Page 13 of After We Fall

But this time it isn’t the migraine.

As his grin fades, his eyes spear their intensity at me. “I’ll take care of the girls while I’m here, Penelope. And I’ll take care of you too.”

4

“Clap, clap, ta-ble, ta-ble, clap, up, down. Clap, sweep, top, ta-ble, bot-tom hand, down.” The chant moves through the wall and into my bedroom.

Tucked into the warmth of my bedspread, I pry my eyes open and peek at the bedside clock. 10:13 p.m. Only four minutes have passed since the last time I checked. I’m not surprised I can’t fall back to sleep. Without turning on a lamp, I sit up, testing my headache. The only thing pounding is the game going on in what sounds like the dining room. I sigh in relief. Migraine gone.

Time to get back to work and figure out what’s going on outside my four walls.

As I slide my feet into the nearby house slippers, I throw my hair into a ponytail. My gray Pepperdine sweatshirt and navy sweatpants will have to do.

Once I enter the dining room, it all becomes clear. With the padded fabric walls as their background, in high-back chairs with light wood scrolling etched at the top, the girls sit at the end of the matching donated dining room table. All this dining room needs is a painting with abstract brushes of pastel colors and it could be launched back to the 1980s.

Luke, whose army-green cargo pants and black Henley shirt imply that maybe he showered since the last time I saw him, tromps along the area rug, circling the girls and chanting the directives to a game that involves nothing more than plastic cups.

He looks good. Somehow relaxed and still commanding the room.

He spots my entrance and makes his way to my side. His eyes peruse my face. “How’s the head?”

I turn my eyes to the girls. “Fine. You smell like you found your way to your accommodations in the master suite.”

He shifts his attention to the table. “You like the way I smell?”

“I like that you showered. And I hope you can get some sleep tonight.”

“Penny Lady,” Tanya says. “Hope you’re feeling better.”

“What are they doing?” I ask Luke out of the side of my mouth.

“Sobriety test.”

Sobriety test? How can he assess anything with a game?

“Is playing cups standard operating procedure with the LG Security Team?” I snap and shoot him a glare.

Almost in slow motion, he turns his head to me, eyes glittering, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Did you just make a joke?”

“What? No. I—” Did I? Did I just make a joke? I don’t make jokes. I stare at him, perplexed. Must be a residual side effect of my migraine medication.

“Playing cups isn’t SOP, but it sure is more fun than a boring ol’ Breathalyzer test.” He throws the judgmental comment at me like a grenade and returns his attention to the middle of the room.

I scan the moving cups on the table, then dart my eyes his way. “We have to ensure they’re making appropriate choices. It’s a requirement for staying at Twelve Bluebells.”

He nods. “Well, as you can see, it looks like everyone made good choices today.”

To my dismay, this method of assessment seems logical. I turn to stand in front of him, shielding our conversation from the room. Luke cranes his head down to look at me, and the heat coming off his body engulfs me. The girls chant and giggle off and on, engrossed in their own world. Still, I keep my voice low. “What kind of progress did you make today in regard to the vandalism?”

“Got word that the plates from last night’s unidentified car are registered to Katherine O’Rourke.” His quiet voice rumbles between us. “That name ring a bell?”

“She’s a reporter for the local news. I wonder if she received a tip about the wedding.” The muscles in my shoulders tighten. I don’t know whether to be angry or relieved at the thought that someone from the media was on the property last night. Maybe it wasn’t her. I’ve met her family. Maybe it was her teenage son. But none of those answers matter. “Bottom line is that the car wasn’t a threat, right?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “It was a threat to my jacket.”

My face flushes with warmth as I remember the plate of food I launched at him. I straighten my posture, running my hands around the hem of my sweatshirt. “I’m sorry about that. I will happily pay for your jacket to be cleaned if we can stick with the topic at hand, please?”

“From a tactical standpoint, today was productive. The cameras and sensors for the new security system are live. I also placed some new motion-sensor lights around the property. But with this being the day after Thanksgiving, the Holcombe ranch was deserted. No one to talk to about who might have leaked wedding details.”