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“Lift the refrigerator? I don’t think you have that amount of muscles,” Kendra said.
He straightened up and handed the flashlight to Bliss, who had come around to his side of the fridge, looking anxious. “I don’t think I’m paying you enough for this,” she whispered.
“You aren’t paying me at all,” he pointed out.
“And no benefits or health insurance either. If you get hurt—”
“I won’t get hurt.” Moving on. He lifted his voice so Alvin could hear. “Mr. Carter, I’m going to jack up one corner of the fridge to get out whatever’s jammed in there. If anything hurts or makes you uncomfortable, you let me know. Just shout out.”
The trapped man gave an incomprehensible answer.
“What was that?”
“Call me Alvin,” he repeated, more loudly. “Seems only right, considering the circumstance I got myself into.”
“Okay then. You can call me Granger.”
He held his breath while he waited for Alvin’s reaction to that. Would the name Granger ring a bell? It was his mother’s family name, but she hadn’t called herself Granger. She’d used the last name of her first husband. Alvin would have known her as Nora Pitt. But if he’d known her well, she might have told him about the Granger side of her family, famous because they’d ridden in a bank-robbing gang alongside John Wesley back in cowboy days.
His mother tended to boast about that. She claimed they came from a family of rebels, and that was why she didn’t do things the normal way. That history was the reason he went by Granger. An FBI agent named after a bank robber? He enjoyed the irony.
When Alvin didn’t react to his name, he told himself it meant nothing. The man was stuck behind a freaking refrigerator. The last thing he would be thinking about was a girl he might have known over thirty years ago.
“I need a pry bar,” he told Kendra. “And some pieces of wood. Two by four, blocks, that kind of thing.”
“Pry bar,” she repeated, then shrugged. “Toolshed, I guess. Be right back.”
She hurried out the back door of the kitchen, letting in a burst of cold air.
He caught Bliss’ gaze. Her gray eyes were filled with concern. He wasn’t used to that kind of reaction from anyone. People always assumed he was invincible. But he appreciated it.
She came to his side, rested her hand on his forearm, and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Is this safe?” Her lips were so soft, her breath so light. That whisper felt like a lullaby from a drifting feather.
He shrugged one shoulder. If she was a feather, he was the rock it was landing on. “We’ll make it as safe as we can.”
“But it would be safer with more people, right?”
“Maybe.” Definitely. Especially more people who knew what they were doing. Thomas Cooper would be a good choice, for instance.
As if on cue, a male voice greeted them. “Hey, what’s going on in here? Party in the kitchen? Bliss, is that you?”
He turned to see a light-haired man who had to be Conor Gault stroll into the kitchen. He had that casual confident style that Granger associated with guys who’d been born into a silver spoon situation. But his gaze was direct and down-to-earth, so Granger told himself not to jump to conclusions.
“Conor!” When Conor opened his arms wide, Bliss hurried toward him. He hugged her for a long moment, then set her back down.
“I went by the inn because Carly said you were staying there. But Mrs. Wegman told me you guys had run over here for some kind of emergency.”
Granger shook his head. Did the woman have listening devices in the rooms? How could she possibly know that? She’d probably just put two and two together. A “head of security” and his client running out of the inn most likely meant there was an emergency. He ought to recommend her for employment at the FBI.
Conor’s curious glance swept over him, the refrigerator, Alvin’s predicament.
“You have to swear not to tell anyone,” said Bliss. She held up her hand in a vow gesture. “We can use your help, but only once you’ve entered the cone of secrecy.”
He echoed her gesture. “What now? That thing looks hella heavy.”
“Granger’s got a plan.” The trust in Bliss’ voice gave him a thrill. “Oh, this is Granger. He’s my head of security.”
Conor gave him a once-over, giving the impression that he’d heard about Granger already. “The famous head of security. I’m Conor Gault.” He offered his hand. “Welcome to Lake Bittersweet.”
