the time frame, he’s probably still in the area.”
She’d figured as much on her own. Silence settled around them. She looked everywhere but at him and eyed the technicians moving through the hallway and living room.
“Jen?” He’d stepped closer, but not too close, his voice near her ear. “What’s wrong?”
Hands planted on her hips, she turned. His calm blue gaze made her want to scream, to rail at him, and she didn’t even know why or for what reason, except that when Ruthie had run away, everything had changed. “What was that earlier at the sheriff’s department?”
“What was what?”
“That whole…” she waved an irritable hand in his direction, “… thing with you and Falconetti and Calvert.”
“When I kissed her?” His expression cleared. “That was nothing, it never was, except Calvert’s been crazy for her since we were all at Quantico together and I’ve been trying to throw them together for years—”
“I am not talking about that kiss,” she scoffed. “Of course it was nothing. I’m talking about what went on in that conference room, when you decided you were going to change sides, change all the rules.”
“Jen, honey.” He stepped forward and laid easy hands on her shoulders. “It wasn’t like that—”
“Don’t touch me.” She shrugged away from his relaxed grasp. His demeanor and actions reeked too much of her false husband. She lowered her voice and cast a quick look at the rooms beyond. “And don’t call me honey. It’s not necessary now.”
He held his palms aloft in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s eating you.”
“Forget it, okay?” Suddenly the whole thing seemed stupid and she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “It’s nothing. It’s been a crazy day and I’m tired.”
Hands in his pockets again, he studied her and didn’t say anything. She refused to shift under his scrutiny.
“So, we should do what we can to help while we’re here,” she said, grateful that her voice sounded even and normal. “Falconetti said something about search teams?”
His head moved in a slow nod. “Stanton Reed, the sheriff, is working on that now. I already told him I’d help.”
So it was I , now. She could deal with that. Posture squared, she bobbed her head. “You know what, I think while you’re involved with that, I’m going back to the hotel and see if I can get in touch with Brookman. I want to know what all they have on Chason’s movements in the last couple of days.”
“All right.” The stiff silence pulsed between them for a couple of long beats. “I’ll drop you off on my way to the sheriff’s department.”
He was socially retarded.
Chris stood on the small porch, watching the bay waters, silvered by moonlight, lap against the stone shore. That had to be the answer. Okay, “retarded” wasn’t PC, so maybe he was socially disabled.
Ruthie’s voice carried from the open windows as she settled the children into bed. He frowned. At work, he got along fine with his fellow deputies. He had friends among his colleagues, even if Troy Lee’s constant chatter got on his nerves sometimes. He didn’t have trouble interacting with other men. Guess he was only socially disabled where women were concerned.
Big surprise there.
It hadn’t really bothered him before, but being unable to carry on a decent conversation with Ruthie got under his skin. Bad.
“You didn’t have to do the dishes.”
He jumped, his skin crawling. She stood right behind him. Blowing out a slow breath, he forced his body to relax. She wasn’t a threat to him; he didn’t need the fight-or-flight reflexes with her.
Turning, he smiled. Maybe she couldn’t see how artificial it was. “You cooked. You didn’t think I’d expect you to clean up too, did you?”
Her little laugh emerged harsh and a tad put-on itself. She stepped up beside him and wrapped both hands around the weathered railing. “I never know what to
She’d figured as much on her own. Silence settled around them. She looked everywhere but at him and eyed the technicians moving through the hallway and living room.
“Jen?” He’d stepped closer, but not too close, his voice near her ear. “What’s wrong?”
Hands planted on her hips, she turned. His calm blue gaze made her want to scream, to rail at him, and she didn’t even know why or for what reason, except that when Ruthie had run away, everything had changed. “What was that earlier at the sheriff’s department?”
“What was what?”
“That whole…” she waved an irritable hand in his direction, “… thing with you and Falconetti and Calvert.”
“When I kissed her?” His expression cleared. “That was nothing, it never was, except Calvert’s been crazy for her since we were all at Quantico together and I’ve been trying to throw them together for years—”
“I am not talking about that kiss,” she scoffed. “Of course it was nothing. I’m talking about what went on in that conference room, when you decided you were going to change sides, change all the rules.”
“Jen, honey.” He stepped forward and laid easy hands on her shoulders. “It wasn’t like that—”
“Don’t touch me.” She shrugged away from his relaxed grasp. His demeanor and actions reeked too much of her false husband. She lowered her voice and cast a quick look at the rooms beyond. “And don’t call me honey. It’s not necessary now.”
He held his palms aloft in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s eating you.”
“Forget it, okay?” Suddenly the whole thing seemed stupid and she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “It’s nothing. It’s been a crazy day and I’m tired.”
Hands in his pockets again, he studied her and didn’t say anything. She refused to shift under his scrutiny.
“So, we should do what we can to help while we’re here,” she said, grateful that her voice sounded even and normal. “Falconetti said something about search teams?”
His head moved in a slow nod. “Stanton Reed, the sheriff, is working on that now. I already told him I’d help.”
So it was I , now. She could deal with that. Posture squared, she bobbed her head. “You know what, I think while you’re involved with that, I’m going back to the hotel and see if I can get in touch with Brookman. I want to know what all they have on Chason’s movements in the last couple of days.”
“All right.” The stiff silence pulsed between them for a couple of long beats. “I’ll drop you off on my way to the sheriff’s department.”
He was socially retarded.
Chris stood on the small porch, watching the bay waters, silvered by moonlight, lap against the stone shore. That had to be the answer. Okay, “retarded” wasn’t PC, so maybe he was socially disabled.
Ruthie’s voice carried from the open windows as she settled the children into bed. He frowned. At work, he got along fine with his fellow deputies. He had friends among his colleagues, even if Troy Lee’s constant chatter got on his nerves sometimes. He didn’t have trouble interacting with other men. Guess he was only socially disabled where women were concerned.
Big surprise there.
It hadn’t really bothered him before, but being unable to carry on a decent conversation with Ruthie got under his skin. Bad.
“You didn’t have to do the dishes.”
He jumped, his skin crawling. She stood right behind him. Blowing out a slow breath, he forced his body to relax. She wasn’t a threat to him; he didn’t need the fight-or-flight reflexes with her.
Turning, he smiled. Maybe she couldn’t see how artificial it was. “You cooked. You didn’t think I’d expect you to clean up too, did you?”
Her little laugh emerged harsh and a tad put-on itself. She stepped up beside him and wrapped both hands around the weathered railing. “I never know what to
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