Murder at Sunrise Lake

“I think, for once in your life, you’re going to let me take care of you. I know you’re independent and you don’t need anyone, but you’re going to lie here with Bailey keeping you warm while I get that fire going. First, I’m stripping you and bringing you my sleeping bag.” There was pure steel in his voice.

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Something in his dark eyes told her not to mess with him and she was too damn tired to argue. She wasn’t sure she could get to her feet anyway. She couldn’t control the incessant shaking. She just nodded and laid her head back down passively. Who knew that when he did start talking he’d be bossy?

Sam pushed himself up and reached for the hem of her shirt. “Can you lift your arms up, Stella? If you can’t, I can cut this off you.”

She put her arms over her head and tried to lift herself enough for him to pull the wet tee from her body. Her bra was next. Then her shoes and jeans. He was gone and returned quickly with a sleeping bag, tucking it around her and once again commanding the dog to lie tight against her. By the time the shaking had ceased, Sam had the fire built back up in the firepit, had changed into dry clothes and had put on water for coffee.

He brought her the backpack from her tent. “At least you have dry clothes.”

“The cut on the back of your head is still bleeding.” She avoided his eyes. Not because she was naked under the sleeping bag, but because she’d driven out to the lake and acted like a maniac, running to him, diving in, clearly knowing a killer lurked beneath the surface. How was she going to explain that?

“It’s letting up. Get dressed and come over by the fire. Have some coffee. With you, that always helps.”

“What do you mean, it’s letting up? Let me look at it. Does it need stitches? We should have Harlow or Vienna take a look at you. Or go to the emergency room.”

“I’ll take care of it, Stella.” He turned away from her and stalked back to the firepit.

She wasn’t going to get a reprieve. She had wanted to tell him. She’d even needed to. He was intelligent. He listened. Really listened. He had a way of staying silent and processing what she told him, not interrupting but really hearing when she talked to him. She had wanted to tell him that she knew a serial killer was going to begin killing in the Sierras and he would disguise his kills as accidents, making it extremely difficult to identify the pattern.

Telling him, talking about her past, meant giving away her secrets. But then, Sam had secrets too. He had a past he didn’t share with others. Not even her. She didn’t think he would be upset and hurt the way she knew her friends might be. The thought of going back, revisiting all those things that she had buried, made her ill. She had promised herself she would never open those doors again, but how did one ignore a murderer?

She sat up slowly, a little surprised to find that her body didn’t want to cooperate. Her muscles felt heavy and battered. Bailey pressed close and she hugged the Airedale to her, grateful to the loyal animal. She could always count on the dog for companionship and protection. Bailey would have plunged into the icy lake after her had she stayed down too long. He’d done it before when she’d rolled her canoe. He hadn’t even hesitated.

She dressed in fleece-lined leggings and a long sweater. Sam had left her fur-lined boots he’d found in her tent. She wore them at night to stay warm when she walked Bailey. Standing slowly, she was disconcerted to realize how unsteady she still was. Sam was sprawled in a camp chair by the fire, and the aroma of coffee hit her as she came up beside him and the warmth of the crackling flames.

Stella reached for the coffeepot. Nothing smelled so good as coffee in the morning, especially now, when she was freezing and maybe a little scared. Well, a lot scared. Okay, terrified. Her cheekbone throbbed where the killer’s fist had connected with her face, and right under her breasts, where he’d kicked her, her abdomen ached. Her skin burned and her muscles hurt. Thawing out might not be all it was cracked up to be.

Sam casually pulled the coffeepot out of her reach and indicated the camp chair he’d placed facing him. “Sit and tuck the blanket around you. You can have coffee when you’re settled.” He poured some of the ambrosia into a mug.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the rich, dark liquid. In fact, she wanted it so much she didn’t even scowl at him for being so bossy. She just meekly dropped into the chair and pulled the blanket around her.