Chapter Five
Teagan rubbed her bleary eyes and rolled her head on the pillow.
She was in Bryson Anton’s bedroom. In his bed.
But he wasn’t there, and his side of the bed hadn’t been disturbed.
She didn’t know whether to applaud his old-fashioned gentlemanly conduct or curse him for it.
She sighed and threw the covers off her before shuffling to the open bedroom door.
Bryson glanced up from the couch behind the coffee table, a stack of papers in his hand and more spread out across the wooden surface.
She stretched her arms above her head as she padded across the family room in her dress socks. She had no idea where her shoes and purse were. “Not to bruise your ego, but after you took me to bed, I don’t remember anything. Maybe we should have a redo so you can refresh my memory.”
He gave her the side-eye. “Trust me. If I took you to bed, you’d remember.”
She grinned. “I have a feeling you’re right.”
He rolled his eyes. “You passed out in my arms, and I generously allowed you to use my bedroom to sleep it off. You’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
“Won’t argue that.” She yawned and gestured toward the cup on the table beside him. “I don’t suppose that’s coffee?”
In reply, he held the cup out to her.
She took a huge gulp before handing it back to him. “I think I’m half in love with you.”
“That’s the tequila talking. You’re still drunk.”
“Can’t be. Had to have slept it off by now. How long was I out?”
He glanced at his watch. “Seventeen minutes.”
“Oh. Then I’m definitely still drunk. More please.”
He handed her the mug without looking up.
She shifted around to see what he was doing, then sat beside him, her thigh pressed to his.
“Boundaries, Teagan.” He glanced pointedly at their legs, plastered together.
She sighed and moved over, just enough so they weren’t touching. “You’re either married, have a girlfriend, or we play for the same team, because nothing I’m trying is working.”
“Never married. My girlfriend dumped me months ago because hanging with a guy with a limp cramped her style. And, trust me, you and I are definitely not playing for the same team.”
“What is it then? I haven’t struck out this many times since high school softball.”
“Maybe you’re not my type.”
“Pfft. Have you seen me? These legs go all the way up.”
He arched a brow. “We need to work on this low self-esteem of yours.”
She laughed and shuffled through some of the papers he’d spread out in front of him. When she realized what he was looking at, hope flared in her chest. “You’re reading my file?”
He shrugged. “I was bored. I had seventeen minutes to kill.”
“Does this mean you’re going to help me?”
“My history of helping people isn’t exactly stellar.
I’m only committing to looking through your research to offer suggestions that you can take or leave.
Maybe I can put a different spin on it so you can think in new directions.
I wouldn’t get excited, if I were you. Like I said, I don’t have a great track record.
This ruined hip is because I messed up a pit maneuver a rookie could have performed in his sleep.
I managed to knock the killer’s vehicle into a ditch, but knocked myself silly in the process.
Before I could even scramble for my gun, I’d been shot, shoved out the door, and the killer was taking off in my car with a hostage.
The only reason the hostage survived is because one of my coworkers was able to rescue her after I nearly got her killed. ”
“I have a feeling there’s way more to it than that.” She started to pat his leg, then jerked her hand back at his reproachful look. “Have I mentioned that I’m a touchy-feely sort of person? I’ll try to behave.” She bit her lip. “You’re still going to help me, right?”
He blew out a breath. “I thought you were acting earlier, that you were overcompensating.”
“Sorry to disappoint. This is the real me.”
“I didn’t say I was disappointed.”
She stared at him, hoping he’d explain that comment. But instead, he turned back to the papers in front of him. After a few minutes, she said, “If you change your mind about you and me, and I miss a signal, just let me know, okay?”
He let out a deep sigh and pinned her with an exasperated look. “Teagan?”
“Yes, Bryson?”
“Shut up.”
She grinned and scooted back on the couch to sit cross-legged while he reviewed her research.
It was taking him far longer than she’d expected.
The folder wasn’t that thick. She’d brought the summary, not the detailed reports.
But he kept thumbing through the pages, comparing things, rereading.
She was dying to know what he thought. She was also dying for an entirely different reason.
She climbed off the couch. “Where’s the nearest toilet in this monstrosity?
I’m about to pee my pants.” She hopped back and forth from one foot to the other.
“Never mind, I’ll figure it out.” She ran into his master bedroom and chose door number one.
“Found it!” she called back, before slamming it closed.
brYSON STARED AT his bedroom doorway where Teagan the Tornado had just disappeared. He’d expected a different woman when she woke, figuring her earlier actions were a type of bravado, a coping mechanism because of what had happened to her. Then again, she hadn’t slept long enough to sober up.
He took his cell phone from one of the piles of paper on the coffee table, idly rubbing his aching hip as he reluctantly pressed a programmed number that he should have deleted months ago. When the line clicked he said, “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Delightful, isn’t she?” Mason chuckled.
“You mean she’s always like this? There isn’t a cure?”
“I’m not taking her back. If that’s what you want, I’m hanging up.”
He turned his head, looking through the glass doors at the back of the kitchen.
The creek was too low to see from here unless he stood.
But the pilings holding the dock in place reached like spindly fingers toward the bright blue sky overhead, a reminder of his last conversation with Mason. Had it been only yesterday?
“Bryson? You still there?”
“I’m here. You mentioned when I was ready, that you’d throw me a line. Looks like I’m going to at least dip my toes in, whether I want to or not.”
“She’s a hard person to say no to.”
“Yes. She is.”
“Whatever you need, it’s yours. Just name it.” Mason’s tone was all business now.
“My files, all those boxes I foolishly—and against FBI policy—saved from the Ripper case with the Bureau. I asked you to store them along with other case files you archived for The Justice Seekers. Is it possible to get them sent here, when you have time?”
“You’ll have them within the hour.”
Teagan appeared in his bedroom doorway, looking slightly green and more than a little woozy as she gripped the doorframe. She really didn’t know how to hold her liquor, which for some reason he found adorable. “Thanks, Mason.”
“For the files?”
He tightened his hand on the phone. “We’ll start with that, for now.” He hung up. Then he grabbed his cane and laboriously climbed to his feet.
Teagan trudged toward him and stopped a few feet away, her hand clutching her stomach. Bryson had a feeling he was about to finally meet the real Teagan.
She looked up at him, misery drawing tight lines at the corners of her eyes. “Did I really tell you I had to pee?”
He smiled. Maybe he’d already met the real Teagan after all. “Come on. I’ll make you some fresh coffee and my special hangover blaster.”