Troublemaker Read online

  “Didn’t you say you’re from Florida?” She thought he had, but she’d had other things on her mind that afternoon.

  “Yeah. What about you? That isn’t a West Virginia accent.”

  “All over. I was born in Arizona, but I don’t remember it. Mom moved a lot.” And married a lot, hence the moving. Morgan was good, spotting the difference between her accent and Jesse’s. Over the years, she thought her speech had modified. In the rare instances when her mother got in touch—both times—she’d said something about how “hick” Bo sounded now. Maybe the accent was a good mother-repellent because she hadn’t heard from Rebecca in a few years now. She loved her mother, but she loved her best at a distance.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Seven years.”

  That seemed to dry up their small talk for a while. He sat quietly in the sun, looking at the greening grass, the budding trees. Whatever he did for a living was obviously hazardous, so Bo guessed he wasn’t accustomed to either the quiet of country living or his current state of inactivity. She threw the ball some more for Tricks, who joyously retrieved for a good forty-five minutes before going to the bowl of water Bo kept outside, getting a good drink, then flopping down on the concrete to pant and bat the tennis ball back and forth with a paw.

  After watching Tricks for a minute, Bo said, “You must be getting a little bored.”

  “I’m feeling better,” he replied, which she supposed was an answer. If he was feeling better, of course he was bored. While he hadn’t been able to do anything much more than eat a little and sleep a lot, boredom hadn’t factored in.

  “I can’t offer you much to do. Some books to read, the laptop computer. I don’t usually need the laptop for work, so you’re welcome to it.”

  “Computer,” he instantly replied. “Thanks.”

  She stretched her legs out, rubbed Tricks’s back with her toe. “Afraid they’d be girl books?” At the touch, Tricks rolled over on her back and lay there with her legs in the air and her tongue lolling out, the very picture of canine bliss.

  “I wouldn’t care about that.” He paused, and she saw a glint of blue as he slanted a cautious look her way. “Are they?”

  “Some. But I also have some mysteries, some suspense, a couple of Stephen Kings. They’re upstairs in my room. I’ll bring a few down, and you can let me know when you need more.”

  She didn’t think she’d ever before been able to satisfy a man with some books and a computer, she thought, and hid a smile as she got to her feet and went inside, Tricks at her heels.

  CHAPTER 9

  ON MONDAY MORNING WHEN BO LEFT HER BEDROOM and looked down on the whole lower floor from the stairs, she realized that she was becoming accustomed to seeing the tall man sprawled asleep on her sofa. “Sprawled” was the operative word; he slept with one long leg draped over the sofa back, and the other either stretched out or with that foot planted on the floor. Given his height and the length of the sofa, he didn’t have much choice. It would be a red-letter day when he was able to climb the stairs and sleep in the guest room, in a real bed.

  She thought he looked some better—not a lot, but some. His color wasn’t as gray, and though he’d slept a long time after sitting out in the sunshine yesterday, at least he’d been able to make the effort. Just two days before he’d had difficulty shuffling to the bathroom and back.

  His appetite was improving, too. Every day he was able to eat a little more. She was beginning to feel a bit invested in his condition, and that disturbed her. She didn’t want to get to know him on anything more than a superficial level. She wanted him to get well and get gone with as little impact on her life as possible other than the very welcome addition of a hundred and fifty thousand to her bank account.

  She had to admit he was playing it smart, keeping things low-key. She thought he was normally a take-charge guy accustomed to command, but he was careful to not be demanding. Though occasionally some impatience leaked through, he never let it become more than a leak. Likewise, several times he was a tad grouchy, but the grouch never escalated into anger. After the choking incident, they both worked to keep things under control, and she was appreciative of his efforts.

  Tricks, however, knew no boundaries. He was a new playmate in her world, and she was determined to make him play. She bounded down the stairs now, full of energy and enthusiasm, and raced to the sofa to push her nose into his armpit before depositing her tennis ball on his chest. The ball rolled off and she pounced on it with joy.

  He groaned and swung his legs down as he eased to a sitting position. “Hey, girl,” he croaked in a rough morning voice, giving Tricks a quick rub behind the ears as she brought the ball back to him. This time it landed between his spread legs. He quickly grabbed it before she darted her nose toward the ball to show him where it was. Bo stifled a snicker. He’d learned the hard way.

  He got up and headed for the bathroom as she started the coffee. They muttered “Morning” at each other, then Bo took Tricks out. Coming back in, she opened the refrigerator to stare at the contents, wondering what she was going to prepare for breakfast. She’d spent a small fortune on groceries just three days before, so why was she having this problem? Because she didn’t usually cook breakfast, that was why. Normally she’d eat some granola and drink coffee while she worked.

  Okay, something that didn’t take a lot of time, because she had work to do. She threw some bacon into the microwave, scrambled some eggs, and slapped slices of bread into the toaster. Breakfast would take ten minutes, max.

  As she was plating the eggs, reality hit her smack between the eyes.

  She’d been busy, pressed to lay in adequate supplies for him, and she’d been cooking for him, doing his laundry. She’d been knocked off her stride by his arrival, then the bakery incident, and all the extra work that taking care of him entailed. That was the only explanation she had for the fact that she’d asked almost no questions, had no idea really who she’d let into her house, knew nothing about him other than the scant information he and Axel had given her at the very first.

  Well, that was easily remedied. As soon as he came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and shaved, dressed in an olive-drab tee shirt and black cargo pants that barely hung on him even with a belt, she said, “Are you a spy or something?” What he was was important because that was the reason why he was so thin, why he was here.

  He flicked a glance at her but didn’t pause as he went to the counter and picked up the cup of coffee she’d set aside for him. “Starting to have some questions, huh?” He leaned one hip against the cabinet and eyed her over the lip of the cup as he sipped.

  “A bit late, but yeah.” She wondered if he’d answer any of her questions, or if she could believe him if he did. Spies lied for a living, right?

  “No, I’m not a spy.”

  “If you were, you’d lie,” she pointed out as she divided the slices of bacon onto their plates, then got out another plate and began buttering the toast and stacking the slices on it.

  “True. Though if I were, you’d be smarter not to point that out.”

  His calm admittance was either annoying or gratifying, and she couldn’t decide which. She wanted to believe him; she wanted to think she was doing a good thing, even if she was being paid well to do it. Too bad there was literally no way she could know for certain; all she could do was go with what she thought was most probable. “I think it’s too late for smart—you’re already here. But if you aren’t a spy, then why were you ambushed?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. We don’t know.”

  She put down the butter knife for a sip of her own coffee while she considered that. “You work for the government, so you assume it’s job related. Could it be personal?”

  “Not likely.”

  “You’ve lived such a pristine life, huh?”

  Amusement quirked his mouth. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t have any psycho exes, haven’t gotten into any fights with