Chapter 7
7
L ina zipped and buttoned her remaining pair of jeans—now clean—then tugged on a lightweight sweater. Glancing at the mirror, she debated what to do with her hair before pulling it into a low ponytail. The braids she’d worn the night before weren’t her style, but they’d made it easy to wear the helmet Viper lent her. The ponytail would do the same job.
The smell of coffee wafted into her room, and her stomach, used to its morning caffeine consumption, growled.
“Can I buy you breakfast?” she asked, walking out of her room.
Viper stood at the stove in a dark blue cotton T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing her a wry smile. “I’m a cheap date,” he said, lifting a pan. “I’ve got the eggs, but you can throw the bread in the toaster. How’d you sleep?”
“Better than I thought,” she answered, opening the bag of sliced bread. “After we eat, should I strip the bed?”
He nodded as he plated the eggs. “We’ll toss the sheets in the washer before we leave. Do you have any idea what your dad might have left for you on the property?”
She shook her head. “I don’t. It’s unlikely something big, since the property is worked by the university, and they would have noticed.”
“That’s good, since we only have my bike and not a lot of storage. I did a little online research last night. Your dad’s murder made it into the paper. Given what you told me about the way he lived his life, is it possible his death had something to do with his work?”
She leaned against the counter as the toaster heated, the coils slowly turning red. “I’ve thought about that. All he ever did was teach and research, so it would make sense, but I can’t imagine what.”
“He was a hematologist?”
She nodded, turning when the bread popped. “His specialty was some sort of blood disorder.”
“Like hemophilia?” he asked, following her to the table and setting their plates down.
She shook her head. “That’s a bleeding disorder—a type of blood disorder, but not the one he focused on. I shied away from learning too much about his work—a passive-aggressive way of getting back at him for not being interested in me, I’m sure—but if I recall, bleeding disorders are considered blood disorders, but not all blood disorders are bleeding ones. He specialized in a non-bleeding one.”
“Has he ever done any controversial research?” he asked as they dug into the huge piles of scrambled eggs on their plates.
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but it’s possible. If he found something interesting, he’d follow the trail without giving a thought to anything else. It wouldn’t occur to him to be careful. He lived in a black-and-white world. No,” she corrected. “That’s not quite right. Like I said, he wasn’t a bad person, but facts and truth—and the pursuit of those—defined his existence. Regardless of the outcome.”
Viper made a face as he finished a bite of toast piled with eggs. “Like the Manhattan Project? Maybe not the best thing for humanity—at least, not in the way they used it—but legit science.”
She nodded. “Exactly. There’s something admirable about the raw pursuit of science, but I think it’s folly not to consider ethics.” She paused, then rolled her eyes. “Then again, whose ethics? It’s a complicated question and one he never considered. His world was simple—follow the science.”
“Nothing else mattered?”
“Nothing else existed ,” she corrected before scooping up her last bite of eggs. “Not to change the subject, but I’m going to change the subject. What’s your given name? Or do you prefer that I call you Viper?”
His eyes sparkled before a smile ghosted his expression. “Jackson.”
He hadn’t answered her second question, and she studied him, looking for a clue as to what he preferred. Although, given that he hadn’t answered, she thought he might like it if she used his given name but didn’t want to ask it of her.
“It’s a good name,” she said. “Strong.”
He shrugged. “My parents named us all after presidents. Not particularly original, but I was one of the lucky ones.”
She laughed. “What are your siblings’ names?”
He grimaced. “There are five of us. All boys. I’m the middle. Harrison and Taylor are older. Pierce and Lincoln are younger.”
“Are you close?”
His eyes flashed with a darkness—not of color but of emotion. “Not really. What time should we head out? The ride will be warmer today than last night. At least we have that going for us.”
She could take a hint and went along with his change of subject. Pulling out her phone, she opened the map app and typed in the address. “The property is south of Eureka. According to this, it’s a little under two hours away. I’ll throw my things in my bag and strip the bed. I’ll be ready to go after that.”
He studied the map, then nodded and rose, collecting their empty plates as he did. “I’ll get ready after I wash these. Fifteen minutes?”
She nodded and rose as well. She considered offering to do the dishes, but Jackson looked as if he welcomed the mundane task. Entering her room, she gathered her few items and shoved them into her backpack on top of the stacks of money. She stared at the bag before zipping it up.
Twenty thousand dollars in cash.
She didn’t fight the wry smile that tugged at her lips. The stacks of bills were so her dad. Cash was real, therefore its use couldn’t be disputed. It would never occur to him that most hotels—except for the kind you couldn’t pay her to stay at—wouldn’t take the money these days. Most were card-only before COVID .
Zipping her bag, she thought about donating the money somewhere. Maybe a foundation that supported people with the types of disorders he studied. He’d been all about the science, and Lina doubted he ever considered the lives of the people he studied beyond what their bodies could tell him. She didn’t know much about his work, but as she set the bag on the floor and began stripping the sheets, she added looking into it to her to-do list. It would give her something to focus on at night other than doom scrolling.
By the time she walked out of her room, Jackson was shoving his sheets into the washer, his bag by his booted feet, and his leather jacket lying on the counter. The first night they met, she’d been drawn to his confidence, the evocative gleam in his eye, and the way he carried himself. He was genetically gifted on the looks front, for certain, but those three characteristics, the ones that first attracted her to him, said more about him —and the man he was—than his strong jaw, soulful eyes, and eye-catching bone structure. Those three parts of him were qualities he’d either earned or chosen.
If that night had ended the way they intended, she had zero doubts it would have been a memorable one. But because of the shooting, they’d bonded in a very different way. Now, simply tumbling into bed wasn’t an option. It would mean something. And she had no experience with anything other than casual. She didn’t think Jackson did either, but he struck her as a man with two modes: light-and-fun or till-death-do-we-part. With “light and fun” off the table, that left only one option—one she didn’t have the capacity to consider. At least, not now.
A twinge of regret twisted through her, but she shoved it into a deep, dark corner of her mind. As attractive as Jackson was—in every way—she needed, wanted, a friend right now. And it felt good to have someone she trusted at her side.
That thought hovered in the air around her, and she gently tested it. No matter which way she looked at it, though, she came to the same conclusion. She trusted Jackson. Despite their all-too-brief acquaintance, she trusted him.
“What’s that look?” Jackson asked, the left side of his mouth curling up as he reached for her sheets.
She handed them over, their fingers brushing. “Was thinking how weird it is that you don’t have to be friends with someone to trust them.”
He chuckled as he added soap to the machine. “You saying I’m not your friend?”
“I’m saying I trust you more than the hours we’ve known each other would warrant under normal circumstances.” She paused as he shut the door. “Then again, it’s not like anything about the hours we’ve known each other has been normal,” she added with a smile. “Thank you. Again.”
Reaching for his bag, he shrugged. “I have a feeling this is the start of a treasure hunt. And while I’m sorry your dad was killed, who doesn’t love a good treasure hunt?”