Out Of Control. Shannon McKenna

trap. “There’s no such thing as something for nothing,” she said slowly. “You don’t know me at all, McCloud. Why do you even care?”

      His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “I can’t help it. You made me curious. It’s my only vice.”

      She giggled nervously. “No sex, drugs or rock ’n roll, then?”

      His bland smile made the words sound silly and frivolous to her own ears. What a ditz she must seem. His waiting silence had such a calm, patient quality. He looked like he could wait for hours and not get restless or bored.

      She probably revealed more by holding back than she would by spilling her guts. McCloud was the meticulous type that fed every twitch of the eyelid and slip of the tongue into the database in his mind and then, crunchity-crunch, churned out conclusions that she could neither predict nor control. She might as well distract him by throwing him a few random facts. Like chunks of meat to fend off a wolf. She was a piss-poor liar anyhow.

      “I told you most of it.” She avoided his eyes. “The rose petals started two weeks days ago. The break-in was six days ago. Three days ago the dead dog showed up. That’s how long it’s been since I slept.”

      “What kind of dog? Did you know it?”

      She shook her head. “It was hard to tell, under all that blood. No collar. A big dog. Shepherd mix, maybe.”

      He nodded, and gestured for her to go on.

      “I found it when I woke up,” she went on. “From the amount of blood, I figure whoever killed it must’ve done the deed right here on my porch, while I was sleeping. How creepy is that?”

      McCloud reached behind himself and took another beer out of the fridge. He popped it open with an effortless twist of his enormous hand and placed it in front of her.

      “What, are you trying to get me drunk?” she demanded.

      The corners of his mouth twitched. “You need to unwind.”

      She rolled her eyes and took a swig. “Bad idea, McCloud. If I unwound, I’d drill myself six feet into the ground. It wouldn’t be pretty.”

      His dimple flashed. She suddenly wished she could make him grin again. A big, crazy out-of-control grin. She pictured him laughing so hard that he rolled on the floor. Gasping and snorting while she tickled him, maybe. The silly image triggered a funny jolt of longing.

      “Go on,” he urged. “How about the break-in?”

      She yanked herself back into focus. “I came home from work one night and found the place trashed. Furniture slashed, everything torn off the shelves. Books, dishes, the stuff in the fridge, the cupboards. But the only thing they took was my laptop. And my sketchbooks.”

      “Sketchbooks? What was in them?”

      She widened her eyes. “Um…sketches?”

      Her sarcasm didn’t make the slightest dent in his focused calm. “How about jewelry? Money?”

      She shook her head. “Don’t have any.” Except for the evil snake pendant, of course, but that entailed talking about unspeakable stuff, and the wretched thing hadn’t gotten stolen anyway. Worse luck.

      “Could they have been looking for something?” he prompted.

      His tone was neutral, but her stomach still lurched with guilt. Here it was, the blank wall beyond which she had to start fudging with half-truths. “If they were, I can’t imagine what for. I haven’t seen anybody lurking. Haven’t gotten any love notes. Haven’t been asked on any dates. Haven’t pissed anybody off…that I know of.” She hoped the quaver in her voice sounded scared, rather than guilty.

      He nodded calmly. “Vindictive ex-husbands?”

      “Never married,” she said promptly.

      “Ex-boyfriends?”

      She thought about Craig, and swallowed over a hard, hot lump in her throat. “No one who’d be that mad at me.”

      “How about angry women? Involved with any married men lately?”

      “Hah. I’m no masochist,” she snapped.

      “Blackmailing anyone?” His tone was supremely casual.

      “Excuse me?” She jumped up and pointed to the door. “Out!”

      Mikey chose that moment to jump up and leaned against McCloud’s knee, trembling with the force of his wags. Traitorous little stinker. He was determined to undermine her.

      McCloud’s fingers tangled gently into Mikey’s hair. “I’m just being methodical,” he said. “Don’t take it personally.”

      Margot sank back into the chair. The urge to tell another human being her troubles—no, not just any human being, but Davy McCloud in particular—was almost overwhelming.

      She’d always believed in following her instincts, but this wasn’t instinct prodding her. This was fear and exhaustion, tricking her into making what was probably a fatal mistake.

      She blew out a tense, explosive breath. “No married men,” she said tightly. “No men at all for a long time.”

      “How long?”

      “None of your damn business.”

      “Actually, it is. In this context of this particular conversation.”

      She picked at the label of the beer bottle. “Nine months, almost.”

      “Why’d you break up with him?”

      Because someone slaughtered him and pinned the blame on me.

      She wondered if the truth would shock that inscrutable look off his face. She gave him her flintiest stare and steeled herself to lie.

      “He was cheating on me,” she said coldly.

      Actually, that was literally true, she reflected. Irrelevant, but true.

      He just nodded. “How long have you been in town?”

      “Seven months,” she said. “I don’t know many people here.”

      “Where did you live before?”

      “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she snapped. “Oh, wait—you’re the one who decides what’s relevant, right?”

      He smiled, but his eyes were watchful. “You said it, not me.”

      She took a deep breath. “L.A.,” she lied.

      “Do you have any reason to believe that someone from L.A.—”

      “No.” She shook her head, too rapidly. “Absolutely not.”

      His eyes narrowed. “There’s a story behind that.” His tone put the phrase halfway between a statement and a question.

      Oh God. If you only knew. “Not really. Just ancient history.” She smoothed out her face, tried to look calm while screaming panic built. She was out of her league. Wasting the guy’s time for no good reason.

      “You didn’t call the police. Not for the break-in. Not for the dog.”

      There was no accusation in his tone. She felt it anyway, and flushed. She shook her head and waited for the other shoe to drop.

      Minutes ticked by. Mikey rolled blissfully on his back, legs in the air, tail flopping as McCloud petted him. Her heart started to pound.

      The words burst out of her. “Oh, come on, already. Aren’t you going to ask me why not?”

      His watchful eyes flicked up to hers. “You going to tell me?”

      “No,” she said.

      “No point in asking, then, right?”

      He was unfazed, petting Mikey like nothing was out of the ordinary.