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“Come on out.” His gaze snagged on the sandwich she still held in her suddenly nerveless hand. He burst out laughing. “You are some kind of woman.”
He offered his hand, which she grabbed with her free one, and he helped her extract herself from under the table. He stayed low, and so did she.
“In my defense, it’s a really good sandwich,” she told him.
“Yeah, I like to keep people well fed while I’m defending my house from idiots.”
She scanned the room nervously. Broken glass on the floor from the shattered window, brisk air flowing into the room. “How do you know they’re gone?”
“I saw someone running away, but they could come back. Let’s go to another room. There’s a damn draft in here.”
“Don’t you want to put up some plywood or something?”
“I will. Come on. Let’s go somewhere safer.”
“Like a safe room? Or a completely enclosed bunker with double bolted locks and a camera feed?”
“No. My bedroom. We can stay there until it gets darker outside.”
She wasn’t sure she’d feel safe at all in his bedroom. But it was better than his kitchen, with its new bullet hole in the wall.
He led the way through the rest of his house. She got a vague impression of a glassed-in porch with stunning views—but way too much glass to feel safe right now—and a spacious living room also totally exposed by the glass.
His bedroom was more like a cave. Its only window was close to the ceiling, a long rectangle meant to let in a minimum of light. It probably made for better sleeping on these long spring days. The walls were painted a deep olive taupe shade that she found quite restful. A framed photograph of an aerial view of a spectacular waterfall frozen into sparkling crystal blue dominated the room. Was that the Ice Falls? She wondered if he’d taken it himself from his plane.
A leather armchair sat in one corner, draped with discarded clothes. She found that endearing, oddly. Sure, he was an enigmatic man of mystery, but he tossed his clothes in a corner just like a normal person. Sam scooped the pile into his arms and dumped them into a hamper, then gestured for her to sit.
Once she was ensconced in the extremely comfortable armchair, he told her he’d be right back, and disappeared. A moment later she heard the banging of a hammer coming from the direction of the kitchen. Boarding up that window so nothing else could sneak in. Good.
She worked on getting her pulse back to normal. This room felt safe. The walls seemed nice and thick, and that window was too high up to be a problem.
A moment later he stepped back into the bedroom, still barefoot, still in his shorts. There went her pulse again. He’d conducted that whole gun battle without shoes. Badass.
“I just checked on Buttercup. He’s hiding in a corner, but he’ll be okay.”
“Oh good.”
He sat on the edge of his bed, and propped his elbows on his knees. Only about a foot separated them, and it felt like even less. His deep blue eyes met hers, and she could tell he felt terrible about what they’d just gone through.
“Do you know who was out there?” she asked.
“No.”
Something about the way he said it made her doubt him. “Any educated guesses?”
He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “It could be someone connected with the Chilkoots.”
“Why would they be shooting at you? Because of me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying you don’t know. You know a lot more than you’re letting on and I deserve some answers.”
He was nodding as she spoke. “You do. I agree. But I honestly don’t know why they were shooting, who exactly was shooting, or any of that shit. It might be connected to you. That was why…”
“Why what?”
“Why I was giving you some space last couple of weeks. I didn’t want to put you in any danger.”
