Chapter Nine
Hunter
Dylan is quiet when we get back to the inn, which, even in the short time I’ve known him again, is odd. I unlock the door to our room and stand aside, letting him go in first and trying to read his expression as he passes. Aside from a faint frown tightening his features, his face shows nothing.
Maybe he’s mad about the kiss. I really crossed a line there. Absently, I rub my chest where shame burns like indigestion. I should apologize, but I hate bringing it up. This situation is awkward enough.
“Hey.” I follow him inside and close the door behind us. Dylan looks at me expectantly, sinking onto the edge of the bed, face beautifully open. I lean back against the door and jam my hands into my pockets. “About earlier. When I kissed you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
His open expression shutters, and his shoulders hunch. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, it’s fine. Probably sold the whole boyfriends thing if anyone saw us, so...”
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. Instead, his attention is fixed on his fingertip, tracing the intricate pattern on the quilt.
“I thought you might be mad. You’ve been quiet. Is your head hurting?” Someone tried to shove him down a staircase yesterday, and today has been long enough. My knee aches after so long on my feet, and I hope Dylan hasn’t been in pain without saying anything all afternoon.
He shakes his head. “I was a little achy this morning, but I took a couple of ibuprofen. I’ve been fine since.”
“You’re quiet,” I tell him again, and he shoots me a weak smile.
“Just thinking, I guess.”
“Care to share with the class?”
This time, when his gaze meets mine, those deep, endlessly blue eyes are dark and haunted. “Do you think he’s dead?”
It’s a possibility. An abusive ex with a history of violence... Yeah, it’s a definite possibility. But for some reason, I can’t force myself to say so. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It won’t do us any good to fixate on one person without considering every angle.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about what Peters said about Lyle Kirkland’s ex, leaving town, and no one hearing from him again. What if Kirkland killed him, and now he’s done the same thing to Matthew?”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.” I push off the door and drop onto the bed next to him. “We don’t even know that Kirkland had an ex, let alone that he murdered him.”
“Peters said—”
“Peters couldn’t even remember the guy’s name. He gossips like an old woman. I doubt half of what he says is true. Besides, even if he is right about what went on between Kirkland and his ex, it doesn’t mean it has anything to do with what happened to Matthew.”
Though even I can admit Kirkland is a walking red flag, and I would bet money that whatever happened to Matthew, this guy knows something.
“Let’s order something to eat; then we can consider everything we know.”
Dylan lets out a slow breath and nods. “Yeah, okay. I’m going to have a quick shower.”
I nod. “I’ll order food. Is there anything specific you want?”
“I’m good with whatever.” He shrugs and stands. “You probably remember what I like.”
He slips into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, while I pretend his words haven’t hit me like a truck, knocking the breath right out of me.
I do know what he likes. Even after all these years, I know he doesn’t like onions, especially on pizza; he prefers Thai food to Chinese, and he hates tomatoes.
He has a sweet tooth that would rival a child’s, and given the choice, he’d live on dessert.
It’s strange remembering so easily. I’m not sure I could remember Jenna’s favorite foods as clearly, and we were engaged.
After a quick review of Coldwater’s limited takeout options, I order a pizza—pepperoni, mushrooms and extra cheese, the way Dylan likes, and his favorite soda and a bottled water for myself—then flop down on the bed with a pen and notebook.
I start to make quick notes, listing everything we learned today, but after a few quick strokes, my pen dies.
With a muttered curse, I lean over to grab my bag from the side of the bed where I left it. Instead, my fingers graze the plush rug. Frowning, I lean over, but the bag is gone.
“What the fuck?” I whisper. I know I left my computer bag next to the bed, for exactly this reason. So, my things would be close if I needed them. I sit up and scan the small, cluttered space. Had someone been in our room and taken it?
Scanning the room, I notice my computer bag is sitting next to the desk instead. Unease prickles the back of my neck. I know I didn’t leave it there. The desk is a small antique writing desk with an equally small ornate chair set behind it. I can’t imagine a more uncomfortable place to work.
I get up from the bed and start across the room to my bag, but stop. Dylan left a jacket he couldn’t fit in the dresser draped on the back of the chair, but now it’s folded over the back.
The bathroom door opens, and Dylan emerges, looking dangerously adorable in a black and gray plaid pair of pajamas and a faded Ramones t-shirt.
