Page 8 of Frostbite & Mistletoe
It wasn’t a question.
“Yup, that’s me. Started a couple of months ago.”
“And here you are, already making friends,” she said with a hint of dry humor that surprised him.
Despite himself, Gabriel felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.“It’s not my job to make friends.”
“Obviously.” She sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair and loosening more strands from her ponytail.“What time tomorrow?”
“8 a.m. work for you?”
Kymberlie nodded, her gaze shifting back to the building.“I’ll be here. With coffee. I’m gonna need a lot after tonight.”
“At least no one got hurt,” Gabriel told her.“In my line of work, that’s the best possible outcome.”
That got him a weary smile.“You’re right. It could’ve been a whole helluva lot worse.”
Gabriel’s cat wanted to linger and draw out the conversation with her as long as possible. He shut it down ruthlessly.
“See you in the morning.” Gabriel turned away, knowing all hell was likely to break loose when he went back inside tomorrow and conducted a more thorough inspection.
Chapter Three
Saturday, November 27 (the next day)
Kymberlie’s boots squelched across the soaked carpet as she trailed Gabriel through the remains of her club.
Despite the disaster hanging over her head, she couldn’t help noticing he had a nice ass. And shoulders a mile wide.
Her inner wolf spoke up unexpectedly.He smells good. And he’s interested in us. You should let him court us.
In daylight, the damage looked even worse than it had last night. The acrid stench of smoke clung to everything—the walls, the bar, her clothes, her hair.
Beneath it ran Gabriel’s scent—clean, musky, with the intriguing scent of big cat. Before she went home last night, someone had told her that Gabriel was the newest member of the Cougar Lake Sabertooth Pride, headquartered in nearby Bearpaw Springs.
Kymberlie forgot about Gabriel at the sight of the water damage darkening her walls and ceiling, the thick layer of soot coating her furniture and the wide granite bar top, and the ugly black scorch marks crawling down the hall from where the fire had started.
The flames had ruined the back of her club, but the heavy smoke and the water from the fire hoses had ruined everything else.
The sick feeling that had started in her gut last night intensified. She’d barely slept a wink as the events replayed in her head on a nonstop loop.
The Hair of the Dog looks like hell, but at least it’s still standing, she tried to console herself.It could have been so much worse.
She watched Gabriel inspect every inch of the damage zone.
For a big man, he moved with surprising grace—his broad shoulders shifting beneath his navy uniform shirt as he bent to examine the scorched electrical panel in the storeroom where the fire had started. His golden-amber eyes narrowed in concentration, and Kymberlie found herself oddly mesmerized by the intensity of his focus.
Until he started writing.
Each scratch of his pen across his citation pad sent a fresh wave of dread through her stomach. The more he wrote, the more money it would cost her.
Money she didn’t have right now.
“This panel hasn’t been up to code in at least thirty years,” Gabriel said, not looking up from his clipboard.“The previous owner installed it himself, I’m guessing? I’m no electrician, but even I can see it’s an amateur job, dangerous wiring, and I’m betting he never pulled a permit.”
Kymberlie bit her lip.“I don’t know. Maybe. I bought the place five years ago.”
“Did you get an inspection before purchase?”
