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A suspicion occurred to her, and she lifted the bed covers. Sure enough, she was naked except for her white lace panties.
I never go to bed in just my underwear.
While she was considering the implications of this, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in.” That was what she intended to say. What emerged was more of a feeble croak.
In just a pair of cut-off jeans, Rylan appeared too healthy and energetic to be real. For a moment, Bree’s gaze refused to move from his tanned muscular torso. With an effort, she dragged it away and focused on his face.
“What time is it?” Her throat felt like she’d been gargling with sand.
“I’m not sure. I’ve been up for about five hours, so probably about twelve.”
Bree was startled into an exclamation. The throbbing in her head intensified, and she pressed her knuckles to her temples with a moan.
“Bad, huh?” Although Rylan’s tone was sympathetic, his grin was mischievous.
“I think it’s probably best if you just leave me here to die. Tell my family I love them.”
To Bree, his laughter sounded faintly demonic. “I have just the thing for that. Back in a minute.”
While he was gone, she dredged her memory for some clue about undressing the previous night. Her mind refused to give her any hints.
When Rylan returned, he was carrying a tall glass of green sludge. Bree eyed it suspiciously. “Did Wonkey chew that up and spit it out?”
“An army buddy used to swear by this...literally. It always does the trick.” He handed her the glass. “It’s aloe juice, ginger, milk thistle, peppermint and willow bark. Just drink it fast.”
“Nothing ventured.” Bree followed his instructions and slugged the unappetizing mixture down. For a moment or two, her stomach rebelled, then her body calmed down. After a few minutes, she could almost feel the herbs cleansing her system.
“Better?” Rylan looked down at her with a smile.
She tilted her head from side to side. “Put the funeral arrangements on hold.”
“Lunch will be served on the porch in twenty minutes.”
Bree was about to protest that she would never be able to eat again, when her stomach gave an enormous rumble.
“Um, Rylan.” He paused with his hand on the door handle and turned to look at her. She pointed at her dress. “Did you...?”
“Yeah. You couldn’t manage the zipper.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Did we...?”
His lips thinned into a line, all trace of humor dying from his expression. “You were drunk, Bree. Almost unconscious.” He shook his head. “Your opinion of me must be even lower than I thought.”
Bree watched him stalk from the room, all muscle and masculine indignation. The image of Rylan caring for her when she was drunk, undressing her, putting her to bed, leaving her a glass of water, then going off to his own room... It reinforced her belief that he was a good guy after all.
She was about to head for the shower when the thought hit her. Rylan had cherished her the way he looked after his animals. He collected strays and misfits. Had she just been added to the menagerie?
Chapter 12
Bree shielded her eyes as she stepped out onto the porch. “Can you turn down the sunlight?”
“You have your shades on top of your head,” Rylan pointed out.
“Oh.” She lowered them and slumped into the seat opposite him. Clearly, the hangover still had a hold on her. He poured her a glass of water and handed her a plate of chicken salad.
“No more messages?” Rylan asked. The last time Bree had heard from the stalker had been the disturbing email about the taste of her blood.
“Nothing.” She sipped her water. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’s given up?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I imagine he’s exerting all his energy trying to find out where you are.” In Rylan’s experience, stalkers might change tactics, but they didn’t give up.
“What about your sources?” she asked. “Have they come up with any information?”
Rylan huffed out a breath. To his intense frustration, none of his former colleagues had discovered so much as a whisper about any of the people who had access to the Wise Gal basement. “Not yet. They’ll keep digging.”
