Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven #1) by J.R. Ward

He must be so cold—

From out of the tent, a tall figure emerged, the full height of the man extending far above the black nylon roofline.

Aware that she could be seen, she lifted a hand.

Daniel came toward her, striding over the scruffy grass. When he stopped in front of her, he was close enough so that she could see his eyes. His five-o’clock shadow. Every wave of his on-the-long-side hair.

“You okay?”

“Not really,” she said. “You?”

“I’m good. Just chilling.”

“How did you know I was out here?”

“Chilling is not sleeping. And I made sure that I can see your house through a little screened flap.”

She moved her hair over her shoulder and rubbed her upper arms. “Are you warm enough out there?”

“Yup.” He patted the windbreaker that covered his pecs. “This thing is insulated.”

When she didn’t say anything else, he lowered his voice. “You did what you had to, with Eastwood.”

“Eastwind,” she corrected. “And I don’t think he believed us.”

“Doesn’t matter if he did. It’s what he can prove or disprove that’s important—and there’s no evidence that refutes our story.”

She looked away. “I truly believe he’s committed to keeping the hotel happy. He wants the jobs, the tax dollars, the traffic. But I still hated lying to him.”

“What was your choice?”

Her eyes shot back to him. “The truth.”

“If you think your life is complicated now, try being a suspect in Peter Wynne’s murder.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be.”

“Really? Your superior goes missing, and you benefit from his death because you get his job. That would at least make you a person of interest.”

“I don’t want to be the executive director. I’m a scientist, not an administrator—”

“You’re sitting in his office, aren’t you? Using his computer, aren’t you.”

“That doesn’t mean I—I couldn’t kill anybody.”

“You’d be surprised what you can do when you have to.”

“Well, I didn’t kill him. How’s that.”

Daniel put his hands up. “I’m not accusing you. I’m just telling you what your sheriff buddy would think if he knew we went into that barn and took a stroll around. At least I didn’t see any security cameras inside or out—which was a surprise, by the way, and the only reason we’re going to be okay.”

Lydia rubbed her eyes. “Are you safe out there?”

“Yup. Don’t worry about—”

“—you. Yes, you’ve told me that before.” She nodded over her shoulder toward the tent. “Did you have anything to eat?”

“Doritos and Coke. I had some left over in my saddlebag from when I got the lowdown on your whole life at the grocery store.”

With a frown, she dropped her hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a health kick?”

“You have no idea what I used to eat. And drink. And smoke.”

“What was it, rubber tires and cement blocks?”

“Yup, both chewy and dry. A great combination, but at least my cholesterol was okay.”

She smiled a little. “And that terrible snack is all you’ve had?”

“Calories are calories, I’ll survive, and the diner opens at six tomorrow morning. I plan on eating three plates of pancakes, as well as bacon and eggs, as soon as I can.”

Lydia glanced over her shoulder. “I have food. I went shopping on Saturday.”

“Did you eat any of it? I’m thinking you didn’t—”

“Let me make you something proper for dinner. Then at least …”

“What, I can die on a full stomach on your back lawn?” As her head shot over to him, he winced. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“Too much.” She motioned to the open door. “I’m no gourmet chef, but I can do better than Tostitos and Coke.”

“It was Doritos. And I am not going to say no.”

She turned away.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said sharply.

“I know,” she answered as she looked over her shoulder at him. “But as long as you don’t make any more bad jokes about buying the farm on my back forty, I’m happy to feed you. Plus, I need something to occupy the next hour and seventeen minutes.”

He frowned and glanced at his watch. “You have something you need to do at nine?”

“You don’t go to bed before nine.” She stepped into her house. “It’s like people who refuse to have a glass of wine before five. It’s a tent pole in the day. After nine, I can collapse and try to sleep.”

“Do you have the same kind of rigid rule for waking up?”

“Never before four a.m.” She motioned with her hand. “Are you coming in?”

He held up both his forefingers. “Wait, are you saying four-fifteen is in play? For wake up?”

“Yup.”

Shaking his head, he stepped over the threshold. “Man, I’m surprised you don’t go to bed at seven-thirty.”



“Looks like we were destined to have dinner together, huh.”