Page 45 of High Density

“I figured,” he replies. “Look out for her.”

“You know I will.”

I get a grunt in response before he ends the call.

Sliding my phone in my pocket, I glance through the curtains inside, where I can see Janey putzing around her kitchen. After the sheriff and Agent Kramer left, I told Janey I had to make a quick call and would be right in. We haven’t had a chance to discuss arrangements, but there’s no way I’m going home tonight. I’m just not sure how to best convey that without pissing her off again.

She swings around when I enter. As much as she’s managed to appear pretty cool and collected, I can tell this situation has her freaked out. She’s hypervigilant, her senses seem on high alert, and a nervous energy comes off her in waves. I’m thinking maybe reality is finally starting to set in.

I kick off my boots and walk right up to her, taking her in my arms. Her body feels rigid.

“Are you heading out?” Even her voice has a higher than normal pitch.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

She leans back slightly to examine my facial expression.

“No?”

I guess I should be more clear.

“I’ll need to run a load of laundry though. Don’t wanna be wearing the same dirty clothes tomorrow.”

No sooner are the words out of my mouth when all the tension seems to drain from her body, and she drops her head against my shoulder.

“You’re staying here,” she mumbles by way of confirmation.

“Yep.”

There’s no objection from her, which only proves she’s more shaken than she cares to let on.Good. I’d rather have her on her toes and cautious tomorrow than cocky and reckless.

But for tonight, I want her to feel safe, relaxed, and get a decent night’s rest. It’s been a long-ass day.

I drop a kiss on her forehead and release her from my hold.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’m just going to throw my stuff in the washer. Want me to toss something of yours in?”

“I can do it,” she offers.

“I’ve got it.”

She’s still standing in the kitchen, looking a little forlorn when I get back with the laundry basket from the bathroom.

“Go to bed, Janey,” I tell her as I walk by. “You’re swaying on your feet.”

Her laundry is right off the kitchen and I dump the entire contents of the basket in the washer. I hope she’s not too fussy about separating stuff. I find a setting I hope is enough to get rid of the caked-on gunk from my jeans, but not too much so it cooks Janey’s delicates. The display says it’ll be forty minutes.

Janey’s gone when I walk into the kitchen, but Ginger is standing by the door, whining softly. I shove my feet back in my boots and take her out for a quick pee. As soon as we get back inside, she heads back to her bed and curls up.

In the sink, I find a couple of dirty dishes left from dinner I quickly wash up and put away. Then I grab a cold slice from the leftover pizza Janey put in the fridge, settle in on the couch with my feet up on her coffee table, and flip on the TV to an all-day news channel with the volume turned way down.

Waiting for the washer to run through its cycle, I must’ve dozed off at some point. The machine’s soft buzzer wakes me up. It takes me a moment to clue in where I am, and what that sound signifies. I stretch, work out the crick I got in my neck, and go check on the laundry. After switching the load from the washer to the dryer, I walk through the house, turning off the TV and the lights. Then I make sure the doors are locked before I head to the bathroom.

On the counter, Janey left me a brand-new toothbrush.

I wasn’t sure where I’d end up for the night; on the couch or in her bed. Given the circumstances, the couch seemed the more appropriate choice, even though that wouldn’t have been my preference. Seeing that toothbrush sitting on the counter tells me that despite being dead on her feet, Janey was thinking about me when she hit the sack. I’m going to take it as a sign, so after I brush and do my business, I turn toward the bedroom instead of the living room.

She’s on her side facing the door when I walk in. Her eyes are open.

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