Troublemaker (10 page)

Feeding the dog was easy; feeding the man was a problem.

“I'm at a loss for breakfast,” she confessed. “I have the aforementioned skim milk and cereal—Grape-Nuts, if you're interested.” She knew she wasn't. In her mind, cereal was for when there was nothing else in the house. “I also have instant oatmeal, and I can throw in some
raisins to make it more hearty. Other than that, we're back to the PB&J, or another smoothie. Or—” Thinking of something, she quickly opened the refrigerator door and checked the contents. Yes, she had cheese. “—a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“I'm fine with just coffee,” he said. “I'm not hungry.”

“We went through this yesterday. You have to eat.”

“Sandwich,” he said grudgingly. “Peanut butter.”

“I'm sorry for the pitiful selection, but like I said, I haven't been shopping.” She felt chagrined by her lack of options, even though she hadn't had any warning. “What would you like while I'm shopping? Eggs, sausage, pancakes?” She pulled a notepad toward her and began scribbling down a list. Eggs, breakfast ham, salsa, fresh fruit, whole milk—

“Yes,” he said, evidently to everything.

The enormity of feeding him dawned on her. It wasn't just breakfast; it was three meals a day, every day, for an unspecified length of time. Her scribbling got faster. Steaks, though maybe he wasn't up to that yet. She could put them in the freezer until he was. Salad fixings. Hamburgers, potatoes, frozen hash browns.

This was going to cost a fortune. Good thing Axel was paying her well.

Food wasn't the only problem. She couldn't hide him away out here for any length of time. For one thing, her grocery bill would give her away, and Hamrickville was small enough that things like that got noticed. For another, she didn't
intend
to hide him. That was a scandal waiting to happen. She'd tell Jesse that Morgan was out here, and the basic truth that he'd had open-heart surgery and needed a place to recover.

She couldn't tell Morgan's real name, though, given that he was in hiding and Internet searches were like taking out an electronic billboard.

She thought about that as she slapped peanut butter and jelly between two slices of bread—he got a whole sandwich this time—and when she took the sandwich to him, she said, “What name will you be using?”

Evidently he and Axel had already covered that base because he said, “I have a second ID that'll past muster in case anyone checks.”

“Oh, it'll be checked. As soon as my chief deputy finds out you're here, he'll be all over it.”

He showed no surprise at her having a chief deputy, which told her that he already knew her circumstances here, and the setup she had with Hamrickville. She cocked her head, eyeing him. If he so readily had a fake ID, how did she know he'd shown her his real one? On the other hand, did it really matter?

“Yes, I told you my real name,” he said tersely, correctly reading her expression.

She shrugged. “It doesn't matter if you did or not, because I wouldn't know either way. I don't know you. All I know is that Axel sent you, you're in sorry shape and obviously need help, and a big payment is supposed to be deposited in my bank account today. You can call yourself Lady Gaga, for all I care.”

“I'll stick with Morgan,” he said drily. “My second ID is for Morgan Rees, R-E-E-S.” He didn't pronounce it
Reece
, but rather the way it was spelled. “Middle name Allen.”

“Is Allen your real middle name?”

“No.”

“Okay. Morgan Rees. I got it. And if Jesse asks, I don't know your middle name, because it isn't as if we hooked up in the past or anything.”

“Jesse is your chief deputy?”

“He is. Jesse Tucker. You'll be meeting him, probably some time this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Because when I tell him you're here, he'll have to check you out himself.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” The blue eyes narrowed, his gaze drilling into her and the intensity in his gaze taking her aback.

“Lord, no!” she said, startled. What had made him ask that, unless he was weighing the possible complications of jealousy and prolonged contact? She supposed that was reason enough, given his circumstances.

“But he'll come out here to check for himself whether or not I'm on the level?”

“He's a good cop. He's also a friend, though not romantically.” And Jesse was somewhat protective of her, not because of any romantic feeling but because he was afraid being chief of police would make her a target for people who didn't know the position was administrative and wanted to show up the “lady chief.” She lived alone in an isolated area, something she still sometimes felt uneasy about, so she was grateful for the attention he paid to her welfare.

