Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

None of the rooms at the lodge are as big as most modern tourists expect. I'm very clear about the size on the website and in the brochures, both giving square footage and using adjectives like cozy, but I still field complaints.

The rooms with two beds have just enough room to walk around those beds--and nothing more. Close quarters, especially when you add a big dog. This time, we had to get changed in the bathroom, if only for logistics' sake. I went first. Then I climbed

into bed.

Jack came out a moment later. He was dressed in sweatpants--the same pair he's worn since our first case, which still look new enough that I suspect he only brings them on "visit Nadia" trips.

As he got into his bed, I turned off the light and said, "I've kept you up talking long enough, but I want you to know I really apprec--"

"Don't."

"I just want--"

"You want to thank me, Nadia? Remove two words from your vocabulary. Sorry and appreciate. All right?"

I went quiet.

"Fuck. Came out wrong." He propped his head on his arm, his face shadowed in the dim light. "Nadia?"

"It's okay."

More silence. Another soft exhale. "No, it's not. Came out pissy. Wasn't supposed to. I just mean . . ."

"That you're tired of me apologizing, and you're tired of me thanking you. But I don't know what else to do, Jack. You came for me in Michigan. You got me through that. You gave me Aldrich. You got me through that. Now you're here to help me through . . . the rest, with the journal, and I know it's not enough to just say thank you, but I don't know what else to do."

"You don't need to do anything. I don't expect it. Don't want it. I'm not keeping a tab, Nadia."

"I know, but--"

"Me being here? Me finding Aldrich? Think that's an inconvenience? Taking me from something else? Fuck, no. Schedule's clear. Wasn't here? Be waiting for work I don't need. Coming here? Finding Aldrich?" He looked over. "Happy to do it."

"Okay. I'm--" I sucked in air. "I--" I stopped myself again with a laugh. "First, I almost apologized. Then I almost apologized for almost apologizing. It's a sickness, you know."

A short laugh. "Yeah."

Silence. I waited a moment, then lowered my head back to the pillow and tugged the blankets up.

"I care about you, Nadia. You know that, right?"

I felt my cheeks heat and was glad for the darkness. "I--"

"Just making sure you know. I don't come around because I have to. Don't help out because I have to. I want to. You need to thank me? Repay me? Let me help. Don't make a big deal. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now go to sleep. You can't? Want to talk? Wake me up."

"Thanks." I paused. "Am I allowed to say that?"

"For now. Just don't overdo it."

I smiled and curled up under the covers.

I slept so soundly that if I hadn't been in possession of the beer all night, I'd have thought Jack dosed my bottle. Maybe part of my bad dreams had been my brain poking me to remember what happened, and now that I did, it could rest. It wouldn't last. It wasn't as if I'd just remembered where I left my wallet. This was huge, with major ramifications that eventually would pound louder than those forgotten memories. For now, though, I slept.

When the sun seeping through the curtains woke me, I slipped out of bed and dressed quietly, with Scout waiting at the door. I was padding toward her when Jack's sleep-thick voice said, "Heading out?"

He was propped up in bed, covers around his waist. He was bare-chested, lean, with muscled arms. Wavy, silver-threaded black hair tumbled over his forehead. His free hand scratched his stubbled cheeks as he struggled to wake. It was not a bad sight to start my day.