Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Davin and Chloe ate a simple lunch of turkey sandwiches and carrot sticks.
Davin drew her out about people she hung out with in high school.
Jaxon, Smith, Dylan, Chase, Maho, and Theresa made up the friend group.
Odd numbers, so he had hope they hadn’t paired up, but she didn’t say one way or another and he couldn’t forget that she’d kissed Dylan on the dock.
The island came alive as he heard about one adventure after another, from the ocean to the beaches to the trails and caves and the town itself.
Chloe recounted stories from her life and childhood, then caught him up on where each of her friends were now.
It made him wonder if she had been or was currently interested in the sheriff, the cowboy, the accountant, or the real estate developer.
The first three all still lived on the island, and she spoke warmly about them.
After lunch, she assured him she was happy to relax and read.
To prove it, she settled into a comfortable spot on the wraparound leather sofa in the living room with one of his books and a blanket.
She encouraged him to go work, since he’d missed hitting his goals yesterday.
He couldn’t argue with that, but he’d rather spend more time with her, talking or maybe snuggling and watching a movie.
His body warmed thinking about making that suggestion.
Instead, he went to his office, said a prayer, and read back through the words he’d written two days ago.
He searched his memory, desperate to remember where he’d strategized to take the plot next.
When he hit that blank page, all he could think about was incorporating a romance angle into the book.
As if heaven had orchestrated it, the two FBI agents working together on a serial killer case were trapped alone in a cabin deep in the mountains on the west side of Shadow Cove Island.
The cabin, a mistake by the male lead not checking the location better when he secured the rental, was set deep in a mountain gorge and a snowstorm, rare for Shadow Cove but possible, had become a blizzard.
An unknown assailant had killed seven tourists over the past year, and the two FBI agents had nailed down their suspect, but now they had no way of letting anyone know.
Davin’s protagonists were frustrated with each other, the situation, their lack of options, and their patchy cell service was blocked completely by the storm.
Neither of them had thought a satellite phone would be necessary off the coast of California.
The killer might strike before they could make it through the storm and to the sheriff’s office, or get a phone call through to share the conclusion they’d come …
it was the innocent-seeming massage therapist who was the murderer.
He started pacing the office and instead of focusing on the next chapter, he tried to determine if he could layer some romantic looks or brief brushes of the hand building up to this moment.
Maybe his tough, untouchable agents would be ready to let down their guard and participate in a hug of comfort.
The moment could even segue into a kiss.
How could he get them close and snuggling? Make them cold and shivering?
Yes! He snapped his fingers at the stroke of inspiration from heaven. The power would go out and the blizzard would graduate to a level five, or extreme.
Yet how would they know the level of the blizzard if they had no cell service?
Argh. He pushed that worry away. He’d figure it out, or they’d simply notice the wind whipping the thick snow into a frenzy that plastered the windows. The cold air would seep through the cheap windows and poorly-insulated walls.
With the power out, they would need to start a fire to stay warm, but oh, no—the log rack was empty, and the only wood to burn was out on the patio, or … maybe they were both inept at building a fire. They weren’t scouts, after all.
Wait. Davin had said Agent Lemmon, the male agent, was a boy scout earlier in the book. The man was like McGyver, a jack of all trades and incredible at finding solutions with his hands and mind. Ah, shoot.
He paced quicker, annoyed that nothing was falling into place and the details weren’t lining up.
It didn’t matter. He had to shove the small details to the background.
He’d pray more diligently and his Father above would help him with solutions.
Often the solutions would come to him as he typed out the scene, or later as he hiked or ran.
It would all work out. He had to trust in heaven above and the fact that he’d done this twenty-six times before.
He sat and started typing about no power, no ability to start a fire. Agent Tristan Lemmon said to Agent Reesa Dresden in a deep, husky tone, “We’ll have to … snuggle to keep from freezing to death.”
Davin’s face and neck felt scalding hot and his palms were clammy. He was as nervous as his male lead.