Come to think of it—Jesse always checked in when he left for the night, and last night he hadn't. The omission was so unusual Bo swiftly got her cell phone and called Jesse's cell, her brow knit with worry.

Jesse answered on the second ring. “Mornin', Chief.”

She blew out a breath of relief. “I was worried. You didn't check in last night, and I just realized it.”

“Ah . . .” Jesse fell silent, as if he couldn't think what to say. Bo could practically feel his embarrassment.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Hurt? No! No, it isn't anything like that.”

Now it was her turn to say, “Ah.” Jesse was crazy about one of the stylists, Kalie Vaughan, at Daina's salon. Lately Kalie had been saying yes when he asked her out, and she suspected Jesse's forgetting to check in had something to do with Kalie—either a fight, or
not
a fight. She smiled, because she strongly suspected the situation was
not
a fight. She said, “Okay. Tell Kalie good morning for me.”

Startled, Jesse yelped, “How did you—” and she laughed and pumped a fist in the air in victory at guessing right. Not only that, she and the rest of the town had been rooting for them; they were both very well liked, and just
fit
together, as if they'd been made for each other and were only now realizing it.

“Okay, you got me,” he said sheepishly.

“Yes, I did.” She didn't try to keep the smugness out of her tone. “I'll be in around noon unless you need me before then.”

She clicked off the call and found Morgan watching her as intently
as ever, his gaze so sharp and focused that it made a chill race up her spine as she saw again what a dangerous man he was when he wasn't recovering from being shot. No, he was
still
dangerous, and she'd felt his hand around her throat as evidence of that. He was a wounded predator, but a predator still.

“What's going on?” he asked, his muscles tense as if preparing to swing into action, though what he thought he could do considering how weak he was—

He'd do whatever was necessary.
She knew it without question, though she had precious little to go on other than the direct fierceness of his gaze, and his explosive reaction when he was startled out of sleep.

“Nothing,” she said, then when his gaze flashed she amended, “Nothing of an official nature, anyway. Jesse has been seeing someone we all really like and she's why he forgot his check-in call last night.”

He relaxed against the back of the sofa to finish his sandwich. Bo picked up his empty cup and indicated it. “Want another?”

“Please.”

Bo went back to the coffeemaker and did the routine, grabbing some more of her own coffee and looking around for Tricks while the cup filled. Tricks was in the corner nosing through her toy box, though most of the stuffed animals were on the floor in front of the sofa. She found a dirty chewed-up old bone; it was covered with hair from where she'd wallowed on it, and some of her fur had gotten stuck on the rough places. All in all, it was a disgusting sight, but not to Tricks; carrying it proudly, she pranced over to the newcomer, where she laid it on the sofa beside his leg, then backed up a few steps and watched him with bright eyes, obviously waiting for something. Her plumy tail wagged gently back and forth, as if encouraging him.

“What does she want?” he asked, raising his voice a little.

“For you to either throw it, praise her for having such an excellent selection of toys, or play tug of war. Or, if she really likes you, she brought it to you for you to chew on. She's generous that way.”

He made a rough, kind of gasping sound that could have been almost a laugh, but she wasn't certain. “Do I get to pick?”

She took pity on him; she delivered the fresh cup of coffee and grabbed the bone from beside his leg before Tricks could snatch it up to prevent her from getting it. “Never show weakness,” she advised. “If you do, you're beyond human aid.”

He snorted. “She's a retriever, not a tiger.”

“She's a force of nature, and don't forget it.” Bo's tone held humor, but she was also serious. She was the only known human whom Tricks acknowledged in any way as being in charge—not that she wasn't fond of other people, because Tricks loved people in general, but she tended to think they existed to pet her, praise her, and give her anything she wanted. Bo worked hard to keep Tricks from being a pest—unless she was pissed off at the person in question, in which case she let Tricks be as much of a pest as she wanted, which could be awesome.

