Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls #3)(19)

“We’re practically neighbors, though you live on the developed side of the road,” said Mac.

“I live with my grandfather. My sister and her three kids live there, too.”

“Sounds crowded.”

“I don’t mind. They’re family.” Stella took the coffee cup he handed her. “Morgan’s husband was killed in Iraq. She and the kids need us.”

“I’m sorry.” From a military family, Mac would understand.

“I wish I could help more, but I can’t grieve for them.” Sadness spread through Stella’s limbs, weighting them down.

“No, you can’t.” The news quieted Mac. He didn’t speak again until they’d driven another two miles. “Take the next left. Watch the mud. My lot is a little more rustic than yours.”

Stella had neighbors around the lake. Mac had no one close to him. She might be his closest neighbor.

She slowed the car. Her cruiser splashed and lurched down the rutted dirt lane. “Some road.”

“Keeps out the riffraff. I like it quiet.”

“You must.” Stella’s teeth snapped together as the car lurched through a lake-size puddle.

The narrow lane ended in a small clearing. Her headlights swept over a log cabin. Except for the beams of her headlights, the clearing was black as pitch. She could see the dark outline of a small outbuilding behind the cabin. “You really like your solitude.”

“I do.”

She fished her flashlight from her glove box, but Mac was already out of the car and striding into the darkness. Clicking on the flashlight, she followed him up onto a wooden porch. He dug keys out of the front pocket of his pants and opened the door.

The overhead light went on, illuminating a cozy but dusty combined kitchen and living area. The air was stuffy and hot. The scents of must and mildew tickled Stella’s nose. She sneezed.

“Sorry.” Setting the food on the kitchen table, he went to the kitchen window and wrestled it open. The wood groaned. “The place has been closed up for weeks.”

“No air-conditioning?”

“Nah.” He opened three windows in the living area. “I spend a lot of time in the jungle. I’m used to serious heat, and I like the sounds of the forest at night.”

Warm and humid air flooded the cabin, and the scent of pine freshened the room. Something moved in her peripheral vision. A gigantic brown spider skittered across the floor. Stella jumped sideways.

“There are always a few squatters when I get home from a trip.” Mac laughed. “Relax, he won’t hurt you. He’s probably terrified.”

“You could saddle that thing and ride it.” Stella didn’t take her eyes off the spider for fear that it would move out of sight, and then she wouldn’t know where it was. Somehow that would be worse than having it right in front of her. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

“Wolf spiders only bite if they feel threatened, and they eat a lot of other insects.” He picked up a magazine, scooped up the spider, and released it on the porch.

“They can balance the ecosystem outside.”

Mac contemplated the food. “Would you mind if I took a quick shower?”

Stella gestured toward the discharge papers he’d tossed onto the table. “You should read those. The doctor said you’re not supposed to get your stitches wet for forty-eight hours.”

He sighed. “I need a shower.”

“Do you have plastic wrap?”

“Probably.” He opened a kitchen drawer and seemed surprised to find some. He handed her the box.

“Take off your shirt.” She probably should have phrased that differently.

“Yes, ma’am.” Humor glinted in Mac’s clear blue eyes, but his movements were slow and careful as he eased the shirt over his head.

Stella refused to admire his impressive physique as she began to wind clear plastic around his ribs. Not one bit. Except maybe the hard ridges of his tanned twelve-pack. Eyes up.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

“My mother was an ER nurse, and my brother was a regular customer. He didn’t grasp the concepts of gravity or mortality until our dad died.” She walked around him, keeping the wrap snug and her gaze off his muscles. Mostly.

“When was that?”

“He’s been gone fifteen years.”

“Must have been hard.”

“Yes. I still miss him every day. Dad was a great guy. He was an NYPD detective. Killed in the line of duty.” Stella swallowed the grapefruit in her throat.

Mac tilted his head. “I bet he’d be proud of you.”

How did he know the exact question she’d asked herself every day since the shooting? Would her dad be disappointed that she’d missed the opportunity to stop a killer before he hurt more innocents?

“I hope so.” She tore off the plastic, smoothed it against his hard belly, and tucked in the tail. “That should keep the stitches dry if you’re careful.”

“I’m not a very careful man.” Mischief lit his eyes again.

“No kidding.” She stepped back and pointed to his bandage. “Keep the spray on your other side.”

He reached forward. Stella froze. Part of her wanted him to touch her very, very much. But her sanity questioned her judgment. This man had too many secrets.