Carla Neggers - The Mist

“I was looking for Keira. Were you drawn to Estabrook because of his adventures? I gather you’re something of a daredevil yourself.”

“I wasn’t drawn to Norman at all. I just hung out with him and his friends on and off. Long weekends, vacations, when he was at one of our hotels.”

“You came a long way to find Simon.”

This time, she was ready for the dodging and darting of his questions. “I came a long way to hike the Beara Way. I’d heard Keira’s story about the stone angel and thought I might run into her and Simon.”

With a glimmer of a smile, Will moved close to her, just inches from her, and before she could catch her breath, he touched his fingertips to her hair. “You’re an adept fighter but not a particularly adept liar.”

“Not tonight, maybe. Ordinarily I’m a very adept liar.”

“You were concerned Estabrook would go free, and you arranged a cover story that would allow you to talk to Simon without his thinking you’d come to Ireland specifically for that reason.”

“ Norman ’s legal situation was added impetus for me to choose the Beara Peninsula for my hike.” She licked her lips, dry now, sensitive. “I’ve wanted to walk the Beara Way for some time.”

“You didn’t last long, did you?”

“A gale and a knife attack took all the fun out of my adventure.”

“You also started in the very village where you’d expected to find Simon. Do you always hike alone?”

Lizzie decided she was in over her head with this man and broke for the closet. She yanked open the door. “Call downstairs for whatever you need,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to reach up to the shelf. “Help yourself to the tub. The lavender bath salts here are my favorite. My aunt Henrietta and I picked them out together. I soaked for thirty minutes earlier tonight. Almost fell asleep and drowned myself.” But as she glanced back at him with a breezy smile, she realized she now had him picturing her in the tub.

Definitely in over her head.

She pulled a fluffy duvet and pillow down from the shelf. “You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the sofa. That way,” she said, carrying the bedding to the sofa, “I can hear you if you try to sneak out.”

“Lizzie.”

She unfurled the duvet. “If I’m wrong about you, I can defend myself. I don’t care if you’re SAS, MI6 or a bored British aristocrat.”

Will slipped an arm over her shoulders and turned her gently to him, surprising her. “You’re exactly what you seem to be, aren’t you?”

“And that would be?”

“A hotelier who’s more comfortable picking out bath salts and hiking the Beara Way than defending herself and a perfect stranger from a killer.”

“Maybe I’m comfortable with picking out bath salts and taking on killers.”

“I should have followed you from the pub. I could have spared you…” He seemed to shake off any regret. “Lizzie, you’re not a professional. Whatever you’re up to, you don’t have to go about it alone.”

He was good, she decided. Under the expensive clothes and polished manners, the upper-class bearing, were the quiet competence and self-assurance of a man who knew what he was doing-who, in fact, had real training and experience.

But Lizzie had held tight to her secrets for a long time. Once she let go of them, they wouldn’t just be hers anymore. She’d be giving up the security they’d provided her for over a year. She’d be forced to trust whomever she confided in.

It was a big step. Too big.

“What I’m up to right now,” she said lightly, “is falling asleep on my feet.”

Will responded by easing his arm down her back to her hips, as if helping her to stay upright. “You’re trying to keep yourself from telling me the truth.”

No kidding. “What I’ve told you is the truth.”

“It isn’t everything.”

“A two-way street, I’m afraid.” She suddenly realized she still smelled of lavender and wondered if he noticed. “You’re an attractive and dangerous man, Will Davenport, and you’re wearing a very soft, warm sweater. That’s a near-irresistible combination for a sleepy woman.”

He kissed her forehead, so close now she could feel the warmth of his sweater. “Then I’ll be noble and resist for both of us,” he said, a slight roughness to his voice that suggested resisting wasn’t that easy for him.

Lizzie’s throat tightened, and part of her wanted just to sink into his arms and let him protect her, keep her safe. How much longer could she carry on alone? Norman had crossed a threshold in the past twenty-four hours. People had nearly died. A woman was missing. He was missing. But he still trusted her, Lizzie thought, and that gave her a certain leverage with him, perhaps the only leverage anyone had. If she let anyone-the director of the FBI, Simon, this Prince Charming of a stranger with her now-interfere, she risked losing the one advantage she had in helping to find Abigail Browning.

And, possibly, in staying safe herself.

Will touched a thumb to her upper cheekbone. “You’ve dark circles under your lovely eyes. You’re exhausted.” He let his thumb drift down to the corner of her mouth before his hand fell back to his side. “Good night, Lizzie.”

“Why did you come here?” she asked, a little hoarse.

He winked at her. “The lure of a beautiful, mysterious woman.”

“You’re a very charming liar, Lord Davenport.”

“Sweet dreams,” he said.

He picked up his bag and ducked into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

Lizzie blew out a breath.

A very attractive, dangerous man.

She stretched out on the sofa in her skirt and T-shirt and pulled the duvet and her wool throw up to her chin.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Lizzie had left her robe on the bathroom floor.

Will picked it up and hung it on a hook on the back of the door, noting that the soft terry cloth was still damp from her bath.

A perilous observation, that one. He abandoned it before it could take hold and spawn images that would make for an even longer night ahead.

“Too late,” he muttered, picturing small, green-eyed Lizzie Rush settling into her bath.

The bathroom smelled of lavender and, very faintly, of dried mud. He saw the rucksack she’d had with her on the Beara in a corner behind the door and immediately seized on the distraction. If he was too “noble” to take advantage of her fatigue and her own desire for distraction, he was perfectly at peace with having a look in her rucksack.

He got onto one knee and unzipped the main compartment. It was packed with supplies anyone would take on a multiday hike. The garda had her bungee cords. After seeing how quickly she’d thought of them and the skill with which she’d used them on Michael Murphy, Will wouldn’t be surprised to discover she’d packed them with tying up a prisoner in mind. He continued his search but found no weapons or any other items that would immediately undermine her story of how she’d happened upon Keira Sullivan and the man sent to kill her.

Feeling no guilt whatsoever at having invaded her privacy, Will showered and returned to the bedroom. It was small and tastefully decorated in neutral colors, but he found himself unable to relax. He stared at the closed door to the living room and debated going out there to argue sleeping arrangements.

He could also go out there and demand Lizzie tell him about the Brit she’d described to Michael Murphy and whom Eddie O’Shea in turn had described to Will.

If it was Myles…

Now, when Lizzie was about to fall asleep and would just be letting down her guard, was the perfect time to confront her. Why had she asked about that particular man? What did he have to do with Norman Estabrook and her relationship with the American billionaire? But not only had Will seen the dark circles under Lizzie’s eyes and the tremor in her hands, he had to acknowledge an attraction to her that was both dangerous and compelling.