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“Garlic butter chicken.” Lucas removes two wineglasses from the cabinet and places them on the granite counter. He then fills them with red wine and hands me one. “It’s a Cabernet Sauvignon.”
My favorite.
I take a sip and lean back on the counter next to the sink. “So are you and your brothers planning to increase your bid on Tuuli and Robert’s land?”
“No. They aren’t your usual landowners who are looking at selling to the highest bidder. Kincaid Timber doesn’t understand that. Or maybe they understand it too well. My brothers and I and the Drysons have history with Robert and Tuuli. That’s more important to them than anything else. We’ve already put in a fair bid on the land, and all the interested parties know it.”
None of what Lucas said surprises me. But does Kincaid Timber realize any of this? They’re an outside corporation with no roots in the community.
“Is there any recent news from Blake about your case?”
“Nothing. So far, the police haven’t turned up any new leads.”
“They haven’t, but what about you and your brothers? There must be something you’ve overlooked. Some clue or possible witness. The trial starts in fourteen weeks and five days.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Rose.” Lucas lifts the lid from one of the saucepans on the stove and stirs the contents.
I huff out a breath. “I’m serious.”
“I’m sorry. I know you are. But it’s a good thing you’re living with me now. I wouldn’t want you getting any ideas. As it is, I’m glad John McTyre is keeping Rose busy so she doesn’t start questioning people in an attempt to drum up leads.”
“What’s her boyfriend doing? Tying her to the bed and making love to her so she’s too preoccupied to snoop?”
Lucas opens his mouth to answer, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I lift my hand before he can say anything. “Don’t even go there. The last thing I want to discuss is Grams’s sex life.” Or lack of it, given her age.
“I was just going to say—”
I press a warning finger to his lips. His mouth turns up at the corners. “Don’t. Say. It.”
He steps away, laughing, the sound a sexy rumble in his chest, and takes a sip of his wine.
I lower my hand. “Maybe we should try what the cops do, where they stick photos of their suspects and details about the crime scene and the victim on a huge board.”
Outside the window, thick clouds hunker in front of the sun, the world suddenly dimmer with the promise of an early evening thunderstorm.
“Are you saying you want to turn my living room wall into a giant corkboard?”
“Not exactly, but maybe then we can keep track of everything, and the answer will become more obvious.”
Lucas’s eyebrows pull into a dark ominous line. “We? There’s no we about this. You’re my wife, not my crime-solving partner.”
“And you’re a PT, not a PI. And yet you’re trying to figure out who framed you.”
Lucas sets his glass on the counter and folds his arms across his chest. His frown deepens. “That’s different.”
“Really? And how’s that?”
“Because you’re my responsibility. And I’m a Marine.”
“You’re seriously planning to throw that caveman crap at me? I’m your wife, not your responsibility. They’re two different things.”
His eyes darken—and I get a glimpse of what the enemy once saw. Only I’m not too worried about it. “Like fuck they are. Your brother’s dead, so someone has to make sure you don’t get into trouble.” His words drop like a nuclear bomb, leveling everything in a fifty-mile radius.
I can’t…I can’t…I can’t believe he said that. The comeback I might have hurled at him fizzles in the air. Limp. Deflated. I can only stare at Lucas.
Jasper bounds over to us and sits his butt on the hardwood floor. He watches us expectantly as if waiting to see who’s next to volley angry words.