To prove she could be single-minded, Tricks began trying to butt the bone out of Bo's hand. “You can have it,” Bo said, relinquishing the bone, “but you have to go lie down to chew it. Go on, go lie down.”

Tricks turned her head away, as if she couldn't believe she was hearing such nonsense.

“Go lie down,” Bo repeated. Tricks went back to the sofa and hit Morgan on the knee with it. Bo said, “
No,
” and took the bone away from her. Without another word she put the bone back in the toy chest, and closed the lid.

The dog actually made a huffing sound. Bo ignored her and focused on Morgan. “When you finish that cup of coffee, do you want to try for a shower? If you don't feel like standing up, I can get a plastic chair and put it in the tub.”

“I can stand up,” he said, his tone gruff.

“Great. Do you want me to get anything out of the duffle for you? A change of clothes, bandages?” She was fairly certain bandages should be involved.

“Just a change of clothes.”

“No bandages?” she pressed.

“The surgery was a month ago. All of that has healed.”

“Uh huh. What about any incisions for tubes, things like that?” She didn't bother keeping the suspicion out of her tone.

“Healed enough,” he said flatly. “I'm through with that.”

She could scarcely hold him down and bandage him against his will, especially since she didn't know exactly where he might need a bandage, so she shrugged one shoulder. “It's your call. Anything in particular you want to wear? Sweatpants, anything like that?”

His face was impassive. “A change of underwear, socks, shaving kit. The rest doesn't matter. I'm not going anywhere.”

He didn't like the idea of her going through his duffle; she knew that because she wouldn't like it either if she were in his position.

“If you'd rather I not prowl through your things, just say so.”

“I would have. I don't care.” His tone was flat.

“Good enough.”

“There's a weapon in there, though.”

“I'm not surprised. Are you licensed?” Even if he wasn't, this was another of those instances, such as not booking Daina for public intoxication, where she'd use her own judgment rather than strictly follow the law.

“I am in Virginia.”

That, too, was good enough. Virginia and West Virginia had reciprocity laws regarding concealed carry permits. Then she had another thought. “Under which name?”

There was still no expression on his face. “Both.”

Man, she would sure like to know what organization he was with. Government for certain, but which of the myriad alphabet agencies? But going on the theory that in this case ignorance might be the best policy, she didn't ask. He was covered in case Jesse did some investigating, and that was the important thing.

She pulled the duffle around so he could see what she was doing, then crouched beside it and unzipped it. Finding his shaving kit was easy, because it was on top. She set it aside. Under the shaving kit was a pistol case for a Glock 41, Gen4. It was heavy and in the way, so she
pulled it out and set it aside too; likewise with the three boxes of ammo. “You think three is enough?” she asked, wondering exactly what he was worried about in Hamrickville.

“If I didn't, I'd have more.”

His socks and underwear were neatly rolled. Socks, tee shirt, and boxer briefs were set aside. A quick feel through the duffle unearthed one pair of sweatpants, which she selected on the theory he'd be more comfortable in them than in either jeans or tactical pants, which constituted the rest of his pant selection. He had tee shirts, a few flannel shirts, and one faded red sweatshirt. He wouldn't need anything that heavy unless he was going outside, something she didn't think he'd be doing today. “Will this do?” she asked, indicating his selections. “Do you have any other shoes? Sneakers, maybe?”

“I think there's a pair of sneakers in one of the side pockets.”

“Do you want them?”

“Yeah. Socks on a hardwood floor can be tricky.”

That was the truth. She noted the size of his sneakers—eleven and a half—and made a mental note to pick him up some socks with no-slip strips on the bottoms. He might sneer at them, but they'd be here if needed. And if he never wore them, she wouldn't be out anything more than a couple of bucks.

She took the selections into the bathroom and got a couple of towels and a washcloth from the linen closet, laying those out for him too. There was shower gel in the shower, a non-slip pad in the bottom of the tub, and a rubber-backed bath mat for him to step onto. There was also a towel rack he could use to balance himself while stepping in and out of the tub, though she hoped he didn't put a lot of weight on it or he and the rack would both go down.