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His heart gave a hard squeeze. “Got it. I’ll be in touch.”
Clay’s voice projected into his ear too. “Livingston? I’ve never seen you act this way. What the hell did youreallyhave going on with Dove?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If he admitted to having an affair with her—of being in love with her—he’d break. He would break down and cry like a damn baby.
“Jesus, man, you have bigger ties to that woman than you’re saying.”
He tried to keep the tremor of fear from his voice but probably failed miserably.
“I’ll find them. I will find them and bring them back.”
* * * * *
Hot water blasted from the shower massage head, striking the back of Dove’s neck. Soon she would run out the hot water tank, but the stiff kinks in her neck were still in the tightest of knots.
She twisted into the spray, letting it run over her bowed head. Fatigue had her shoulders slumping and her mouth opening on yawn after yawn. No amount of coffee would invigorate her. After the bad sleep, tormenting dreams and lying awake half the night, she was tired and even more depressed.
She tried for a little dance to a pop song that she forced into her head. Dancing in the shower to start the day was supposed to be a mood booster, but in the week and a half she’d been doing it, she didn’t feel improved at all. She just felt stupid for dancing in the shower.
Leaning heavily on the tile wall, she closed her eyes and let more water swirl down the drain.
At least the house was stocked with food. Making that weekly trip down the block to the local market had gone from something she enjoyed before this all began to something she dreaded. If she were seen, she didn’t have a backup plan.
And shealwayshad a backup plan and a smile to go along with it. Until now.
Quaide would have one, though. He was such a planner that he had contingency plans for every plan B he created. It was one of the many things she admired—and disliked—about him.
The only plan she could think about right now involved scalding hot coffee and blueberry waffles. She switched off the shower and toweled off.
Tucking the end of the terry cloth above one breast, she drifted across her room to her walk-in closet to find some clothes for the day. Something comfortable but not sweatpants. It was bad enough she felt terrible about her situation and her appearance—sweats would only make her feel worse.
Maybe she’d throw on that bright blue sweater that Quaide liked so much on her as a mood booster.
She peeked in the closet.
When her gaze landed on the rumpled covers thrown over the inflatable air mattress, her heart skipped.
Rain wasn’t here. Shealwaysslept late.
Where was she?
She ran out of the closet, clutching the towel to keep it in place. “Rain? Rain!”
Her crazy sister couldn’t be trusted. She was too naïve—she didn’t see the big picture that laundering money for a known drug dealer wasn’t going to end well for her and she really needed to lie low until Dove figured out that backup plan.
“Rain?” Panic felt like cold fingers scrabbling at her skin.
She skidded into the kitchen and nearly wiped out when her damp feet hit tile. Grappling to keep her towel in place, she grabbed the edge of the island and glared at her sister.
Then she realized a second set of eyes was drilling into her.
Slowly, Dove turned her head to look at the man sitting on a stool at her kitchen counter.
“Dove.” Quaide’s deep, yummy voice stroked through her senses.
Spine snapping straight, she stared at him. He couldn’t be real. He was a figment of her imagination, conjured from lack of sleep and torturous dreams of his mouth on her body.
“Look, Dove! I made coffee.” Rain jumped off her stool and in her light, graceful way with her angelic blonde waves swirling around her shoulders, she moved to the coffee bar set up in the corner.
