Page 14

14

J uliana leaned closer to the mirror in the bathroom and touched up her mascara. Her palm brushed her cheek, drawing attention to the rest of her face. Her smooth, fair complexion held a hint of natural rose and it rarely, if ever, became oily or uneven. She’d not suffered acne as a teen and never even had an occasional spot as an adult woman. She might not be endowed with other beauty assets, but she had good skin.

Dropping the tube into her bathroom bag, she surveyed herself one more time—she’d showered but not washed her hair and now had it up in a bun. She wore the same cropped jeans from the day before, but today, she donned a flowy linen top. Something she could wear under a jacket if she convinced Simon to head into San Francisco with her.

Padding barefoot across her room, she exited and headed toward the beautiful main staircase, the worn and slightly uneven tread of the old wide-planked floors cool against the soles of her feet. As she made her way down the stairs, she considered her options for convincing Simon that a trip to the city was warranted.

If yesterday’s behavior was anything to go by, he’d shy away from running toward the battlefield—at least with her in tow—but she had her reasons, and she hoped she could sway him.

Pausing at the bottom step, she surveyed the front door and entry hall. She had no idea what the house looked like two years ago, but Simon had done a gorgeous job restoring it. There were still little things that needed to be done—knobs replaced with more historically accurate versions, the outside painted, the rooms fully furnished—but the underlying work impressed her. He’d created a home straight out of a fairy tale. Or movie set.

“Coffee?” Simon’s question interrupted her musings. She turned to see him standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen. His eyes swept over her, lingering first on her hair, then her breasts, before meeting hers again. “You look good.”

She smiled. So did he. He wore a pair of worn jeans that hugged his legs and a black T-shirt tight enough to show his shape, but not so tight as to look sleazy. Not that Simon could ever look sleazy, but skintight T-shirts had never been a look that did it for her.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, walking toward him. They’d cuddled up on her bed last night and watched an episode of a popular comedy, then he’d kissed her goodnight and headed to his room. She’d thought sleep would elude her, but to her surprise, she’d drifted off almost immediately, not waking once until eight hours later.

When she drew near, he slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her into a kiss. He tasted vaguely of coffee and desire and comfort. But he didn’t take it further than that.

Being with a man who didn’t want to jump right into bed with her because he thought he could—or should—was a bit of a novelty. Given what little he’d told her about his upbringing—and all the terrible scenarios she’d conjured on her own—his life could have gone in so many different directions. She hated the idea of what he’d experienced but admired the strength he had to use it and become the man standing in front of her.

“You sleep okay?” he asked when he pulled back.

“Surprisingly, I did. The best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while,” she said. His dark eyes studied her, then he nodded and led her to the kitchen. “I put some frozen croissants in the oven and was going to make eggs and sausage. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds perfect,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing. The sausages will cook first, then I’ll scramble the eggs. Sit and have coffee,” he said, gesturing to the bistro table occupying the charming deck off the kitchen. The morning sun had climbed over the mountains and lit the space in a soft light.

“I don’t like sitting around while you’re doing the cooking. It has a weird lady-of-the-manor feel to it. Especially in a house as lovely as this.” She took the mug he offered and leaned against the counter instead.

“If we were at your place, would you insist I sit and enjoy my coffee?” he countered, breaking an egg into a bowl. When she didn’t answer, he smirked. “Go sit. Enjoy the morning. You can either be outside or in the dining room, but the deck is closer.”

It was, and he’d left open a set of French doors leading to it, no doubt to let in the fresh morning air. In truth, if they’d been at her place and she’d been in the kitchen and him at the table, they’d be about the same distance apart.

With a disgruntled huff, she stepped outside.

A cool breeze filtered through the thin material of her top, chilling her arms, but the sun’s rays warmed her face, and the deck heated the soles of her feet. The scents she associated with Mystery Lake surrounded her, muted in the early hours of the day.

Rather than sit, she wandered to the edge of the deck. Resting her cup on the railing, she looked out over the land. “You grow hay,” she said over her shoulder.

“I lease the fields to a farmer,” he answered. “He uses it to grow hay for his cattle in the winter. In exchange, I get a bunch of free meat every year.”

She peered over her shoulder and into the kitchen.

“There’s a huge freezer in the garage,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “He uses the hay for his cattle, but the farm also raises other animals, so there’s a mix of beef, chicken, and pork. Including the sausages we’ll have in a few minutes.” He paused, then asked, “You’re not squeamish about thinking of the live versions of the food you eat, are you?”

She flashed him a rueful smile. “I should be. Cows and pigs are so cute, and I probably could have them for pets. But no, I’m not. I like food too much. Although, I do prefer it when they are sustainably farmed rather than factory farmed. Better for the animals and the farmers.”

“You’re in luck. His setup is big, but it’s organic, sustainable, humane—as much as raising animals for food can be—and only about an hour away. Although a lot of the high-end restaurants in the city and wine country buy his stuff, so he does ship within a wider radius.”

“Then I’m looking forward to trying it,” she said, turning back to the view. Her eyes skated along the line of trees several acres away. Simon had mentioned a good water source, and she scanned the area for a pond or creek—either of which would make the property too perfect.

