Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

Disturbed, she was back in the kitchen before she knew it, before she was aware of choosing to move or picking a place to go.

At the back door, she watched from a distance as her hand reached out for the shiny brass knob. Like the one on the front door, the thing was original to the house, old and tarnished except for where palms buffed and polished it through use.

Her intention was to test the dead bolt, just like she had the one in front. And then retest how sturdy it was when her brain refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.

Instead, her right hand went to the bolt and released the mechanism. Then her left turned the knob and opened the door.

Stepping out onto the back stoop, she breathed deep and smelled the remnants of the rain that had fallen all afternoon long. The scent of earth and growing things, of wet cedar shingles and puddles on the driveway’s pavement, was yet another announcement of spring’s arrival. But the temperature was still cold.

Or maybe that was her insides. She felt frozen under her skin.

Across the yard, just into the tree line, the tent Daniel had set up was nearly impossible to see: If she hadn’t been looking for it, even her keen eyesight wouldn’t have noticed the ever so subtle thickening in the shadows’ density.

There was no light to give Daniel’s presence away. No fire, either.

He must be so cold—

From out of the tent, a tall figure emerged, the full height of the man extending far above the black nylon roofline.

Aware that she could be seen, she lifted a hand.

Daniel came toward her, striding over the scruffy grass. When he stopped in front of her, he was close enough so that she could see his eyes. His five-o’clock shadow. Every wave of his on-the-long-side hair.

“You okay?”

“Not really,” she said. “You?”

“I’m good. Just chilling.”

“How did you know I was out here?”

“Chilling is not sleeping. And I made sure that I can see your house through a little screened flap.”

She moved her hair over her shoulder and rubbed her upper arms. “Are you warm enough out there?”

“Yup.” He patted the windbreaker that covered his pecs. “This thing is insulated.”

When she didn’t say anything else, he lowered his voice. “You did what you had to, with Eastwood.”

“Eastwind,” she corrected. “And I don’t think he believed us.”

“Doesn’t matter if he did. It’s what he can prove or disprove that’s important—and there’s no evidence that refutes our story.”

She looked away. “I truly believe he’s committed to keeping the hotel happy. He wants the jobs, the tax dollars, the traffic. But I still hated lying to him.”

“What was your choice?”

Her eyes shot back to him. “The truth.”

“If you think your life is complicated now, try being a suspect in Peter Wynne’s murder.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be.”

“Really? Your superior goes missing, and you benefit from his death because you get his job. That would at least make you a person of interest.”

“I don’t want to be the executive director. I’m a scientist, not an administrator—”

“You’re sitting in his office, aren’t you? Using his computer, aren’t you.”

“That doesn’t mean I—I couldn’t kill anybody.”

“You’d be surprised what you can do when you have to.”

“Well, I didn’t kill him. How’s that.”

Daniel put his hands up. “I’m not accusing you. I’m just telling you what your sheriff buddy would think if he knew we went into that barn and took a stroll around. At least I didn’t see any security cameras inside or out—which was a surprise, by the way, and the only reason we’re going to be okay.”

Lydia rubbed her eyes. “Are you safe out there?”

“Yup. Don’t worry about—”

“—you. Yes, you’ve told me that before.” She nodded over her shoulder toward the tent. “Did you have anything to eat?”

“Doritos and Coke. I had some left over in my saddlebag from when I got the lowdown on your whole life at the grocery store.”

With a frown, she dropped her hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a health kick?”

“You have no idea what I used to eat. And drink. And smoke.”

“What was it, rubber tires and cement blocks?”

“Yup, both chewy and dry. A great combination, but at least my cholesterol was okay.”

She smiled a little. “And that terrible snack is all you’ve had?”

“Calories are calories, I’ll survive, and the diner opens at six tomorrow morning. I plan on eating three plates of pancakes, as well as bacon and eggs, as soon as I can.”

Lydia glanced over her shoulder. “I have food. I went shopping on Saturday.”

“Did you eat any of it? I’m thinking you didn’t—”

“Let me make you something proper for dinner. Then at least …”

“What, I can die on a full stomach on your back lawn?” As her head shot over to him, he winced. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“Too much.” She motioned to the open door. “I’m no gourmet chef, but I can do better than Tostitos and Coke.”