“Sure. Thanks. What can I do?”
“Grab mugs up there?” She pointed to the cabinet.
He pulled out a couple of mugs while she warmed up the cocoa. He chuckled. She turned to see what was funny and nearly had a heart attack.
He was holding one hot-pink-and-white mug while reading it, the other sitting on the counter: Men should be like my curtains, easy to pull and well hung.
Her lips parted, and she flushed and turned away quickly before she burned the cocoa. Now what? Explain that a friend had given them to her when her last boyfriend and she had parted company? Or just ignore the fact that they were drinking out of those cups?
He brought the mugs over. “Anything else?”
“There’s a can of whipped cream in the fridge, if you want some.”
“Real cream,” he said, eyeing the can. “Looks good.” He gave it to her and lifted the mugs.
She shook the can and pointed it at the right mug and pushed the nozzle. The cream dripped and fizzled. Not to be thwarted, she shook the can again, hoping it wasn’t defective. And then the whipped cream swirled around with perfect ridges in a twirl with a cute, little pointy peak. Perfect.
Then she turned to the other mug, shook the can again, and pushed the nozzle. It was working great until halfway through her little mountain of whipped cream twirling to perfection, when the nozzle malfunctioned again and spewed whipped cream everywhere.
In horror, she stared at the white cream that had splattered all over Allan’s chest and dotted his boxer briefs. Her mouth agape, she glanced up at him.
His eyes sparkled with mirth and he laughed.
“Oh, oh, let me get something to wipe it up,” she said belatedly, and she set the can of whipped cream on the counter.
She grabbed some paper towels and dampened them, then rushed back to wipe the mess up. Allan was still holding both hot-pink mugs of cocoa. She had every intention of taking one and letting him clean himself, but he just moved his arms apart, as if to say she had made the mess, so she could wash it up.
She thought she was going to die. Yes, he was totally hot. And yes, she’d fantasized about making love to him—since they were both unattached and she truly liked him. But in her wildest dreams she would never have imagined making him cocoa in the middle of the night while he stood in sexy silk boxer briefs, nice and formfitting, and then proceeding to splatter him with whipped cream. All over his tanned chest and those black briefs.
She quickly wiped his chest down and glanced at his briefs. His erection was straining against the black fabric, and no way was she going there.
“Here, let me,” she said, and hastily took one of the mugs from him while handing off the wet paper towels.
He was still smiling, the rogue, as he wiped off his briefs.
“Should we sit down to drink these?” That way her gaze wouldn’t keep drifting lower. “I’m so sorry. I should have known that might happen.”
He just laughed and leaned against her kitchen counter and drank his cocoa. “This is really good. Thanks for thinking of it. The whipped cream adds that special touch.”
She didn’t think he was talking about the whipped cream on top of his cocoa.
She finished hers in record time. After he set his mug down on the counter, he drew close, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her mouth. Gently, sweetly—even more so because his mouth and hers tasted like sweet whipped cream and cocoa.
“Are you ready for bed now?” he asked.
She laughed. “Uh, yeah, and you’re probably ready for a shower.”
He smiled back, and they walked down the hall to the guest room where he said good night.
“Night,” she said and hurried off to her room. She wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink after this.
* * *
After a hearty breakfast of ham-and-cheese omelets, precooked pork sausages, and slices of cantaloupe the next morning, they were on their way to the scene at the lake. She was glad Allan knew how to prepare meals, although he had admitted his mother finally got after him about making Rose do all the meal preparations when his mother wasn’t around.
The snow had stopped and everything was as pristine as before. They saw that the edges of the lake had frozen over as they headed into the water. Despite the suits providing insulation from the chilliness, it was always cold for a bit until their bodies warmed the water filling their suits. Debbie hoped they’d find something in the lake that would make all the effort worthwhile. She and Allan had both been quiet this morning. She normally didn’t have company at her place, so having someone to talk to wasn’t part of her morning routine. Allan was also alone most of the time, so maybe he was quiet for the same reason.
On the drive to the lake, more silence. Maybe they were both just tired. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person. It took her a while to wake up in the morning. Three cups of coffee and another hour, and she’d be more awake. It had taken her forever last night to quit thinking about the whipped cream incident.
Of course, once she took a dip in the icy water, she’d instantly wake up.
Still, she couldn’t stand the silence between them. They’d barely said anything other than “Good morning,” and “Sugar or cream in the coffee?” or “Ham and cheese in the omelet?” She did worry that maybe he was concerned he shouldn’t have kissed her. Allan had always been sensitive about others’ feelings, so maybe he was worried about her.
Truth was, she didn’t know how to feel. One part of her really wanted more between them. The other part was waffling about whether that was such a good idea. If things didn’t work out, then their diving partnership would be over, and what would they do then? Wouldn’t it look unprofessional for both of them if they suddenly said they couldn’t work together? She wanted to clear the air between them if he was bothered by what had happened between them last night.
“So, not a morning person?” she finally asked.
