Page 11 of Toxic Truth

Chapter 3

An open areashowcased Lucas’s cabin, towering pines and firs nestled nearby, a mountain range rising majestically behind them, the air crisp and rain-scrubbed.

If Kenzie had arrived here before seeing him, she wouldn’t have asked why he chose to live in this place. Its natural beauty astounded, the seclusion a definite plus. The only drawback was the cabin’s floor-to-ceiling windows, plus lights burning inside showing every-damn-thing.

Her stomach rolled. “Do you have drapes or blinds in there?”

After helping her dismount, he regarded his place. “Never needed them. No one’s around.” He touched her hand. “They won’t be.”

His confidence soothed better than she would have predicted. She hoped hers would eventually catch up.

A growl sounded.

She flinched and pressed close to him. “What was that?”

“Nothing to worry about. Bullet. Quiet.”

The largest and blackest German shepherd she’d ever seen rose to its feet and padded from the shadow it had hidden in toward the top step on the porch. Where it thankfully stayed. “Do you like black animals for a reason?”

“I do. No one can see Caesar or Bullet coming in the dark.”

A wise choice.

He tended Caesar in a small shelter to the left. Rifle poised at his side, he then led her to the front door.

Bullet watched her closely.

“Put out your hand.” Lucas bumped her shoulder. “Let him sniff you.”

Easier said than done, given his size. Trembling, she did as requested.

The shepherd’s gentle nudging and cold, wet nose broke her tension. “Aw, that’s a good baby.” On her knees, she scratched behind his ears. His panting slowed and sounded curiously similar to a human’s sighs. She laughed. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“The best.” Lucas opened the door. “How about we go inside? Get you dry and warmed up.”

Except for countless windows, this place couldn’t have been more inviting from its arched ceiling to the rustic décor, heavy on leather and other masculine furnishings. Its scrupulous cleanliness surprised her. So did the appetizing roasted meat, onion, and garlic scents.

Her stomach rumbled.

He eyed her. “When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday.” The never-ending threats had killed her appetite.

“That won’t do.” He removed his boots near the door, put his rifle on a side table, and hung up his slicker. “By the time you’ve showered and dried off, I’ll have dinner reheated.”

She clutched the blanket to her throat. If the tracking device failed, they might need to escape quickly. Being naked during that wasn’t her dream scenario. “I’m good.”

“You’re muddy.”

Her loafers had dirtied his shiny floor. Even Bullet, who rested near the leather sofa, hadn’t left any paw prints. “Where’s your mop? I’ll clean up the mess I made.”

“Not as my guest, you won’t.” He pulled the blanket from her. “The shoes and socks go on the mat next to my boots. You can hang your jacket by my slicker.”

She did as he’d suggested then used his rag to blot her face and clean her hands.

“Back in a sec.” He returned holding several large towels, something hanging from his pocket. “So you’re a Stanford grad.”

Her sweatshirt bore the name. “That’s me.”

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