Close To Danger (Westen #4)(27)

“Dishtowels?” she asked a moment later.

He nodded to his left. “Bottom drawer.”

They worked together washing and drying the dishes, Chloe remembering where everything went.

“If we didn’t have sex,” she asked as he worked on the first of the frying pans, “what exactly did happen that night? Because I certainly woke up in your bed with hardly anything on.”

He handed her the pan, then put the second one in the water. “I’d hoped to get you just drunk enough to loosen up and give me details about who you might think is stalking you.”

“Did I?”

“Unfortunately, you are one of those rare drunks. You get quieter and quieter. When you wanted to drive yourself to the Inn, I took your keys and drove you here, where I could keep an eye on you.”

She took the second pan from him. “And my clothes?”

He shrugged as he let the water out of the sink and dried his hands on a paper towel. “Didn’t think you’d sleep well wrapped up in that red bridesmaid dress. I took it off you and pulled the covers up. That’s all.”

Finally, she put the pan away and hung up the dish towel on the door of the oven. Leaning one hip against the counter, she crossed her arms in front of her, pushing her breasts just a little higher. Wes tried to keep his gaze from moving south.

“You let me leave here believing we’d had sex that night,” she accused him.

“No. You left here assuming we did. You were in such a rush to get away from me, you didn’t give me a chance to set the record straight. You jumped to conclusions based on faulty evidence, counselor.” He lifted one brow at her, then went to retrieve his laptop.



*



Chloe stared after Wes’s retreating back. Relief coursing through her, irritation quickly on its heels.

He’d known exactly what she’d believed. “I really enjoyed last night, Chloe.” He’d said those words just before he kissed her. She should know. Her mind had played those words and that kiss over and over in the two weeks since.

Embarrassed, she glanced at the pea coat hanging on one of the pegs. His pea coat. The one he’d given her that day. The same one she’d worn every day since, like some stupid love-sick teenager wearing the football captain’s letter jacket. He was right. She’d drank too much to try and erase the fear surrounding her for weeks. And the next morning, she’d jumped to conclusions. Wrong conclusions, based on her feelings and not facts.

“Since we’re pretty much snowed in here, how about we use the time to figure out who’s stalking you,” Wes said, returning with a laptop and some round electronic gizmo. He set them on the counter and slipped onto one of the stools.

“What’s that?” she asked, taking the seat beside him.

“Laptop.” He gave her a duh look.

She wanted to slug him, but just lifted one no-duh eyebrow at him. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.” She pointed at the round piece. “I meant that.”

“A retinal scanner.” He proceeded to power up the laptop, connect the scanner device to the USB port and cupping it in his hand, he held it to his eyes. Immediately, the laptop screen changed.

“Impressive. But isn’t that a little excessive security? It’s not like you have government secrets in there, is it?” Chloe teased, stopping when she saw the seriousness on his face. She blinked then stared wide-eyed at him. “You’re telling me you do?”

He shrugged as he typed. “More like government-only access programs.”

She leaned in closer. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“It was a going-away gift from my former employers.”

“Wait, you mean to tell me you worked for the government before coming to this little backwater town to work as a deputy?”

He didn’t answer, just met her gaze with his own steady one.

“What were you? CIA?”

No answer.

“NSA?”

Again, just that steady stare.

“Dark ops?”

He blinked.

“Oh, my God.” She inhaled quickly, then blew the air of her mouth in a big O. Inhaling again, the air caught in her chest once more, this time slowly letting it out as realization dawned on her. He wasn’t kidding. She was snowed in with a man who had deep, dark secrets. And he’d just shared one with her.

“Oh, great. I just had to open my mouth and ask,” she muttered.

“What?” He tilted his head to one side in curiosity.

“You know the old saying in spy shows? If I tell you, then I have to kill you? Well, now you’ve told me. What happens next?”

He shook his head. “Counselor, you have a vivid imagination. I’m not going to hurt you. If I hadn’t wanted you to know about my special talents, I wouldn’t have let you see this or answered any of your questions.”

Still a little intimidated, but feeling safer, she wrapped her arms around herself. “So, you worked for some dark ops unit for a secret government group. Then you left to come here. Why?”

“I was given a mission that I didn’t feel should’ve been undertaken, for a target we didn’t really know much about, and the intel was faulty. It went south. Most of my team didn’t make it back.” He leaned one elbow on the counter, rubbing his hand over his face, anger and distress warring on his features and in his eyes. “I’d had enough. I just wanted some peace.”