Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

News of this visit would go straight to Hank. Savannah was in for a real headache. She was feeling jumpy by the time they reached Ian’s door. She stood back as Jamison climbed the porch, much the way she did when he went door-to-door selling chocolate for his T-ball league.

Jamison shifted the cookies into one hand and lifted the other to knock. The door opened before his hand met the wood, and Ian stopped short, surprising all three of them.

“Well, hi there.” He looked down at Jamison with a curious expression, then his gaze made a quick sweep of Savannah.

She’d seen him just hours ago when he’d been in the café for breakfast. Over the last few days, they’d built a warm familiarity. But she swore the man got better looking every time she saw him. He was in the same jeans and long-sleeved waffle thermal as this morning and every inch of fabric showed off assets Savannah wished she could investigate intimately.

“Hi, Mr. Ian.” Jamison lifted the plate. “We brought you cookies.”

“I see.” His gaze flitted to Savannah again. “Is this one of those fund-raiser things?”

“No,” Jamison answered. “It’s because you’re our new neighbor.”

Ian planted his hands on his hips. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Heck, if I’d known fresh cookies came with this place, I’d have moved in last week.”

“They’re oatmeal chocolate chip,” Jamison told him. “My Aunt Misty’s recipe. The best ever.”

“Sold, partner, sold,” Ian said, taking the plate. “That’s awfully”—he looked at Savannah, and a little more smile reached his eyes—“hospitable of you.”

She returned his smile, too pleased he’d remembered their conversation from the day before.

And while they were staring at each other, Jamison crooned, “Ooo, a bat,” and slipped past Ian and into the house.

That broke Savannah’s concentration. “Jamison,” she scolded, “get out here. You don’t just walk into someone’s house uninvited.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Ian said.

“He knows better.” She inched closer to the porch. “Jamison—”

“Look, Mom.” He stood in the doorway, holding an aluminum bat. His gaze jumped to Ian. “This is a big bat.”

“But it’s light, right?” He stepped back and opened the door wider to Savannah. “Come on in. I’ll put these in the kitchen.”

A spark of uneasiness nagged beneath her ribs. When she hedged, Ian disappeared in the direction of the kitchen with Jamison following like a tail.

“Jamis— Grrrr.” She was caught in an awkward place, moving forward only when neither Jamison nor Ian reappeared instantly.

She stepped into the duplex and closed the door to the cold air. The space was the mirror opposite of hers, which meant the largest bedrooms—her bedroom and his—shared a wall. Something she really shouldn’t think about.

“Just for a minute,” she said. “Jamison, come here right now.”

He appeared at the front door with a mitt and baseball.

“Jamison,” she scolded. “Those aren’t yours. You don’t touch things without permission.”

“Mr. Ian said it was okay.”

Savannah exhaled and glanced round, wincing at the paint job. The sheer intensity of the pink strained her eyes. The living room floor was draped with tarps, and a bucket of paint occupied one corner.

“Someone’s finally going to paint,” she said as he came back in. “I wondered how others could live with this color. They said they got used to it and didn’t even see it after a while, but somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“Right?” he said, also grimacing at the room with a shake of his head. “How do you not notice this? It hurts to look at it.”

She resettled her gaze on him. All six-foot-two muscled inches. “I guess you got ahold of Mr. Baulder.”

“I did.”

Jamison knelt on the floor at their feet, fitting his hand into the mitt and tossing the ball to catch it. Savannah pushed her hands into her back pockets, uneasy with the nerves tingling in her gut. She hadn’t spoken to a man she was attracted to in so long that even after seeing him for four days in a row, her stomach still floated whenever they talked. “I guess that means you’ll be staying around awhile.”