Page 33 of Colton's Secret Weapon
Maybe it was just her. Not knowing how to break up right…
“I’m waiting on a call back from her.” Mitchell’s words put an immediate halt to her mental throwing up. And drew her gaze up to his face.
“And you wanted to be down here when the call came in,” she said slowly. Because the couple of days they’d spent together had been intense, and his body language was easy for her to read.
Or, more likely, she hadn’t lost her ability to tune in and gain understanding, in spite of her extreme mental and emotional flux.
A fact for her thoughts only. As secret and sacred as the sexual ones she’d been having the past couple of days.
Not to be shared with Mitchell Colton.
Ever.
Mitchell pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his loosely fitting shorts. Set it on the counter. Wishing, for the dozenth time since he’d come down, that he’d thrown on a T-shirt before leaving his room.
The shorts had seemed sufficient when he’d been thinking that he was pulling them on with the very small chance that he’d see Dove St. James when he went down to make his coffee—a task normally done in the nude, right after he slid out of bed and before he got in the shower.
He’d hoped to be showered, shaved and fully dressed before facing the woman who’d bombarded his life. She’d had a hard few days and had gotten to bed late.
No way he’d expected her to be superwoman in the kitchen, making multiple meals, before six in the morning.
By the time he’d registered the unusual scents wafting through the air, he’d already been detected and could hardly turn tail and run. The explaining that would have required was painful just to think about.
Stirring the sausage that was bordering on being more than merely browned, he turned down the heat and faced the woman who’d kept him up even after he’d closed his eyes the night before.
Standing up straight, holding her bowl like an iron shield in front of her, she asked, “What are we expecting to hear?”
And he gave it to her straight. “Kansas found Whaler’s cap.”
Her gaze widening, her mouth dropped open. No words came out.
“I was hoping to know more before I saw you,” he told her the truth.
“How much do you know?”
“The cap was found half-buried in some leaves, not far from an overhang about five miles outside town.”
“Where? Hanging over what?”
Wishing he was anywhere but where he stood, Mitchell had never felt so underprepared—and underdressed—in his life. “Three miles up the mountain, overhanging the Bering Sea.” He gave it to her straight.
Whether she was ready for the truth or not, she’d made it clear the night before that she deserved his full respect. Which, in his world, meant his full disclosure.
“They think he went over.”
He couldn’t tell her that. Kansas had given facts. Not opinions. “They’re thoroughly checking the area.” And there was more. “It looks like there was a struggle nearby, like someone was lying down.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she took another bite of what looked to be some kind of rabbit food. That needed a load of dressing—for starters. “Were there signs of anyone having been dragged?” she asked.
He shook his head. Knowing full well that the news didn’t mean that no one had been hauled to the edge of the cliff. Only that if someone had been pulled across the ground, the dragger had cleaned up after himself.
Dove nodded, then, setting down her container, moved over to the sausage, stirring it, as she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hang close until that call comes in.” And then added, “Unless you have to go up and get ready for work?”
“I’ve got my paralegal handling things at the office today.”
It wasn’t the first time. Or even the fiftieth. He’d always been hands-on when it came to his work. Meeting his clients in their territory, not his. It was the best way to see it all and therefore gave him his best shot at finding ways he could help.
Like the fishing idea he’d come with while talking to Kirk the night before. A way for St. James Boats to make additional revenue.
