The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

He watched Daff work. She wasn’t exactly a domestic goddess, creating more dishes than he thought was entirely necessary for a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said. He hated feeling beholden to anybody.

“I promised Daisy I’d help out, but I’m not great at this, you’d be better off with—”

She stopped speaking so suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that she was referring to Dahlia.

“With?” he prompted.

“A nurse or something.” He knew that wasn’t what she’d been about to say, but he let it slide.

“I don’t like having strangers hovering around me.”

“I’m a stranger,” she reminded.

“We’re practically related,” he exaggerated. “I don’t mind having family around.” She made a rude sound at the back of her throat, and he hid a grin when she unceremoniously thrust a plate and a mug of delicious-smelling coffee on the table in front of him. He groaned appreciatively and thanked her sincerely when she returned seconds later with cutlery and his toast.

Eating with his left hand was a messy affair, but he was getting used to it, and he was so hungry he didn’t even care that she was there to witness his disgusting table manners. She had retreated to the other side of the kitchen, which wasn’t very far, considering that this wasn’t a huge cabin. She was propped against the kitchen sink, sipping coffee and watching him over the rim of her mug. Every time he looked up from his feast, it was to meet her narrowed gaze.

“What?” he finally snapped, his mouth full of toast and runny egg yolk.

“Just wondering why you came here, that’s all,” she said with a one-sided shrug. He gave his plastered arm a speaking look and chose not to respond to her comment. “It’s just that you can go anywhere in the world to recuperate. Why Riversend?”

“Precisely.” He nodded, sending her a condescending thumbs-up before mopping up more of the delicious yolk with his toast. When she turned her nose up like someone who’d just caught a whiff of something putrid, he grinned. “I could go anywhere, so this little bum-fuck town in the middle of nowhere is exactly the last place in the world anybody would look for me.”

That offended her. Good. Served her right for digging around in something that was none of her business.

“I can’t come here every day,” she said coldly, draining her mug and slamming it down on the sink. “So you’ll have to sort something else out.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it. I’ll be fine,” he said cheerfully, knowing exactly how much his patronizing words and voice would aggravate her. She pursed her lips and turned to rinse her mug beneath the faucet.

“Having a near-death experience hasn’t exactly improved your personality.”

“Nothing wrong with my personality to begin with,” he dismissed. “And it was hardly a near-death experience. Just a bit of blood and drama. I had it all under control.”

“I saw the footage; everybody is carrying on about what a hero you are. When, in fact, that guy had no business getting within a meter of Laura Prentiss, did he? You fucked up, didn’t you?”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and he glared at the woman staring at him with her challenging, defiant gaze. Of course she would see what very few others had seen. Sam and his team had fucked up, and it had nearly cost Sam and—worse—Lally their lives.

He shouldn’t have been in the field at all. He had lost his edge, and these days he found managing the business a lot more rewarding than the mind-numbing boredom of trailing after some asshole playboy or ditzy pop star. Before they had gone their separate ways, Sam had dealt with the clients, the contracts, and management, while Mason had preferred handling the training program.

The arrangement had suited both men. After Mason had sold his half of the business, Sam had taken on his partner’s workload until he could find someone to replace him. But he had been eager to relinquish the recruitment and training responsibilities once he had hired a suitable replacement for Mason. Sam didn’t know why he had acquiesced to Lally’s request, maybe because it had seemed like a cakewalk. Maybe a small part of him had been bored or restless. He wasn’t entirely sure.

All he knew was that he hadn’t assessed the threat properly, hadn’t anticipated such extreme escalation from the letters to actual physical danger. It had been fucking inexcusable and a clear sign that Sam should probably stick to management. Still, having Daffodil McGregor point out his flaws was grating.

“Don’t bother with the dishes,” he said, hearing the ice in his voice. “I’m sure I’ll manage to load the dishwasher. Thanks for breakfast.” Daff’s eyes flickered and the challenge faded, to be replaced by something resembling regret.

“Our numbers are on the fridge if you should need anything.”