Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

“When are you meeting with the council?”

“Tomorrow morning.” He paused. “Ciara got Aron’s tox results back. There were no drugs or alcohol in his system, and no conclusive means of death.”

“Good.” When he raised his eyebrow, I added, “It means the council doesn’t just have to rely on your word or even mine. They now have an inconclusive autopsy result and whatever the dash cam might have caught tonight. Surely that will be enough.”

“I would think so. They’re not fools, no matter what you and Belle think.” He lightly squeezed my leg, and then stepped back. The warmth of his touch lingered, chasing away much of the chill that still rolled through me. “There’s a blanket in the back if you need it. It shouldn’t be too long before someone gets here to drive you back.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated, but couldn’t help adding, “This is so not how I’d envisaged spending the midnight hour.”

“Me neither.” He grimaced. “Fate does seem intent on keeping us apart right now.”

She certainly did. “We’ll just have to make a more determined effort tomorrow night.”

His smile crinkled the corners of his bright eyes. “Indeed we will.”

He slammed the door shut, got his kit out of the back of the truck, and then headed back to the cottage. I twisted around, grabbed the shirt and pants he’d mentioned, and swiftly changed. They did indeed swim on me but I didn’t really care. Not when they filled my nostrils with his musky, smoky wood scent.

I settled down in the seat and must have slept, because the next thing I knew, the door opened and an altogether too cheery voice said, “Right, Ms. Grace, let’s get you back home.”

“Please, call me Lizzie,” I muttered, as I pushed upright and scrubbed a hand across my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Close to one,” the woman at the door replied. It took me a moment to realize it was Jaz. “Do you need a hand out of the truck?”

I shook my head, gathered my discarded clothes, and jumped out. She led me across to one of the green-and-white SUVs the rangers generally used, opened the door, and offered me a hand up.

I stepped away from her reach and said, with some amusement, “I’m not an invalid.”

“The boss said to look after you,” she replied equably. “So look after you I will. There’s a hot chocolate sitting in the center console with your name on it.”

I climbed in, and then picked up the chocolate and peeled off the lid. Steam rose, suggesting it had only recently been made. “Where did you get hot chocolate at this hour of the night?”

Her cheeks dimpled as she started up the car and pulled away from the cottage. “My man is a barista. I booted him out of bed to make them for us while I got ready.”

I grinned. “I’m sure he was happy about that.”

“Oh, totally.” Her laugh was bright and warm. “But we haven’t been married for long, and we’re still in that honeymoon phase of trying our best to please each other.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning you don’t expect it to last?”

“The honeymoon phase? Hell, no.” Her grin flashed. “The Marins have a reputation for being a little more staid when it comes to traditional roles than most other packs.”

“I take it you’re not a Marin, then?”

“Nah, I’m one of the Rankin mob, out of New South Wales.” She grabbed her chocolate and took a sip. “It was his skill with hot chocolate that first attracted me to him.”

“He does make a good chocolate.”

Her cheeks dimpled again. “It’s one of his many talents, I’ve since discovered.”

We chatted on, and by the time we’d reached Castle Rock and the café, it really felt like we were old friends rather than two people who’d only just met. I drained the last of my chocolate, placed the cup back, and gathered my bundle of clothes.

“Thanks for the lift and the hot chocolate, Jaz.” Cold air whipped in the minute I opened the door, eliciting a shiver from both of us. “If you and Levi are in the area, drop by. We may not be able to match the hot chocolate, but we do have some pretty awesome cakes.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said. “See you soon, then.”

I slammed the door shut and headed into the café. I didn’t bother putting my clothes into the wash basket—I just dumped them straight into the bin. I doubted I’d be able to wear them again without memory rising.

I had a quick shower to wash away any bits of the man monster that might remain, and then crawled into bed and went to sleep.