Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(26)

“Shit,” he says. “That was stupid of me. Sorry.”

I set the gun down, pat Storm and then put my arms up for a hug from Dalton. He practically collapses against me and I say, “Long day?”

He chuckles and straightens, his hands looped around my waist. “Yeah. Fucking long day.”

Then, in answer to my unspoken question, he says, “Not a damned trace.”

I arch my brows.

He shrugs. “Okay, a few traces. But they didn’t lead anywhere. Even if he’s not a U.S. Marshal, he knows how to throw someone off his trail. He headed straight for rock. Waded through a couple of streams on the way. I kept thinking having Storm would help . . .”

“Not for sneaking up on him. And you’re going to need to sneak up.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll have to teach her stealth, too. Which won’t be easy with her size.”

He sighs. “I didn’t really think it through. Getting a Newfoundland.”

I put my arms around his neck again. “You got me my dream dog, Eric. I’m not trading her in for a bloodhound, so don’t even ask.”

He chuckles. “A bloodhound would be fucking useless in the winter anyway. As for Garcia, I give him three days before he comes knocking on our door again, wanting to cut a deal.”

“I give him one night out there.” I move back to perch on the desk. “Speaking of nights, I hope you’re calling it one.”

“Yep, just picking up my bed buddy first.”

I glance down at Storm.

Dalton laughs. “No. She snores and drools and sheds. So do you, but not as much.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I just have a couple more things—”

“Nope.”

“I just need—”

“Nope. If you don’t stop working, I won’t either.”

“Damn.”

“Yep, that works better than ordering you to quit.” He’s about to say more when a noise from the cell room stops him. Before I can explain, he says, “Petra?”

“Uh . . . yes. How’d you know?”

“Educated guess. She pissed you off, huh?”

“She wasn’t taking me seriously. Putting her in there, though, is about testing a theory. One that I would prefer to discuss after you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. But I really do have a few more things I need to do.”

He sighs. “All right. I’ll rest my eyes while you finish up. Just sit with me for a minute first.”

He leads me to the fireplace bearskin rug. Rockton is full of hide rugs and blankets. It adds a nice “wilderness lodge” touch, but it really is about conservation—using as much as possible of any animal we need to kill.

We sit on the rug, Storm taking a spot beside it. Then Dalton stretches out and tugs me to lie beside him. I prop up on my elbow. He kisses me—a long, slow kiss that washes over me like a warm bath, and I relax into it, feeling the pull of my exhaustion. When he lowers his head to the rug, his eyelids are flagging. He keeps me there, though, his hand on my hip.

“So,” he says. “How was your day?”

I laugh at that and shake my head. “Long. It felt like running in place while juggling hand grenades, so the best I can say is that I didn’t drop any.”

“That’s the main thing.”

“Progress would be nice.”

He shrugs. “Move too fast, and you’ll drop a grenade. Then you won’t need to worry about making progress.”

“True. Slow and steady just isn’t my style.”

“I know. But I gotta say, it made a difference, knowing I didn’t need to worry about what shit was happening back here. Knowing you’d be on top of it.”

I hesitate and then say, “So I shouldn’t ask to go with you tomorrow.”

One nearly shut eyelid opens. “Is that what you want?”

“For a while, if I could. Will can handle the grenades. None are in imminent danger of exploding. I know you’re fine out there but . . .”

“You worry about me.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, if you get a little concerned for my safety, then I won’t feel so bad when I completely overreact about yours.”

I smile. “True. So may I join you?”

“You may. You can bring the coffee. Got a feeling we’re going to need . . .”

He trails off, eyes closed, and I think he’s joking, proving the point about needing coffee tomorrow. But his next breath comes deep as his face goes slack.

“Not tired at all, were you?” I say with a smile.

I lean down and press my lips against his and then cuddle in beside him, closing my eyes, just for a second . . . and the world darkens.

*

I wake once in the night, rousing just enough to feel soft blankets, where someone has draped them over us. The station smells of wood fire, someone setting it to ward off the night chill. Storm is pressed up against my legs, a furry hot water bottle. Dalton sleeps so soundly he’s snoring, and I can’t summon the energy or the will to wake him and go home. I’m back asleep in moments.

I wake again to the smell of coffee, a mug wafted under my nose, Dalton crouching beside me. I reach out, and he starts to hand it to me, and then kisses me instead. When we part, I smile and says, “Good morning.”