“Meaning you and I will be working together more closely in the future whenever there’s a suspicious death.”
He looks over at me and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.
“It means we will be working together as a team in the future, to ensure there are no improprieties going on,” I add.
His face falls and I sense he’s figured out the ramifications. “Improprieties,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
The water on the stove has begun to boil so he busies himself for a few minutes pouring it into the mugs and stirring them. Then he carries them over to the couch, hands me one of them, and settles in beside me. “I take it these improprieties include you and me—” He lets the implication hang there between us.
“Yes.”
He nods and sips his cocoa, staring into the fire. After a moment of silence he says, “So in order for us to continue working together, David will get his wish.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it, though I think David has finally moved on.”
“You’ve thought that before and it didn’t prove to be true.”
“I know, but there’s something different about him this time. Something has happened to make him change his mind.”
“We’ll see. Not that it matters, given the change in our job situation.”
“That’s assuming I still have a job.”
Hurley shoots me a troubled look. “I’m sorry I—”
“Don’t,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. “As I said before, I walked into this knowing full well what the consequences might be. I did it willingly. You don’t need to apologize.”
We sit in companionable silence for a while, sipping our respective drinks and staring at the fire, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I keep reflecting back on what Izzy said to me about having unresolved feelings for David, and the unexpected urges I felt while he was staying at my house.
“Look, Hurley,” I say finally, after I’ve drained my mug. “I like my job. Oddly enough it suits me. I like working with Izzy. I like the puzzle aspects of figuring out what really happened, and I enjoy trying to gauge people to figure out what they’re really thinking.”
“You should enjoy your job,” Hurley says. “You’re good at it.”
“Thanks.” I lean forward and turn to face him. “I also like working with you. And while I can’t deny that I feel a certain . . . attraction to you, I’m pretty new at this singles stuff and I’m not sure I can trust my own emotions. I would hate to ruin a good working relationship by muddling it up with emotional baggage.”
Hurley looks wounded for a second, but then he sighs and says, “Fair enough.” He gets up from the couch and takes my empty mug, carrying it and his out to the kitchen. “Tell you what,” he says. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s been a hard day for both of us. Tomorrow we can tackle this case again, reanalyze what we know, and try to figure out where to go from here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say. I look around the cabin and raise the next obvious question. “How do we work out the sleeping arrangements?”
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Hurley says. “You can have the couch.”
I frown at that, knowing the floor won’t be very comfortable and worried about the occasional scurrying sounds I keep hearing in the darkened corners of the cabin. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “We can share the bed.”
Hurley looks at me, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I don’t know if that’s a wise idea,” he says, arching a brow at me.
“We can put a roll of blankets or something between us in the bed,” I suggest. “It will be fine. We can leave our clothes on. And frankly, I’m too tired and sore from working out at the gym to consider doing anything anyway. Not to mention that I haven’t had a shower.”
Hurley considers this and gives in. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”
He goes to one of the cupboards and digs out a stack of pillows and blankets. After a few minutes we have the couch opened and the bed made up with a rolled-up quilt serving as a line of demarcation down the center.
When we’re done, we stand on either side of the couch, eyeing the bed between us. “You okay with that side?” Hurley asks.
“I’m fine.” I climb in and pull the blankets over me to prove it.
After adding a few more logs to the fire and stirring it up, Hurley climbs in on the other side. I catch a whiff of him as he adjusts the blankets—that clean, faintly spicy smell that seems to send my hormones into overdrive. I turn on my side facing away from him, wondering if this was such a smart idea after all, and doubtful that I’ll ever be able to fall asleep with a fabulous-smelling, handsome-as-hell hunk of man meat next to me.
Chapter 38
Apparently I was more tired than I realized because the next thing I know, I’m waking up feeling warm and cozy, still lying on my side, staring at sunlight beaming in through the window across from me. Memories of the night before come flooding back to me, and when I become aware of something along the length of my backside, at first I think it’s the barrier quilt. But as my mind clears its cobwebs, I realize it’s too warm to be the quilt. Then I become aware of a weight on my chest and when I lift the covers and look down, I see an extra arm there.
That’s when I realize that it’s Hurley along my backside, spooning himself against me, his arm draped over my side. We fit together disturbingly well and a part of me wants to close my eyes and stay snuggled up against him this way forever. But I know how dangerous our situation could be and besides, my bladder is throbbing with urgency. I carefully lift Hurley’s arm and slide out of the bed. It isn’t easy; my body is stiffer than ever and the left side of my neck hurts like hell where the Taser bit me.
The cabin is freezing cold and I see that the fire has gone out and the woodpile is depleted. Clearly Hurley got up during the night to tend to it and the thought of him being awake and watching me while I slept is titillating . . . until I remember how David used to tell me I tend to fart in my sleep.
Hurley rolls onto his back and starts to snore lightly. I stand there a moment, admiring the outline of his body beneath the blankets and imagining the could-have-beens. But I realize it’s a slippery slope and after a minute I shake it off and head for the outhouse.
The spiders don’t seem quite as intimidating by the light of day and after relieving myself, I head around to the back of the house and grab a bunch of logs. When I come back inside, Hurley is still sleeping so I busy myself stacking the wood in the fireplace. A few minutes later I light one of the little starter packets and the wood starts to burn.
When I turn back toward the rest of the cabin, I’m startled to see Hurley awake and watching me.
“Good morning,” I say. “How did you sleep?”
“Amazingly well,” he says with a stretch and a smile. “You?”
“Like a baby.”
Hurley flings back the covers and gets out of bed, and my eyes are irresistibly drawn to the front of his jeans, where his morning erection is obvious. Flushing hot from more than the fire, I quickly look away and busy myself removing the bed linens from the couch.
Hurley walks over to the door and grabs the toilet paper. “Be right back,” he says.
By the time he returns, I have the bed stripped and folded back into the couch. A surreptitious glance at Hurley’s jeans lets me know that things are back to normal and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Hurley heads for the woodstove, where he lights a fire and puts a pan of water on to boil. A few minutes later, he has taken the package of bacon we bought last night out of the tiny fridge and several strips are frying in a pan. I join him in the kitchen and measure out spoonfuls of instant coffee into a couple of mugs.