Chapter 18
Wyatt had bought a house.
Adeline shouldn’t be surprised. She’d bought one, too. But it just felt weird.
He was even cooking breakfast.
He never cooked. They’d lived on takeout and frozen entrees. The only home-cooked meals they’d gotten were the ones her mom or his had prepared.
Adeline still didn’t cook. Had no desire to learn the culinary arts.
Hell no.
At some point today she had to check in with her chief. He was a man of his word. If she wasn’t back in forty-eight hours—or had a damned good excuse—he would send Metcalf and Wallace down here to collect her.
Adeline straightened the covers on the guest bed she’d slept in last night.
She’d been pretty pissed at Wyatt when he’d pushed the issue of her ending her stay at the Shady Oaks.
There were plenty of other accommodations around town, but he’d insisted on bringing her home with him.
Wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, he’d proclaimed.
She fluffed the pillows. ’Course she could have simply said no. But she hadn’t.
That made her a bigger fool than even she had known.
She looked across the room, studied her reflection in the mirror. A hot shower last night and one of Wyatt’s shirts had kept her from going naked while her clothes were being laundered. He had a washer and dryer, too.
Freaky.
She wiggled into her clean jeans and tugged on her T-shirt.
Plopping down on the bed, she grabbed her creds case from the bedside table and shoved it into her back pocket.
After making quick work of her socks and sneakers, she bounded for the door.
Between the smell of freshly brewed coffee and whatever he was cooking, she was ready to hit the kitchen.
Just after midnight last night Baggett had called in the results of the analysis he’d performed. The glue used to attach the words to the mirror was the same as on the letters she’d received.
But it wasn’t the same guy. Adeline was certain.
Mulling over the possibilities, including her asshole cousin, she wandered to the kitchen door and leaned against it. His back turned to her position, Wyatt stirred the scrambled eggs. A plate covered with steaming biscuits obviously straight from the oven sat on the table. Smelled yummy.
But not nearly as yummy as watching her host for a minute without his knowledge. It would be a nice change. He was usually too aware of his surroundings to be sneaked up on like this. Why not enjoy the anomaly?
Her mouth watered. The delicious smells would make anyone’s senses stand up and pay attention.
Wyatt had forgone his uniform this morning. Just a plain white tee and faded jeans. She cocked her head to see past the table. Barefoot, too. A grin slid across her lips. He had really nice feet for a man.
And long, heavily muscled legs. She wondered if he still ran those four miles every morning. She had kept up her personal routine. The past couple of mornings were the first ones she’d missed in months. Not since all those twenty-four-hour days on the Nash/Abbott investigation.
Wyatt had maintained that lean waist. Her gaze trailed up his back to those broad shoulders.
Her body heated just thinking about that tumble onto the bed at the motel last night.
Sex with Wyatt had always been great.
Maybe that was why she’d allowed herself to get carried away.
She’d been primed and ready, no denying that.
In the end, the perp had done her a favor. Kept her from allowing Wyatt back inside her. It had taken several years for her to adequately evict him the last time. Last night would have undone a lot of hard work.
And pain.
She couldn’t let herself forget the pain just because she was standing here looking at his fine backside. Which was a dumb idea.
“Morning.”
He glanced over his shoulder as she pushed away from the wall. “Morning. You find everything you need?” He turned back to the stove and scraped the eggs onto a plate.
“Yep.” Her skin smelled like him. Earthy, like leather and herbs. She loved his soap.
“Hungry?”
“Yep.” The smell of freshly brewed coffee overwhelmed the other scrumptious scents. “Coffee ready?”
“Yep,” he said, repeating her responses.
She strolled to the counter where the coffeepot stood next to the sink. A rumble of pleasure sounded in her throat as she filled the empty mug he’d set out for her. Caffeine would hit the spot. One quick sip of the steaming brew and her taste buds exploded with the just-ground flavor.
“When did you start grinding your own coffee beans?” God, it was good. She downed another swallow. Too fast. Burned her tongue.
“That’s the only way to get really fresh coffee.” He shot her a knowing look. “I hear folks in Huntsville think fresh coffee only comes from Starbucks.”
“That’s where I get mine.” He’d already set the table. Adeline pulled out a chair and took a seat. “But”—she lifted her mug in a salute—“I have to say, this is every bit as good as what I pay the big bucks for.”
