Chapter 4 #3
Her skin prickled as Mark moved past her.
It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw his nostrils flare as he went past. Almost as if he were smelling her.
And she pretended he touched her arm to reassure her.
He didn’t. Or at least, if he did, it wasn’t for her benefit.
It was simply because he was so large and she was the complete opposite of petite.
So he’d brushed against her side, and while she remembered caresses under the moonlight, the men went to sniff her father’s office.
God, she was pathetic. How could she still be mooning after the same man eight years after he broke her heart?
She followed a couple steps behind as they went into the den. Mark stood a step back, dripping on the rag rug, while Carl squatted down and inhaled the air around the chair. Then he looked up with a frown.
“You sure that isn’t just…I don’t know…bad pepperoni?”
“It’s not,” Mark answered, his voice clipped.
Carl rolled back onto his heels and looked around. “And his research is missing?”
“The journals are. My guess is they’re with whomever copied his computer.”
Unable to keep silent, Julie pushed into the room. “But why? He’s not working on national secrets. He’s an anthropologist with weird ideas about shape-shifters and magic potions in fairy tales.”
She’d expected the men to nod and admit that she was right.
Logic dictated that the idea of someone stealing her father’s stuff was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
They didn’t. Instead, they shared a long look that meant something she couldn’t fathom.
And, oh, how she recognized that expression.
It was summers in Gladwin all over again where the teenagers knew something she didn’t.
And with that one look, they said, “You’re not one of us. ”
“That’s it,” she said as she gripped the front doorknob. “Get out. Both of you.” She wasn’t an awkward teen anymore. She didn’t need to feel inferior just because she didn’t look or act like the locals. And she sure as hell didn’t need to be excluded in her father’s home.
“I know this is confusing,” Carl said as he stood up.
“It’s bullshit. I don’t know if this is Gladwin’s version of hazing or what, but…” She pulled out her most officious tone of voice. “I’d like you both to leave please.” She yanked open the front door.
It was a good act. She’d used it to great effect in the law office where she worked as a legal secretary. She’d cowed managing partners and obnoxious clients with that no-nonsense tone. And it worked on Carl. He nodded with an apologetic look.
“Thank you for letting us bother you, Miss Simon,” he said. “I hope your father gets better soon.”
Mark wasn’t so easy. He looked around. “We still haven’t found his research. He’ll want that tablet.”
“You probably hid it just to be a juvenile pain in my ass.” It wasn’t a fair statement. There was no evidence that he’d go that far in his sniffing psychosis. But who knew what quirks lurked inside that hot package?
Meanwhile, he dropped his hands on his hips, glaring at both her and Carl. “There’s something wrong here,” he stressed.
Carl seemed torn as he looked at her. “Can we at least help you look for the journals?”
“No,” she said flatly. “He’ll just have to be satisfied with the digital version.” Then she pointedly stared at Mark, who hadn’t budged. “Look, I’m leaving in the next ten minutes anyway. Whatever’s wrong can rear its ugly head while I’m gone.”
Which is when both men shifted awkwardly. Carl even went so far as to scratch at his beard.
Oh, hell. “What now?”
Mark jerked his chin toward the outside. She hadn’t even noticed when the rain had become a deluge, but it was coming down in thick sheets of drench. Shit. No way was she making it to her car without getting soaked to the skin. “Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll wait until it eases up.”
“Look at the driveway,” Mark said. “Specifically, how far the mud goes up the tires of your car.”
Her gaze shifted to her beloved blue Prius. Her little hybrid was both economical and good for the environment. And was sunk a foot deep into the swamp formerly known as her father’s dirt-and-gravel driveway.
“Shit.” She wasn’t going anywhere in her car. “Is there a tow truck anywhere?”
“There is,” Carl said slowly, “but it’d sink in the mud on the way up. I told your father he needed to pave that.”
Her father would never spend the money required to pave the long, winding track that led to this cabin. He always said if it was ugly outside, he’d just stay inside until Mother Nature cooperated. Which was fine for an academic with no particular schedule, but awful for a daughter with plans.
She sighed and leaned her head against the door frame. She could hope that it would clear up soon. If it happened fast enough, maybe there’d be some daylight left. Except even as she had the thought, Mark pulled out his phone. A few punches later, and he turned the screen toward her.
“Radar says it’s not going to let up any time soon. You’re probably here for the night.” He didn’t look any happier about that than she did.
“Fine,” she groused. “I’m here.” There was food and electricity, not to mention a guest bedroom with that dust-bunny footprint. “But you two don’t have to be. Good day, gentlemen.”
Carl nodded and stepped out, but again, Mark refused to move. He just stood there while his pecs seemed to pulse with irritation. No wait, that was him grinding his teeth. “I’m not leaving.”
She didn’t have to answer because Carl turned to his friend. “There’s nothing more we can do here. Whatever that was…” He gestured back toward the den. “It’s long gone.”
Mark didn’t look like he agreed, but he didn’t argue, either.
After one last intense stare at her, he sloshed his way outside.
Julie made a point of keeping back from him.
She had no need for any more accidental brushes, real or imagined.
And when the men stepped onto the front porch, she firmly shut and locked the door.
Done. Over. Mentally, she closed the drawer labeled “Mark the Fickle Bastard.”
It took her ten minutes to realize that she’d heard only one truck leave. She went to the window, pulling aside the curtain as she searched the shadows outside. There he was, a shadowy outline squatting at the edge of the dry area of the porch. His body was so still he might have been a statue.
Was he sitting sentry?
She couldn’t believe it. No way was he going to sit there all night long like a neglected beagle. Or a bizarre stalker. But how the hell was she going to get him to leave?