Chapter Eight
Eight
A groan emanating from the vicinity of the floor brought him out of a light sleep.
Luke opened his eyes and took stock of his surroundings.
The first thing he noticed was that Bruce was not draped across his legs or curled up next to the sofa.
That was not normal. Ever since Bruce had appeared in his life three months earlier, the dog had rarely left his side.
His next observation was that the storm was over. His internal sense of time told him it was morning and his watch confirmed it was still early, but there was only a thin hint of light outside. Sunrise came late in the mountains regardless of the season.
As Sophy had predicted, the power had gone off during the night. He could hear the faint, muffled sound of a generator.
On the floor, Rivington fumbled his way out of the quilt, braced himself on his elbows, and stared at Luke with blurry, bewildered eyes.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“Not your new best friend.” Luke pushed the blankets aside, swung his feet to the floor, and sat up on the sofa. “My name is Wells. Luke Wells. I’m just another overnight guest here at Bea Harper’s shop. I checked your ID, so I know you’re Mack Rivington, a failed experiment.”
“Huh?” Mack pushed himself to a sitting position. “What are you talking about?”
Luke leaned forward, picked up the badge holder on the coffee table, and tossed it to Rivington, who caught it automatically.
“I’ve been given strict instructions not to intimidate you,” Luke said. “But I do have a few questions for you.”
“Yeah?” Mack scrambled to his feet. His hand went to the empty holster under his crumpled jacket. When he realized his weapon was missing, his jaw clenched a couple of times. “I’ve got some for you.”
“Sure. By the way, your weapon is in a cupboard in the kitchen.” Luke reached for his shirt, wincing.
He had slept in his trousers and T-shirt, the same clothes he’d been wearing since he had gotten the call from his grandparents more than twenty-four hours earlier.
He needed a shower and a shave. “You’re probably curious to know how you wound up sleeping on the floor. We agreed to a coin toss.”
“Evidently I lost.”
“It was a tough call.”
“Where’s Sophy?”
“Right here,” Sophy said from the top of the stairs. She had a flashlight in one hand. “And before this conversation gets any more exciting, I’m going to make a large pot of coffee.”
“Good plan,” Luke said.
He got the stirring sensation again—as if he had been standing on an empty mountain road at night in the fog, waiting for her.
He watched her descend the stairs. Bruce padded enthusiastically after her.
That answered one burning question, Luke thought. He now knew where the dog had spent the night.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase, Sophy switched off the flashlight.
In the weak glow of dawn he saw that she was wearing jeans, a rust-brown pullover, and sneakers.
Her hair was once again in a casual knot on top of her head, secured with a clip.
The black-and-crystal glasses were perched on her nose.
Mack shoved his fingers through his hair and looked at Sophy. “I could use some coffee. What the hell happened to me last night?”
“You tripped one of Aunt Bea’s aromatherapy alarms when you broke in,” Sophy said. “I warned you that they really do work.”
Mack groaned. “I didn’t break in. I entered because I was concerned about you. Your car was in the drive but you didn’t answer the door. Naturally I was worried.”
“Thank you for your concern. As you can see, I’m fine. Luke, will you please get a fire going?” She crossed through the living room and went into the kitchen. “Thank heavens for the generator.”
Mack watched her with a speculative expression, evidently strategizing his next move. Then he sauntered down the hall to the bathroom with the easy familiarity of a man who is making it clear that he knows his way around the house.
Bruce trotted across the living room to greet Luke.
“You spent the night on her bed, didn’t you?” Luke rubbed the dog’s side. “While I had to make do with a couch and a roommate who snores.”
Bruce rested his head briefly on Luke’s thigh as if offering sympathy and then trotted off toward the kitchen.
“One of these days we should probably talk about the concept of loyalty,” Luke called after him.
Bruce vanished into the kitchen. A door opened and closed. Sophy had let him out.
Luke pulled on his boots. There were fresh clothes and shaving gear in the duffel stashed in the SUV but he had been given orders to build a fire.
He crouched in front of the hearth and went to work arranging the kindling.
Through the kitchen doorway he caught glimpses of Sophy as she spooned ground coffee into the machine.
Her words echoed in his head. I’m sure Mack came here for the same reason you did.
He wants something. Probably my help on a case.
He crumpled some old newspapers and tossed them into the fireplace.
Yes, he was in Mirror Lake because he wanted something, specifically her help on a case.
But he had paid for the reading. That made him a client, not a potential failed experiment.
The latter implied a romantic relationship that had gone bad.
He and Sophy were nowhere near that territory. Yet.
He thought fleetingly about how intensely arousing it had been to have her sprawled on top of him at the cabin, her brilliant eyes on fire. Hell, he was getting hard just thinking about it.
He needed to focus.
He stood, took a long match out of the box on the mantel, struck it, and lit the crumpled newspapers.
He brooded on the flames for a moment, waiting to make sure they took hold.
When they did, he turned, intending to go outside and retrieve the duffel and the sack of dog food from the SUV.
He was halfway across the room when he noticed the books on the desk.
He got a ping of curiosity and changed course.
There was, he quickly concluded, a theme to the subject matter. The Woman in His Nightmares: A History of the Fear of Female Empowerment. Sirens and Succubi: Monstrous Women in Art. She Haunts His Dreams: A Psychological Analysis of the Succubus Legend.
“Who’s afraid of you, Sophy Harper?” he said very softly. “Or are you afraid of yourself?”