In Close (Bulletproof #3)(40)
Author: Brenda Novak

Convinced she wouldn’t get him out of her kitchen until she’d drunk the darn tea and listened to what he’d found, she sank into the closest chair. “Tell me.”

He didn’t ask her to clarify. He knew what she was talking about. “In the morning.”

“Now.”

“It’ll only upset you when I’m trying to help you relax.”

“The truth has to be better than what I’m imagining.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, but he must’ve understood that she needed to assert her will on something.

Taking the seat across from her, he spoke in a somber voice. “Les is an oily bastard. An attorney.”

Claire couldn’t remember Mr. Weaver ever telling her what he did for a living. But he’d handed over quite a chunk of money—five thousand dollars—so she assumed he wasn’t hard-pressed. “And that makes him untrustworthy from the get-go?” she said with a weak chuckle.

“It was more the look of him. He just…didn’t fit the stereotype.”

She grimaced at the taste of the tea, but he leaned forward and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. Then it wasn’t too bad. “Not every hunter does.”

“Exactly. So I ignored what my instincts were telling me and asked him a few questions.”

“Like…”

“Had he been in the area before? Did he still hunt? That sort of thing.”

The hot liquid soothed her despite the suspense. “And?”

“He didn’t talk like a hunter, either. I asked him about previous hunts, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Every hunter I’ve ever met can give you a list of where he’s been and what he’s bagged.”

“Maybe killing David soured him on the whole experience.”

“That’s what he wanted me to believe. He even told me that after David died he got rid of every gun he owned. Said he can’t bear to even look at a firearm.”

“I can understand why.”

“Me, too. Except…”

She shifted, trying to brace for what he had coming. “Except…”

“He’s still got a whole gun cabinet filled with them. That’s hardly getting rid of all his guns.”

Cradling the mug, Claire concentrated on the smooth ceramic and the way it transferred warmth to her cold hands. “How do you know he has that many if he told you—”

“I saw them through the back window. They were right there in the living room, next to the couch.”

“Shit… Why would Weaver lie?”

Isaac rubbed his chin as he answered. “He wasn’t expecting me to check.”

“But he volunteered that information, correct?”

“I believe he wants to appear more contrite than he feels—”

“Prick!”

“—so that no one looks any closer.”

She studied Isaac from beneath her lashes. “He killed David on purpose.”

“That’s my guess.”

“This changes everything.”

“It could.”

Or it could lead nowhere. She’d learned, long ago, not to get her hopes up. “We’d have to prove it, find someone in Pineview who has some connection to him. And that might be easier said than done.”

“Not if we get the sheriff involved again,” he said. “Someone needs to take a look at his phone records, and that requires a subpoena.”

“Do you think one lie over whether or not he still owns guns will be enough to get a judge to sign off? It’s such an invasion of privacy. He’s an attorney. That’ll make everyone cautious.”

“I’m going to do some more research first, see if I can come up with more on him.”

With a nod, she forced herself to finish her tea. But when she stood to carry her cup to the sink, he took it from her and rinsed it himself.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” It was true. But she was pretty sure his presence and his support had more to do with it than anything else.

13

Claire woke up smashed against something wonderful. Warm. Solid. Comfortable. Whatever it was smelled good, too. Like deodorant, soap and warm male—

She’d been burrowing closer but the moment she recognized those scents, she lifted her head and squinted in the light filtering through the blinds. Sure enough, she was in bed with Isaac. They both had clothes on—that was a good sign—but her sister, if she’d already spotted his truck out front, wouldn’t know that. When Claire had gotten out of the shower last night after that terrible dream and he said he was going to lie down with her, that he’d be right next to her in case she had another nightmare, she hadn’t argued. After what he’d told her about Les Weaver, she’d been even more unsettled, afraid she might dream about that, making the comfort and security Isaac offered too tempting to refuse.

But he hadn’t gotten up and left as she’d expected. He’d fallen asleep along with her.

Why was he still here? He couldn’t have hung around because he expected to get laid. She’d made the parameters of their new relationship perfectly clear.

The doorbell rang, and her heart skipped a beat. Who could that be so early?

She craned her neck to see the clock on the nightstand and experienced a jolt of panic. It wasn’t early at all. It was five after nine!

“Oh, no.” Her first appointment, who just happened to be Laurel King, her best friend, had arrived. Laurel would definitely notice Isaac’s truck. And—Claire consulted the mirror above the dresser—as tousled as she looked, it wouldn’t be hard to guess she’d come straight from bed.

Could she get away with not answering?

“Your heart’s racing a mile a minute.” Isaac was half-asleep but sounded concerned. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you had another nightmare.”

“No. I overslept. My appointments are arriving.”

The emergency in her voice brought him awake. But being able to determine she was okay also relieved him. “Is that all?” he muttered, hiding a yawn. “Is that all?” she repeated.

He punched his pillow. “So you slept in. You got to bed late.”

“Lack of sleep isn’t a viable excuse. Some of us have to work whether we want to or not, and that means we have to get up early and be prepared.”

“Sucks for you, doesn’t it?” he teased, and closed his eyes as if sinking back into sleep.

She had to tell him he couldn’t stay. She didn’t want any more of her clients thinking they were seeing each other.