He smiled and glanced at her. “Sorry. Gathering wool. Just running over several scenarios in my mind.”
“Any that you care to share with me?”
He turned off on the road to the lake and shook his head. “Nothing earth-shattering. Same stuff we’ve been pondering since we started this investigation.”
“Why would the sedan follow me? We’re both working the case. Why would the driver follow me and not someone else who’s investigating it? Doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Not sure. If he was a serial killer and you fit the description of the victim—a beautiful brunette, petite—then maybe we would see a similarity. Or if you knew the victim, which you didn’t. So I really don’t know where this is leading.”
A beautiful brunette? That made her feel a little better. “Are you a morning person?” She had to know. It seemed everyone she knew married opposites. Not that she was thinking in those terms, but she was just curious.
“I love the dawn and dusk and every moment in between.”
She smiled at that. “That’s nice. I guess the case just has you bothered.” And the one involving his sister and friend’s wife too. No matter what, Debbie didn’t want a little kiss to come between them.
Chapter 8
Allan realized Debbie was bothered by his distant behavior this morning. He really shouldn’t have kissed her. He hadn’t planned to. Not until he saw her funny mugs and her face turn fifty shades of red, and then she had sprayed him with whipped cream and washed him down. He’d thought the cocoa would help him sleep, but after all that?
Hell, all he could think of was how much he wished he could have joined her in bed.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m usually much chattier in the morning when someone’s around. Like Paul,” Allan said quickly, not wanting Debbie to think he had been shacking up with all kinds of women. Why he felt compelled to explain himself, he had no idea.
He generally talked to Paul in th
e mornings when they were staying together on assignments. But this morning, he kept pondering the cases. Not to mention the situation between him and Debbie. He was perturbed with himself over it. He knew better than to get intimately involved with a human woman he really cared about, even if they’d only shared the sweetest of kisses. He hadn’t wanted to stop at that and had to use the utmost restraint not to pull her into his arms, hold her close, and kiss her the way he had really wanted. That was the problem. Not what they had done, but what he had wanted to do—and ensuring it didn’t happen.
“Ah, well, if you begin talking to me like that in the morning, I’ll hear you, but it might take a while to process and respond.”
He chuckled. “Truly? I noticed.” On a couple of other assignments when he’d run ideas past her and she had to be asked two or three times, he had been certain she wasn’t a morning person. After the beer last night, he believed she wasn’t a night person either. He knew it took Debbie a while to wake up in the morning, so he really didn’t think she’d notice he was being so quiet. He guessed then that he must normally talk more to her when they met to work on the day’s activities than he realized.
She sighed. “Sorry.”
“I don’t mind. As long as you’re not ticked off with me about something, I’m good.”
She laughed. “Okay. Same here.”
They’d already suited up before they arrived because it was too cold to put their wet suits on next to the lake. But when they got out of the lake, they would be in a rush to undress. They both had water parkas—long coats with soft fleece inside and a windproof and waterproof outer fabric that would keep the snow and frigid wind from cooling them down too much on the trek from the car to and from the lake.
This morning, it was a brisk seventeen degrees with snow showers on the way.
Off in the distance, a couple of men were getting ready to ice fish on the frozen lake. No longer was the venture like the old days when Paul and Allan would catch fish in the winter, sitting atop a fish bucket, hoping the trout would swim by and take the bait. Now the guys who were setting up had power augers—often used to dig postholes in the earth—to drill a hole through the ice. And they had brightly colored yellow-and-red portable shelters, underwater cameras, and sonar fish finders.
“Did you ever ice fish?” Debbie asked, making her pre-dive safety checks.
“Yeah, but not quite like that. Much more primitive.”
She nodded. “Me too, in the old-fashioned way. Did we catch anything? Sure. Once I caught a trout. Another time, a yellow perch.”
“Who did you fish with?” he asked. From what she’d told him, her dad hadn’t been there for her when she was growing up.
“My dive partner and mentor. I told you. He was like a father to me. Man, was it cold. I decided fishing in the summer was the only way to go.”
“Maybe we can go fishing sometime. In the summer.” He knew he really couldn’t do it and keep their relationship impersonal.
“Sounds good to me. But, hey, if you’re up to it, there’s a charity Penguin Plunge at the Winter Carnival in Whitefish in February. A hole is cut into the ice at Whitefish Lake and then participants take a dip to raise money for a great cause. Sounds like a Navy SEAL job to me.”
He laughed. “Are you doing it?”
“Every year.”
“If I don’t have anything else going on, I guess I could risk it.” He should have said he would be busy. Hell, he might be if Rose was having the babies and ran into trouble.
Debbie smiled at him, her cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, looking so pleased that unless he had something really pressing going on, he knew he’d be taking the Penguin Plunge with her. But maybe he could convince Rowdy to go along with them, just to stay out of trouble.
They finished their dive checks, then walked out on the ice to where the car had broken through. The ice had been so clear when the accident first happened, it was like walking on glass. They could see the vegetation on the bottom of the lake in the shallower parts. But now snow covered the ice.
