The Girl in the Mist (Misted Pines 1)

The concept of Bohannan having any social media was so hilarious, my laughter was so deep, it was silent.

“Mom!” she snapped.

“Honey, he’s an ex-FBI profiler. He doesn’t have social media.” That was a guess, but probably a good one. “And no, let me have this. Let me have him for a while. If it looks like it is what it feels like it is, something, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Oh my God. You’re so annoying and manipulative. Because, how can I say no to that?”

“Please, have children so I can teach you my ways.”

“Yeah, right. Joan is all up in my shit about societal brainwashing, and she refuses to carry our baby, and I know it’s so she won’t put on weight, because her mom is constantly in her head.”

It must be said, Joan’s mom was a bit of a pill.

“And why do you refuse to do it?” I asked.

“I’m not going to be pregnant and earning a doctorate.”

This was news.

“You’re going for your doctorate?”

She answered.

I didn’t hear her.

Because I pulled a real-life Hollywood.

I bolted upright in my chair.

This was due to the fact I was gazing out the window, concentrating on my conversation with my daughter, but I didn’t miss the movement.

And when I focused…

The man.

Behind my boathouse, walking through the fog, into the pines toward the Bohannan house.

A pulse exploded at the base of my spine, radiating needles digging all over the skin of my back, shoulders, up over my scalp.

I stood, voice shaking, and said, “I have to go, honey.”

She was immediately alert. “Is everything okay?”

“David needs me for something. I’ll call back a bit later. Love you.”

“Mo—”

I hung up, and since the man had disappeared into the pines, I bent my head to my phone and pulled up a group text: Jason, Jesse and Bohannan.

Are any of you home? I asked.

I stared back at the place he disappeared.

Come to my door.

Come up to my door.

He was dark-headed.

It was far away.

Murky.

He could be one of them, noticing something through the rain as they came over to see me, and checking on it.

It was not that far away.

It was not one of them.

I knew it.

No, Jesse.

Nope, Jason.

My phone rang.

Bohannan.

“Hey,” I greeted, staring at the pines, seeing if any of them moved, like someone was jostling them as they walked through them.

They were too sturdy, too tall, that was impossible, unless he was Bigfoot.

He was not Bigfoot.

I still checked.

“Why did you text that?” Bohannan demanded.

“I saw a man—”

“Do not leave the house. Make sure all the doors and windows are secured. Make sure the alarm is set. Get close to David.”

My skin crawled.

“Bo—”

He was gone.

Twenty-Four

As I Think We’ll Be

I was loitering at the back door.

David was loitering with me.

So we both caught it when Jess and Jace came into view, approaching then hopping up on my pier down below, just as Bohannan showed on my deck up above.

David didn’t leave my side (he’d gotten a text from Jess) even as I moved to the back door to unlock it.

Bohannan gave David a nod, and I looked to the brawny, ginger-haired man who was about two inches shorter than me who stood at my side. He nodded back to Bohannan, to me, then walked to the kitchen.

Yes.

I really liked David.

Bohannan took my hand and led me to the reading room.

He closed the door.

Well, hell.

“You’re scaring me,” I told him.

He led with, “Hawk didn’t come and get his equipment yet.”

This wasn’t scaring me any less.

“We agreed, just for a while, he keeps you on their radar,” he continued. “Not constant surveillance, but they’ve got cameras and they’re taping. I called. They pulled it up and did a rollback. He was in the frame of a camera they have down at the boathouse. They didn’t get a clear shot of him, and he moved out of frame quickly.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. But I do know there isn’t anyone local who steps foot on this property. Not after my dad shot at trespassers for sixty years. My granddad did it before him. My great granddad did the same. And my great-great granddad just shot them. Also, we got sensors, a lot of them. I guess you can imagine how I’m not a fan of surprises.”

I could imagine that.

But I deflated.

“Shit, so this is about me?”

“You need ongoing surveillance, baby. The boys and me, we just don’t have time right now to set that up for you and monitor it.”

I never wanted them to do that.

I was Delphine to them. Delly.

Larue.

I wasn’t a client.

(At least, anymore.)

I grimaced at him then stormed away three dramatic steps in order that I could glare sullenly out the window.

“The boys are checking things,” he continued.

“I just don’t get this preoccupation with famous people,” I grumbled. “Okay, fine. Come to my table while I’m eating dinner at a restaurant. I’m out and about, and it’s not like I don’t live a really great life because you watched my TV show or read my books. So I can say hello and dash my name on a piece of paper for you. I’m happy to do that. But lurking on my property?”