The Girl in the Mist (Misted Pines 1)

“Yes,” he answered.

That was it.

Further important note, in our late evening conversation five days ago, Cade Bohannan had used up his share of words for the next, I wasn’t sure, but I was guessing probably two to three months.

As you could see, he had a reserve. But he was conserving them.

Jason grinned at me as he walked toward the doors to the deck.

With the cupcakes.

And now an aside, Jason and Jesse were roommates. They lived together in the house up the hill. A house Bohannan had built for them when they were twenty-two and both had shared that they intended to be his apprentices (my take, they didn’t want to be far from their dad and sister after their mom flew the coop, but also, they wanted to follow in their father’s footsteps), and therefore they weren’t leaving home.

Bohannan felt kids needed to get out of the house.

Building one for them next door became the compromise.

David Ashbrook, incidentally, helped them build that house.

“That’s all the cupcakes,” I said to his back.

“I know, thanks,” he returned, and disappeared out the door.

I turned again to his father.

“I half wish Fenn wasn’t falling in love. Jason deserves her particular art of being a pain in the ass. And she deserves his.”

“Babe, the entire fuckin’ town knows about the reward.”

I thought when Bohannan told me about it five minutes ago, that meant Dern had mentioned it to him.

Not everybody.

“Wait, what?” I demanded.

He jerked away from the counter when I made to stomp out again.

“Don’t,” he ordered tersely, holding up a hand. “It’s Dern. You had to know that was not a good call.”

“No, I had to do something.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Larue.”

“Bohannan.”

He glowered at me.

Another aside, I’d started it, he’d jumped on board, and now we’d fallen into the habit of calling each other by our last names.

I’d always loved my first name. It was the only good thing my mother and father gave me. I used it to concoct extravagant fantasies when I was a little girl about living in Paris and wearing fabulous clothes and eating croissants and dating artists who wore berets. These fantasies took me away from the neglect and loneliness that limned my childhood.

But the way his growly voice wrapped around Larue, I hoped he never again called me Delphine.

He leaned back against the counter, resumed his crossed-arm pose and shared, “I had to inform the FBI. They were about as happy you did that as I am.”

“I—”

“You are very, very safe here.”

With this new tone to his voice—low and purring and dangerous and exciting—I was transfixed.

“You might not be as safe somewhere else,” he went on. “Cut the crap, and for Christ’s sake, lay low.”

“I was speaking to the sheriff, and I told him that was an anonymous gesture. He promised me he would keep it to himself.”

“You were talking to Dern. He’s in deep shit because he’s got a predator on his patch who mutilated a little girl, so he’s gonna use everything he can to make that shit stink less, and he threw you right under that bus. Just you living in town is enough to turn people’s minds. The fact you stepped up like that gives it warmth he’s not getting. Me and Jace and Jess and David did what we could to get the word spread that you’re here because you wanted a private retreat, away from people who treat you like a celebrity. Most folks in this town are gonna be good with that. They’ll go to the mat to keep quiet and make things normal for you. But most folks are not all of them, and some of that rest would sell their grandmother’s used underwear if they thought it’d get them a few bucks.”

I made a face. “Gross.”

“You, of all people, know I’m right.”

I did.

My eyeballs studied the ceiling.

“It’s a little freaky how much you remind me of Celeste.”

I focused on him. “What a nice thing to say.”

“I meant it in the way you act like a teenager.”

“I’m deciding to take that as you find me girlish, which I’ve further decided to take as a compliment.”

“Of course you have.”

“If you’re grouchy because your son stole all the cupcakes, don’t take it out on me. You know where he lives.”

He tipped his head back and I liked the way he studied the ceiling a lot better than how I did it.

One last important note, Cade Bohannan looked absurdly incredible in a turtleneck.

“Speaking of your sons, where’s your other one?”

He righted his head and stated baldly, “Searching for a girl to bury his troubles in.”

My mouth tightened.

“We had a convo. He told me to fuck off.”

“Your daughter said much the same thing, and she was suspended for a week and grounded for two,” I pointed out.

(Yes, I’d learned quite a bit about the Bohannans, that happened when you fed people—the patriarch might not be a font of information, but food loosened his kids’ lips, or at least it did Jason’s.)