat up from lounging on a dog bed the size of a twin mattress. She hurried to Lathan. If the beast was going to attack, the safest place was right next to its master, the one person she knew would protect her.
“Should I be scared of him?”
Lathan didn’t answer. He just kept working over the counter.
“What’s wrong?” She placed her hand on his arm.
He startled. A violent jerking of muscle that threw her hand off his skin. He whirled, arm raised. Fist tight. Elbow pulled back, ready to release in a direct line toward her face. His eyes, nearly the same color as the sad winter sky, didn’t see her, but looked through time to some terrifying event in his past.
She froze. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not after everything he’d done to keep her safe from Junior. Even from his friend.
Recognition brightened in his expression. He stumbled back from her, running into the fridge with his shoulder and hip. Terror poisoned his eyes for only the briefest of moments. He spun, fist driving through the air, its momentum stopped by the refrigerator. Metal crunched, plastic snapped, and something inside fell, clanging against the door on its descent.
Back heaving up and down, hands shaking at his sides, head bowed, he spoke. “Don’t ever sneak up on me.” The strange accent in his voice was more pronounced.
She knew—she didn’t know how she knew, but she knew—something had happened to him. Something bad. Something he still feared. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She felt like she’d stepped on a puppy’s tail.
Low in his throat, he groaned a disconsolate sound filled with pain.
Witnessing his misery gouged at her heart.