For a second, I forget that I’m nearly sure someone has been in our room while we were out.
Instead, I fix on his messy, still-damp hair.
My fingers itch to drag through the thick strands to see if it’s as soft as I remember.
The sight distracts me for a moment, but the unease crawling up my spine doesn’t fade.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, snapping me back to reality.
“Did you move my computer bag?”
He frowns and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t.”
“I’m not accusing you,” I tell him, hating that I’ve made him sound defensive. “I think someone was in the room. Is that how you left your jacket?”
His gaze follows the direction I point, to the chair behind the desk.
“No.” His eyes meet mine, apprehension tightening his expression. “I didn’t touch your bag, and I didn’t leave my jacket folded like that.”
“Go through your things. Check to see if anything is missing.”
He nods and starts opening and closing the dresser drawers, while I lift my computer bag and flip through the contents.
“I don’t think I’m missing anything,” Dylan says, from where he’s kneeling next to his suitcase. “Or if I am, I haven’t noticed.”
The contents of my bags, both the one with my laptop and the duffel with my clothes, seem intact, but I’m certain someone has gone through them.
Admittedly, it’s more a feeling than anything I can prove.
“Someone has been in here. I think we need to make sure we don’t leave anything valuable behind when we’re out. ”
Dylan opens his mouth to say something, but a solid knock at the door cuts him off. I open it to find Nancy standing there with our pizza and drinks.
“There was a delivery.” Her mouth is pressed into a flat line, clearly annoyed. “We typically only allow clear drinks in the rooms.”
She’d clearly looked in the paper bag with our drinks and saw Dylan’s soda. And why not? She’s probably the one who nosed through our things while we were out.
“We’re not children,” Dylan says, moving in front of me to take the box and bag from her. Nancy’s scowl deepens, but she doesn’t try to stop Dylan.
“Just so we’re clear, if anything is ruined, you will be charged.”
“Fair enough,” I grit out through a tight smile. “Thanks for bringing up our order.”
She sniffs, turns and strides away, while I close the door.
“What a bitch,” Dylan says. “Someone should tell her she’s in the hospitality industry.”
He’s set the pizza box on the floor and is sitting cross-legged next to it.
He’s already taken his soda from the bag, cracks it open and gulps it down.
His eyes close, and his throat bounces with each swallow.
I can’t look away. Fuck, it’s not fair that he’s still this hot, even all these years later.
And it’s definitely unfair that I am still this affected by him even after everything that’s happened between us.
He takes the soda can away from his mouth, lets out a rumbling belch before adding, “Damn, that was good.”
“Charming.” I roll my eyes, and sink down on the floor next to him.
He cocks his head and eyes me thoughtfully. “I can’t believe you remembered!”
Neither can I if I’m honest, and the acknowledgment makes my face hot. I must look pathetic, remembering his favorite soda and preferred pizza toppings like some kind of lovesick teenager. I take out the water I got for myself from the paper bag.
“No cream soda?” he asks, lifting a pizza slice from the box.
He remembered my favorite, too. I felt slightly less pathetic now. “No, I’d be up all night if I had that kind of sugar this late in the day.”
“Out of practice.”
I smirk and help myself to a slice. “Just getting old, I think.”
“Sure,” he says around a mouthful. “You’re practically decrepit. Hence, the healthier choice.”
“There’s another water for you, too, since we’re the same age.”
“You’re a whole year older than me.” Dylan grins and takes another bite of his pizza. We both start to eat, neither of us saying much. When we move on to seconds, Dylan breaks the quiet first.
“Do you think Nancy was the one in our room?”
“Since she obviously went through the bag with our drinks? I think it’s likely. I’m not sure if she was just nosy or looking for something specific.”
“About Matthew?”
“Maybe.” I pop the last piece of crust into my mouth, then wipe my hands with a napkin. “Or she could have been looking for something to steal.”
“I know you said not to fixate on Lyle Kirkland, but he has to be the most likely suspect, right?”
“Probably,” I agree. “I’ll run a background check on him in the morning, see what I can find out about him, and maybe track down this old boyfriend.
I’m going to run a background check on Peters, too.
For someone who doesn’t pry into the personal lives of his employees, he had a lot to say once he got going. ”
Dylan wipes his mouth with a napkin and crumples it into a ball before tossing it away. “Do you think he’s dead?”