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“Get me some while you’re up.”
“Go all weekend without taking a shower or brushing my teeth?”
“Um, ew. That’s up to you, but don’t be mad when I nickname you Stinky Sue.”
“Say the F-word ten times in a row at the top of my lungs?”
“Freedom of speech, sweetheart. And I’ve heard it once or twice before.” As a matter of fact, Sloane had hurled the F-bomb at her alarm clock in three different languages before getting out of bed mere hours ago. “Anything else you want to do today?”
Bree’s face flushed, her eyes darkening with emotion as she delivered her next words. “What if I smash the two-hundred-dollar bottle of merlot sitting in the wine cellar? Then what?”
Whoa!Sloane’s spine jerked, a bolt of fear traveling through each bone before dispersing outward with a hard tingle. “Why would you do that?”
Bree blanked her expression, taking a step backward toward the kitchen as she averted her eyes. “I…I was just kidding. You know, trying to come up with something crazy. Forget it.”
But Sloane couldn’t. “Bree…” Thoughts clogged her brain, but none of them made sense. Everything else had been fun and games, silly stuff that any young teenager might want to try. But not this. This was hurtful, designed to push someone away in anger. And from what little Sloane knew of Gavin, it would more than do the trick.
Why did she want to piss him off so badly?
“I’m going to go finish my paper.” For just a breath, Bree didn’t move, almost as if she was daring Sloane to try to stop her. Sloane opened her mouth to do just that, when a thought clattered unavoidably into her brain.
Sloane’s maternal instincts couldn’t even fill a thimble. What the hell would she say if Bree actually stopped to listen? Clearly, the kid knew she’d crossed the line, and she couldn’t even go down the hall to pee without Sloane knowing her whereabouts, anyway. That made actual bottle-smashing seem highly unlikely. What was more, Sloane honestly didn’t believe she’d follow through on her destructive suggestion even if she did have the chance.
Damn it, this was exactly why she steered clear of kids. How was she supposed to handle this? An argument with a thirteen-year-old wasn’t really on her wish list, and somehow she didn’t think Bree was in the mood for a lecture, either.
Finally, she just went with, “Okay. Do you want any help?”
Bree’s gaze winged upward, as if commanded by the surprise evident on her face. Her eyes betrayed a hint of soft, childlike vulnerability, and in that instant, Sloane actually thought the kid would say yes.
But then she turned back toward her bedroom, not even bothering to slow her steps as she answered,
“No. I’m fine all by myself.”
* * *
Gavin trudgedup the porch stairs on Sunday night with the firm knowledge that the ache he’d felt a few days ago had merely been child’s play. At least Sunday’s dinner service was abbreviated by an hour, and he’d managed to finish tallying receipts at eleven rather than the usual midnight. For all its tedium, though, his number crunching paid off in efficiency. They could run inventory just as easy as breathing at La Dolce Vita now that he’d implemented a system that worked. Gavin had no worries that his assistant manager would keep things running smoothly tomorrow on his much-needed day off.
He flipped the deadbolt, and just like the last two nights when he’d dragged himself home, the living room was the only illuminated space in the tiny cottage. Similarly, a freshly minted host of crumpled papers lay scattered by the arm of the couch.
The piece of furniture itself, however, was decidedly vacant.
“Sloane?” A beat of silence passed, then two, without even a hint of movement in the rest of the house, and Gavin’s breath quickened in his lungs. He took three strides to double back to the foyer and headed down the darkened hallway, his pulse popping with every step. Bree’s bedroom door was shut tight, but he nudged it open for a quick check anyway.
Relief flowed through his veins as he caught sight of her curled soundly in bed, and he whispered the door shut so as not to wake her. A quick perusal revealed that Sloane hadn’t opted for a snooze in the guest bedroom, and as usual, his bedroom door was firmly closed. Repeating his steps back to the entryway, Gavin’s mounting worry edged out his irritation by only a hair.
Where the hell was she?
“Hello? Sloane?” There were only so many places to hide in the cottage, and unless she was sitting in the dark kitchen all by her lonesome, he’d exhausted the short list of choices. Gavin’s frustration quickly surrendered to cold, hard panic, however, as he finally rounded the empty couch.
Sloane was lying on the floor in front of the coffee table, eyes closed and completely unmoving.
“Sloane!” His heart slammed in an honest effort to shoot free of his rib cage, and he dropped to the hardwood with an unforgivingthunk. Dread clutched at him with clammy fingers, and he grabbed her shoulders in a rough hold, lowering his head to instinctively listen for a breath.
Oh, fuck, please let her open her eyes, or take a breath, or something. Please let her…
A bolt of white-hot pain cracked from his nose all the way to the back of his skull.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard a familiar, feminine voice gasping his name, but he was too fascinated by the pretty, winking lights in his vision to try to figure it out.
