AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I can’t imagine what kind of plans you might need to make. ” She shrugged as she headed to the shower. “Your father will have this figured out soon, then I’ll be going home. No big deal. ”
No big deal?
John watched as she moved into the shower, the door snapping closed behind her.
She was angry.
The look on her face when he’d mentioned Bobby. There had been such an edge of disillusionment there, as though she couldn’t believe he’d mentioned that.
What the hell was going on with her?
She’d been as tight as a virgin, but he knew for damned sure that she was no virgin. So close to it that she may as well have been, a part of him argued.
And what had she said? That he hadn’t remembered that night correctly.
The hell he hadn’t. He’d passed out right between her thighs, the taste of her sweet pussy still on his lips. There was no way he would have forgotten taking her.
Hell, Sierra had always confused him, though. She never came right out and said anything. She kept things to herself, whether pleasure or pain, and rarely shared them. Getting information out of her was often like pulling teeth.
There was information that was going to have to come, though. There had to be a reason why she was attacked. His father had ruled out a serial rapist, there were no attacks that matched the MO, and there was no reason to believe it was anything other than personal.
Who would want to hurt her?
That was what John intended to find out, and then he intended to do something about it.
SIX
Getting her to talk that night didn’t work out as John had hoped. Once they had dinner, Sierra drifted off to sleep on the couch while John called his father and discussed the investigation into the attack.
There was no new information.
John paced the upper deck of the Nauti Wet Dreams, frustration eating at him as he tried to piece together the information he did have. Which wasn’t much.
The assailant had obviously been male. The roommate who had burst into the bedroom that night hadn’t seen hair color or eye color, but judged his approximate height to be around six feet. It could have been anyone.
As John stood at the railing, a beer in hand, the sound of slow, even footsteps making their way down the dock drew his attention.
Watching, he almost groaned in irritation. Most people groaned in irritation when Timothy Cranston made his appearance, though.
The rabid little Leprechaun, the Mackay cousins called him. A former Homeland Security special agent who had retired to Somerset after the completion of an investigation that revealed a domestic terrorist organization in the area.
He paused at the front of the boat.
“I’m up here, Cranston,” John called out, the night and the water carrying his voice clearly to the other man.
“Ahh, the elusive John Walker Junior. ” The amusement in the other man’s tone was just the wrong side of grating.
He moved across the deck to the spiral staircase that led to the sundeck of the houseboat.
“Too bad I’m not a little better at the elusive part,” John grunted. “What the hell do you want?”
Cranston stepped onto the deck, a quiet grin on his face as John leaned against the rail and glared back at him.
“The Walkers have quite a history in this area,” Timothy mused as he walked across the deck to the portable fridge and removed a beer.
John watched as he uncapped it and took a long drink, wondering what the ex-special agent was doing here.
“Calculating” and “manipulating” were two of the kinder terms used to refer to Cranston.