She was about to ask him about it when movement in the trees caught her attention. Her body stilled as her heart kicked against her chest. Her shoulders tightened, as did her hold on her coffee cup.

“Juliana,” Simon said from right behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach, and she jumped. “What did you see?” he asked, wrapping his hand around her wrist to prevent her coffee from spilling on her. How he’d sensed her wariness, she didn’t know.

“Probably nothing,” she said. His fingers grazed her lower back before resting there, warm and unflinching. “I don’t know, just movement,” she said. “Could be a deer or a bear. I’m just jumpy.”

“And you—we—have a right to be,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “There,” he said, leaning forward and showing her the screen. On it, a bright heat signature moved through the woods. The image was better than those she saw depicted on TV, but the details were fuzzy. Even so, it clearly wasn’t human. It was smallish, moved on four legs, and was walking away from them.

“What is it?” she asked.

He studied it, then shook his head. “My guess is it’s a baby deer that’s looking for its mother. This time of year, young bears are bigger.”

They watched the form move through the woods until out of range of the camera. Then Simon dropped a kiss on her cheek and headed back into the kitchen.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the forest, her mind imagining the little deer wandering the forest looking for its mother.

“The mothers are relentless when they’ve lost their babies. I’m sure they’ll find each other,” he said, walking back outside, carrying two plates.

He set them down, the rattle of the stoneware breaking her reverie. “Here, let me set the table,” she said, moving toward him. He acquiesced without a word and headed back inside.

A few minutes later, they were seated with a feast of scrambled eggs, sausages, croissants, and jam. And refills of coffee.

Once her plate was full, she picked at her eggs and took a small bite as she debated how to bring the subject up.

“What?” Simon asked. She looked up. “You have something on your mind and it’s not the baby deer.”

Her mind went blank, an uncomfortable and novel sensation. She’d grown accustomed to masking her thoughts and feelings—a necessary set of armor in her childhood—and yet this wasn’t the first time he’d seen through it. Had she lost her touch, or was he weirdly attuned to her? The latter had the warmth of possibility blooming in her chest. Just as quickly, though, she squashed it down. Simon had been Delta Force. His survival and that of his teams depended on good instincts and the ability to read situations. And people.

“You’re thinking far too much, Juliana,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at him. He grinned. “Not that I’m telling you that you shouldn’t worry your pretty little head,” he added. “But I am suggesting it might be easier to just tell me what’s going on.”

Ah, yes, that honesty thing again. Apparently, candor was a part of it as well.

Finally, she took a deep breath and answered. “I woke up early this morning and did a little research on Anna Palmer. Other than reading a few of her articles—she’s a damn good writer, by the way—I didn’t find much on her. But I did find something.” He paused, his fork hanging in the air. She straightened in her chair. “There’s a protest today over the Bayview development. I saw it on social media. It starts at one. We should go.”

The birds chirped, a branch fell in the woods, a cow lowed somewhere in the distance.

“To what end?” he asked, his voice measured.

“Anna Palmer will be there. And it might be good to hear what people are saying.” It would also keep Simon off the computer, but she knew better than to say that. “Maybe we can even catch a glimpse of Gregor. Or see if any of the others show up.” It was unlikely any of the men would show up, but one never knew.

“What are you doing about work?” he asked. She frowned at the change of subject.

“I have this week off. I’d been thinking of heading to LA to spend time with my best friend Alyce, but…” She had no interest in handing her current problem over to Simon, then waltzing away. Nor did she want to put Alyce in danger by visiting.

“San Francisco isn’t a good idea,” Simon said. She raised an eyebrow. He held steady for about thirty seconds, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if searching for some inner strength. “Okay, it might not be a bad idea,” he conceded. “I don’t think we’ll learn much, but meeting Anna Palmer could be helpful.” He hesitated, then added, “And I don’t think those three will think to look for you in the city.”

She hadn’t thought about that angle, but it made sense. They had two men in Mystery Lake looking for her; they likely wouldn’t expect her to head back to their stomping grounds. “Are those men still in town?” she asked.

Simon nodded as he finished a bite of a sausage. “One bugged your house with cameras and listening devices.”

She didn’t bother to hide her shock. Or her annoyance. “Why am I learning about this now ?”

“He didn’t go in until very early this morning. He’d been surveilling it since yesterday. Ever since we saw him on the way to your place. We think he wanted to be sure you weren’t there, or coming back any time soon, before he went in. Marley, one of my brothers, texted me just before you came downstairs.”

She considered this. She would have preferred to know right away, but at the end of the day, what did twenty minutes matter? Deciding not to pick that specific battle, especially not when Simon might go along with her idea, she speared a sausage with her fork and took a bite. The salty mix of herbs burst across her tongue and she sat back, momentarily distracted as she savored the flavor.

“Those are damn good sausages,” she said. “I can see why you make the trade. Now, back to San Francisco. The protest starts at one. We can drive to the city, scope out the area, attend the event, maybe meet Anna Palmer, then head home.”

“You have it all planned out.” A statement, not a question.

“I do, thank you very much. Of course, we may have to adapt depending on what we find.”

He inclined his head, then let out a tiny huff. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s stop at the clubhouse first, check in with the others, then we can head out. So long as we leave by nine, we should make it in plenty of time.”