Murder Takes the High Road(28)

Not this again.

Surreptitiously, I reached over to John, and feeling the empty expanse of cooling sheets, confirmed who the someone tiptoeing so painstakingly around the room was.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

His shadow jumped, though not as noticeably as the night before. His tone was almost normal as he said, “I’m going out for a quick walk. I can’t sleep. I think it’s the jet lag.”

Even half asleep I knew that was a crock. I listened to the rain thundering down outside, and said, “Me neither. Give me a minute. I’ll get dressed and go with you.”

A sudden and startled silence followed my words.

I snorted. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

John’s shadow visibly relaxed. He said way too casually, “I mean, you’re welcome to come, if you’d like.”

I laughed. “You’re so full of shit, John. Just don’t wake me up when you slosh back in here in a couple of hours.”

*

He was back in less than half an hour. I was finally relaxing into warm drowsiness when I heard his key in the lock. Raising my head, I watched his silhouette slip inside and with great care ease the door silently closed. Painstakingly, he slid the bolt and it barely made a whisper as it slid home. His smugness was almost visible through the gloom.

I said in normal tones, “That was quick,” and watched with satisfaction as he gave another of those convulsive starts.

John said shakily, “You really are a light sleeper.”

“Yes, I am. Are you done for the night?”

“Yes.”

I waited silently as he hastily undressed. He crawled onto his side of bed, trying unsuccessfully to defy gravity, and rolled to a stop at the bottom of the dip. I could practically feel the cold radiating off him. He expelled a long, shivery breath.

“Enjoy yourself?” I asked.

He huffed out a shivery chuckle. “The last time I was this cold I was camping in the Sierras.”

I’d intended to ask what the hell he’d been doing prowling around in the middle of the night, but that distracted me. “I haven’t been camping in years,” I said.

He half-raised his head as though to peer at me more closely. “You like camping?”

“I used to. I used to love it.” Trevor hated camping. So—it hadn’t been a deliberate decision, but there were only so many hours in a day and, originally, I’d wanted to spend most of them with Trevor—I’d eventually quit going camping with my friends.

A lot of things I had enjoyed before I met Trevor had faded out the same way. Not consciously renounced, just...no longer making time for them.

“RV camping?” he asked suspiciously.

“That’s not camping.”

“Exactly,” he said in the tone of one who has just won a bitter argument. “Exactly.”

I grinned. I liked John. Man of Secrets or not.

John gave a sudden full body shudder. “Remember my earlier suggestion of stripping naked and sharing the sleeping bag to conserve body warmth?”

“If only we had a sleeping bag.”

“We could improvise.” His tone was light. Joking, but not entirely joking.

My pulse jumped. Other things jumped as well. Here again was possibility. Was I interested? Silly question. Of course I was.

Interested and tempted. I hadn’t had sex in months and, not only did I like John, I found him increasingly attractive. Maybe because I hadn’t had sex in months.

The problem was, he was also my roommate, and if things got awkward, they would be very awkward. Thanks to Trevor and Vance, this trip had enough strained moments. I didn’t need further complications. Especially with a guy who was clearly up to something.

I said, matching the lightness of his tone, “If it starts to snow, ask me again.”

“Ah.” His tone held a flattering note of disappointment. “Will do.”

I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, but it was a while before I fell back asleep.

*

I woke to watery sunshine and the insistent chime of my cell phone.

I reached over, peered at the time, and glanced at John.

He was still deeply asleep. His lashes threw dark curves against his cheekbones, his mouth was firm, but turned up a little at the corners as though he was having a good dream.

I felt my own mouth curve in response.

What the hell was he doing every night? For a guy with insomnia he sure seemed to sleep deeply the rest of the time.

Through the wall, I heard the door of the room next to ours squeak open. I waited for the noisy clunk of luggage being placed in the hall, but the door squeaked closed. Footsteps on the landing passed swiftly by our door. I listened to them fade out.

Someone was in a hurry to get down to breakfast.

I sighed. It was time to get moving. Unless I wanted to forgo the morning dose of cholesterol and carbs, which...maybe. I could probably grab something to eat in Strathpeffer while we were exploring the town. What were the odds of finding a decent fruit smoothie?

I glanced at John’s sleeping form again. I couldn’t help second-guessing my discretion the night before. What was the big deal about sex, after all?

He was an adult. I was an adult. How awkward could things get in eight nights? Maybe it would be fun to find out.

Speaking of cold showers... I listened to the groans and creaks of the old plumbing overhead. Of course, according to John, our shower didn’t work. I might be taking a cold bath that morning.