Till Death(87)

God, going to Cole’s house and hiding out sounded amazing. “I can’t do that. My mom—”

“She can come too.”

My heart tripled in size as I walked up to him. “That is so sweet of you, but we have guests who have somehow not realized what has been happening. We can’t ask them to leave. It’s not like we’re making a ton of money, and we can’t risk bad reviews. Bed-and-breakfast places live and die by word of mouth.”

He did not look happy with my answer. “How far are you booked up?”

I rested my hands on his sides. “We don’t have a break anytime soon. I’m sorry. I appreciate what you’re offering. I think you’re wonderful for it, but I can’t.”

His shoulders rose with a heavy sigh. “Didn’t think you were going to go for it. But I’m going to be honest with you, if something else happens, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and cart your ass out of here.”

Despite everything, I smiled. “I just pictured that, and there is something oddly hot about it.”

“Well, the image did involve me, so . . .”

I laughed. “You definitely don’t have any modesty issues, do you?”

“Nah.”

Our eyes met and held. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. Cole folded his arms around me, and I turned, pressing against him. He was all warm strength, and in his arms, it was easy to believe that everything would be okay.

It was easy to pretend.



Things were sort of normal on Wednesday. Miranda called me in the morning, and she was only slightly hungover from a wine headache. Cole was at work, but my mind was not far from him.

Last night, we slept. His arms wrapped around me, a leg thrown over mine, and I stayed asleep until he woke me in the way I was growing incredibly accustomed to, his hand and then his mouth between my thighs. He got me off that way, and then I got him off in the shower.

The shower thing had been a first for me.

I’d never showered with a man before, and I sure as hell had never gotten on my knees in a shower either.

I decided I wanted every morning to go like that.

Sipping my soda, I sat at the front desk while Mom started to work on a light lunch. Not much of a cook, the moment I tried to help her, she shooed me out, so it was back to the endless updating of spreadsheets. I figured I’d be done sometime in the next five hundred years.

It was hard to sit at the desk when I knew Cole was currently combing through the database he had mentioned. I wanted to be out there, helping to figure out who was doing this, but I wasn’t a detective. I wasn’t a grown-up Nancy Drew. There was little I could do other than keep myself safe.

So my butt stayed in the chair.

I looked up at the sound of steps. The Wilkins couple was coming down the staircase. They’d checked in earlier. Both were from Upstate New York. They were road-tripping to Florida, which I was in awe of. There was no way in the world I could ever be in a car for that kind of trip.

Except maybe with Cole.

I bet we could make that interesting.

“Hi,” I said as Mrs. Wilkins approached the desk, her strawberry-blond hair falling in curls over her shoulders.

Her smile was more of a grimace. “I hate to be that guest who immediately has a complaint.”

“No. It’s okay,” I reassured her as her husband walked to the doors. “What can I help you with?”

She twisted a pink fuzzy winter cap in her hands. “There is this really weird smell in our room. We thought maybe it was just our imagination at first, but it’s not. I think it’s coming from one of the rooms next to us,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s pretty rank.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that.” I rose from the desk. “I will check on that immediately.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling on her cap. “The inn is really lovely, by the way.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” I stepped around the desk. “You said it was room seven, correct?”

She nodded and then joined her husband at the door. Cold air rushed in, along with some flurries. Smiling at them, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my sweater and walked toward the kitchen. My stomach rumbled at the scent of pasta. Mom was at the counter, cutting peppers.

“Hey,” I said, heading toward the back room. “Room seven and five haven’t been booked, right?”

“Nope.” She paused, looking up. “Seven’s the room that had the leaky sink. The one that Cole fixed. Why?”

“Strange.” I opened the door. “The young couple who booked room six said that there was a bad smell they thought might be coming from one of the nearby rooms.”

Mom frowned. “That’s really odd.”

“I’m going to check it out. Cross your fingers that it’s not a dead mouse or something,” I told her.

“Better not be.”

Snatching up the keys to the rooms, I headed to the staff entrance. My first stop was the Wilkinses’ room. After stepping inside, I left their door open.

I inhaled deeply, and all I smelled was perfume—vanilla perfume. I walked past the bed, to the wall that bumped up to room five, and I still didn’t smell anything. Wondering if they were imagining things, I headed to the opposite side of the room, and opened their bathroom door. A faint scent of aftershave and fruity body wash clung to the small room, but as I stepped in further, I did smell something under those scents. I inhaled again, nose wrinkling.