He settled the eggs on the table next to the biscuits. “It was either figure out how to do this or starve after I bought my own place.” He passed her a napkin. “OJ?”
“No, thanks.” Careful not to touch those long fingers, she accepted the napkin. “You sticking by your promise to keep what happened last night off the record?”
The surprise in his eyes told her he’d misunderstood. He blinked it away. “Rich is the only one who knows. We’ll keep it that way for now.”
“Good.” If any of his deputies were involved, she wanted them to wonder why there hadn’t been a reaction.
A reaction from whoever hacked up her clothes was exactly what she wanted.
She bit her lip to prevent a little smile at the idea that Wyatt had at first thought she meant the other thing that happened last night.
She had to hand it to him. He was still the best kisser she’d had the pleasure of locking lips with. Considering the number of men she’d dated in the last eight or so years, that was saying something.
Wyatt pulled out a chair and lowered that tall frame of his into it. “Merry Christmas, Addy.”
She blinked away the unexpected reaction to the way he said her name. He’d said her name plenty of times since she got here. Why the sudden burst of shivery heat?
Do not let him get to you like this.
“It is Christmas, isn’t it?” A few more swigs of coffee kept her from having to linger on the subject.
“Dig in.” He gestured to the goods he’d gone to the trouble of preparing.
That she could do. After scooping a heaping pile of eggs onto her plate, she grabbed a biscuit. It was still hot. He scooted the tub of margarine in her direction, obviously recalling that she liked to slather her bread in fat even if—she glanced at the brand of margarine—it came from vegetables.
The eggs were cooked just long enough, still moist and soft. The biscuits. Dear God, the flavor burst in her mouth. She ate. Ate every damned speck from her plate.
“More?” He’d cleaned his plate, as well.
Adeline leaned back in her chair and rubbed her tummy. “Couldn’t hold another bite.”
He had that look. The one that said he was going to open a can of worms, and she wasn’t interested in fishing. Adeline sat up. Stuffing her face had permitted her to avoid conversation, but that was over.
“I’ll clean up.” She stood, sending her chair scooting across the wood floor.
“We need to talk about last night.”
Oh no they did not. “What’s to talk about?”
He brought his plate and fork to the sink. “There’s still something between us, Addy. No point denying it. Last night was undeniable evidence.”
She finished rinsing her plate and elbowed him out of the way so she could put it in the dishwasher.
Wyatt had a dishwasher. Jesus. What else?
Then she straightened and faced him. “It’s called hormones, Wyatt.
You’re a man, I’m a woman. We got carried away.
It only means that there was chemistry brewing. ”
She grabbed his plate, rinsed it, and tucked it into the sleek dishwasher. The forks went next.
“If not for the perp having vandalized your wardrobe we would have had sex,” he said as he braced one lean hip against the counter.
She shrugged. “We’re both adults. So what?”
He smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression. “Let’s not play this game, Addy.” He moved his head slowly from side to side. “We both know last night was about more than raging hormones.”
“You’re right.” She walked around him and grabbed the skillet from the stove. “Some asshole broke into my motel room and ruined my shit.” Reaching for the pot scrubber and dish detergent, she flashed him a smile—one just as fake as the one he’d shown her. “I’m pissed.”
“Not just some asshole,” he corrected. “Baggett said the glue was a match. The wording, not to mention the method of communication, was too similar. We haven’t released any information related to the letters. This can’t be a copycat. This was him.”
She wasn’t going to waste her breath reminding him that just because they hadn’t released the information didn’t mean it hadn’t gotten out. Happened all the time.
“This guy is watching you.”
“Probably.” She gave the skillet a scrub.
“Then why don’t you believe he was the one who came into your room?”
A quick rinse and she placed the skillet in the drainer, then dried her hands. “Because it wasn’t him. I explained that last night.”
Wyatt dropped his head back and blasted out a frustrated breath. “And I explained how those differences may have occurred organically.”
“Organically?” Mirth furrowed her brow. “Really? I tell you what, let’s put the letters Prescott and I received alongside the mirror,” which was now logged in to evidence, “take a long, hard look at them lined up together.” She moved back to the table and pushed in her chair.
“My logic will be more obvious that way.”
“You going to call your mother?”