Page 26 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

“I’ll walk you back to the cottage.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m used to making the trip alone.”

“I promised Natalie I would. And I always keep my promises.”

“Nice to know.” Her lips bowed as she pushed back her chair.

He rose too, followed her out the door, and waited while she locked up. When she turned, he reached for her hand and wove his fingers through hers. “This isn’t too fast, is it?”

“No.” A dimple appeared in her cheek. “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t done that.”

The walk back to the cottage in the quiet night was much too short, and all too soon she was unlocking the door.

He couldn’t leave, though, without a plan in place to see her again.

“There’s a great restaurant not far from here, if I could interest you in dinner one night next week.”

“Sold.”

He hitched up one side of his mouth. “That was easy.”

“Should I play hard to get?”

“No. I’m not into game playing. Why don’t I call you over the weekend to arrange a day and time?” A flimsy excuse to hear her voice between now and their date, since there was no reason they couldn’t finalize their plans tonight, but if she caught on to his ploy, she let it pass.

“My calendar is wide open in the evenings. Whatever works for you will be fine with me.”

“Good.”

Silence, broken only by the chirp of serenading crickets.

There was no excuse to linger. He should go.

But as Cara’s eyes suddenly filled with yearning ... as the air around them began to crackle ... as longing pulsed between them ... a powerful temptation to kiss her chipped away at his resolve to confine expressions of affection tonight to hand-holding.

He had to get out of here.

Fast.

If he didn’t, he was going to—

All at once, Cara rose on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. Then, with a whispered, puff-of-warm-breath “good night” that caressed his cheek, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

Heart thudding, he groped for the chair beside him and held on tight.

It seemed his definition of slow was different than Cara’s.

Yet by her own admission, she was a woman who didn’t beat around the bush. Who communicated what was on her mind.

Since kissing had apparently been front and center, she’d taken the initiative and set the stage for more—whenever he was ready.

Which might be a lot sooner than he’d expected, given the buzz radiating all the way to the tips of his tingling fingers.

At last he turned and walked back down the path, pausing to cast one last final look at the cottage before he rounded the house to return to his car.

A soft, uplifting glow emanated from the windows.

But it was nothing compared to the glow in his heart.

So barring any unforeseen complications, his top off-duty priority was about to become the beautiful historical anthropologist whose life had fortuitously intersected with his.

THE DIZZY SPELLS had been a perfect prelude—and catalyst.

The potholder incident had moved me closer to my goal.

It had seemed, for a while, that it was going to be far simpler to carry out my plans than I’d expected.

Until Micah had gotten in the way,

I gulped down the dregs of my second scotch, the mild, malty sweetness tempering the sour taste in my mouth.

Now, to make matters worse, the sheriff was questioning his death.

Why?

What had happened to instill doubt in his mind about what should have been a logical conclusion—that it was an accident?

Would he dig deeper for answers or eventually let the case go for lack of evidence? After all, doubts didn’t lead to proof—or convictions. And a rural sheriff had limited staff and time to devote to investigations if he had nothing more to go on than suspicion.

Unless he did have more to go on.

Was it possible he’d found proof of a crime?

Maybe.

Mistakes could happen if you were forced to fix a problem with limited opportunity to prepare.

But proof a crime had been committed didn’t always lead to the perpetrator.

The ice in my glass began to rattle, and I set it on the counter. Examined my quivering hand.

It was shaking just like it had the first morning Micah had materialized out of the woods while I was heading toward my destination. Watching me as he cradled some small critter in his arms. Creeping me out with those penetrating eyes of his.

A scenario that had been repeated on several occasions.

In all the years I’d known him, he’d avoided eye contact like the plague and skulked about in the shadows. His sudden inclination to not only make his presence known but stare at me had been more than intimidating.

It had felt almost like a warning.

But how much could he know? My clandestine activities took place out of sight.

Nevertheless, confining my subsequent forays to after dark had seemed prudent.

Still, if he suspected I was involved in shady activity and had shared that with Natalie, my plans could have been ruined.

So what choice had there been except to eliminate him as a threat?

Bile rose in my throat, and I closed my eyes. Swallowed.

Considering my fast track to get the job done, everything had gone as well as could be expected. But the task had been distasteful, and the blood...

My stomach began to roil, as it had that morning.

The ski cap that kept the blood contained during the maneuver to get him into the boat had been a smart idea.

But it was unfortunate that dumping him in the middle of the lake had proven impossible.

Who knew that trying to jockey a limp body over the edge without capsizing the boat would be so tricky?

Moving to the reeds hadn’t been ideal, although the boat had rocked less. And situating it there had made it possible to escape to shore without getting too wet.

After I’d smeared blood on the side of the boat.

That’s when I’d lost my breakfast in the lake.

I poured another scotch.

Drinking wasn’t smart. I knew that. And I wouldn’t do it again. I had more work to do at Natalie’s, and I needed a clear head to finish my mission.

ASAP.

Because the longer this took, the higher the risk.

Micah might be out of the picture, but the professor was still on the premises—and she’d taken to wandering about too.

That was dicey.

What if she saw me somewhere I shouldn’t be and got suspicious? Mentioned it to the sheriff, with whom she appeared to be cozy?

The odds were low that he’d find anything to pin on me, but he seemed sharp. Tenacious. The type who’d stick with a case that bothered him until he had answers.

That could be bad news.

So I’d have to watch Cara Tucker and hope she didn’t get in my way, as Micah had.

But if she did, she might end up just as dead as Natalie’s enigmatic groundskeeper.