They dove around the bottom of the lake where the car had rested, searching for any other evidence they could find.
Debbie pointed to some thick vegetation. Allan joined her as she took pictures of the location of a 9 mm gun buried in the plants. She bagged it as evidence and slipped it into her mesh diving bag. After looking for as long as they could and not finding anything else of importance, they returned to the surface. But Allan was glad they had found that much. Once they removed their face masks, tanks, and flippers, they threw on their parkas and headed back to the car.
“Good find,” Allan said. “What I don’t understand is how the gun was outside the vehicle if it belonged to the dead man.”
“The driver’s window was broken. Maybe the pressure of the water filling the car caused the gun to float out or be pushed out. Or maybe it didn’t belong to this guy. Maybe it was there already. But it looks like it hasn’t been down there for long.”
Allan looked it over. “I agree. No rust on it.”
“Considering the location of the gun, I assume it moved a bit in the soil and vegetation when they dragged the car out of there.”
“Probably.”
They began the task of removing their wet suits—gloves, hoods, and booties first. Then the parkas had to come off so they could pull off one sleeve, then the next. They were both wearing long-sleeved rash guards, and she looked sexy as hell in hers. It was a royal blue and fit all her curves. Which she had in abundance.
Allan tried damn hard not to look when she was stripping out of her clothes. He didn’t want her to feel like he was ogling her, although he was having a hard time not doing that. If she were a wolf, it would be different. They were used to stripping out of their clothes in front of each other, for the most part, unless it was a single wolf without a pack. And if he had wanted to show interest in her, he could. Just like a she-wolf could with him. But with Debbie being human and him being wolf, he really had to curb the natural wolfish inclination. It wouldn’t be considered politically correct among humans.
He peeled out of the top half of his wet suit and then his rash guard. He grabbed a towel out of the hatchback and rubbed his chest, back, and arms vigorously before he noticed Debbie watching him. He smiled a little.
He tugged on a flannel shirt and then his wool sweater. “We’ll have to turn the weapon in at the station and see if they can get a ballistic match with any other crimes in the area. And see if this guy had a registered handgun.”
“Agreed.” Debbie shivered. “I really like diving in warm weather better.” She pulled a blue changing robe over her head. It was a long-sleeved toga affair that allowed her to slip out of her rash guard without the fear of losing a towel.
The idea she was naked underneath the changing robe sure had his attention, again.
“Yeah, warm weather definitely has its advantages.” He tucked his towel around his waist and began removing the bottom half of his wet suit.
Now that seemed to have her attention.
His phone jingled that he had received a text, but he had to get changed first. When he and Debbie were in the car with the heat on full, he pulled out his cell. The message was from Paul.
Allan said to Debbie, “Paul sent a text about the autopsy report. He said, ‘Got news on the Van Lake murder investigation. The vic didn’t have any water in his lungs. He died from a blow to the head before the car entered the water. No ID on him yet. The vehicle was stolen from a man in Helena, Montana.’”
“He died before he was submerged in the lake,” Debbie said. “We assumed that he had been murdered, but that just confirms it. But the part about driving a stolen vehicle? Any leads on that? If he were a regular criminal, he’d be in the database. Well, if he’d been caught before.”
“No. Apparently, if he was in a local database, they haven’t found him ye
t.”
“Do you want me to drive so you can call Paul?”
“Yeah. Sounds good to me.”
They switched places and then Allan made the call. “We found a 9 mm. We can’t be sure it belonged to the vic, but it might give us some clues.”
“That’s good to hear. We’ve got some bad news. Two more wolves were trapped and shot with silver rounds. Except they were just plain wolves.”
“So then the guy is randomly killing wolves, hoping he’ll get—” Allan paused. This was what he hated about having pack conversations around humans.
“A lupus garou, yeah. I believe he must have known the woman was one and he tracked her here. And the wolves were near the location, probably drawn by the blood. So he shoots them, thinking they’re werewolves too.”
“Right. Which means he’s still in the area and still a real threat to our…a wolf pack. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot any of us when we were investigating the scene.”
“You were in your human form. He might not be willing to shoot humans until he knows for certain. At least, that’s my guess. And you’re on contract work with the sheriff’s department. Just think if he’d killed a bunch of police officers working the case out there. So I think he’s being careful as far as that goes.”
“Except that Lori and Rose arrived at the scene…first.” Allan was going to say as wolves. Paul would know just what he was going to say.
“He might not have been there when the ladies arrived. At least, I’m hoping that’s the case.”
“All right. I’ll keep you posted if I learn anything more. Talk to you later, Paul.”
“Same here.”
When Allan put his phone away, Debbie cleared her throat, then said very seriously, “You know, Rowdy thinks you and the rest of your family are part of a werewolf pack.”
Allan found her comment disquieting. “He does, does he? You know what they say. It takes one to know one.”
She laughed.
“So how did he come by that notion?” He pretended to take the news in a lighthearted, humorous way, even though he felt anything but.