“I’d choose freezing to death over snuggling with you,” Dresden hurled at Lemmon, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, crossed all kinds of professional boundaries that should never be crossed, her contempt for his poor decision of cabin rental obvious.
“Never mind,” Lemmon muttered, embarrassed and annoyed. He was a competent, successful agent. What right did Dresden have to treat him like a loser and why was he so inept with romance and relationships?
Davin groaned and stood to pace again, staring out the front windows at the pine trees and the mountains to the west. It was a beautiful May day, and he was stuck inside. If only he could get out on a run to clear his mind.
The lack of movement and inspiration was exacerbated by the fact that his male FBI agent was as awkward with women as Davin was. He would humiliate himself and alienate his readers if he attempted to write romance. Why was he even wasting his time trying?
He knew exactly why. Chloe. He wanted a chance with her, and he imagined women liked to be wooed or romanced. He could explore the idea of romance, but only with Chloe. He’d never bantered and teased or even flirted with anyone like he regularly did with her.
How could he learn, explore, and become proficient at romance? Maybe it would never work in his book, at least not with Lemmon and Dresden, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth some intense study. The effort might result in getting Chloe’s attention and someday her heart.
That was what he needed. He was the deep-dive research author. It was something he prided himself on and his readers and reviewers always appreciated and even venerated him for. Davin strived to know his subject matter, setting, professions, and characters inside and out.
He’d have to do intense research on romance. But how? Did he dare ask Chloe for help? Would he be completely transparent? She’d recognize it wasn’t so much about incorporating romance into his books as having an excuse to practice romance with her.
He had to try. Nothing could be gained by being inept and wimpy.
Davin’s stomach lurched and his nerves prickled. He was rarely anxious, but he felt apprehension deeply at the moment. Maybe he should start with online romance research first.
He grunted in disgust. He needed to get his writing done; he could figure out where to start later.
Forcing himself to push the worries over romance and Chloe to the side, Davin sat down to write the cabin scene, focusing on the couple’s frustrations.
The simmering emotions erupted into a full-scale volcanic battle that would most likely culminate in them sleeping in separate bedrooms in the chilly cabin and shivering through the miserable night.
He’d make it even worse—no extra blankets or even a space heater in a closet as snow was so rare on the island.
Not that they could’ve used the space heater without power.
“First, you rent a truck that shouldn’t be given the title of truck,” Dresden said, reminding Lemmon of the Toyota Tacoma that was so light, with horrible tires, the vehicle could barely get them safely up the mountain or in and out of the bowl the cabin was in every time they went to town.
“Then you secure a cabin in the middle of the woods, miles from town, without Wi-Fi or a real fireplace.”
Perfect. It wasn’t that they didn’t know how to build a fire; there were only electric fireplaces in the cabin. That worked. He’d go back and fix the other details later.
Thank you, he prayed in his mind. As always, the solutions came, but sadly not for romance. Maybe romance wasn’t an option for his characters, or himself.
Pushing that depressing thought away, he went back to typing.
He was so focused on his writing, the insults hurled, the damage done to their professional relationship, and the wretched night moving into a chilly morning in the cabin and between the characters that he lost track of time.
A beep on his phone pulled his head up. When did cell service come back on? He looked up and realized the storm was over and real life was waiting. It was actually a beautiful May day, and Chloe was in his living room.
He grabbed the phone off his desk. His stomach turned over at the text from Agent Florence to both him and Jaxon.
Balam Garcia robbed a convenience store in Laredo Texas. The store’s cameras caught multiple images of his face. He wasn’t trying to hide.
Ice skittered along his spine.
Garcia was in America.
Davin didn’t know what to respond. ‘Thanks’ was not appropriate at all.
Okay, he finally texted back.
Standing, he looked at the time. Six-thirty. He shoved his phone in his pocket, saved his document, and pushed open the door, hurrying from the office.
The main area smelled like roasting meat. Delicious.
“Hey. There you are.” Chloe beamed at him, as if she’d been waiting for this moment all afternoon. The stress over the information about Garcia being in Texas was pushed to the side, and anticipation filled him.