He obviously spoke English and he didn’t strike Claudia as illiterate. Something about him just didn’t compute, though, and the conversation went beyond peculiar. It was downright disturbing.
“I need you to believe me,” he said.
And I need you to get your crazy ass out of my house.
Maybe it was only the flicker of candlelight, but somehow he seemed bathed in an ethereal blush. There was just something so truly weird about him. About all of this.
And he was just so … naked.
“What do you need me to believe?” she demanded. “The danger …”
“Oh, I’m very interested in hearing all about this danger you keep talking about. But first could you … do something about that?” She waved the gun over his naked form. Killer or not, the play of shadow and light on all those lean muscles was very distracting. “Throw a blanket around yourself or something.”
He vanished back into the bedroom to comply, and Claudia tried to compose herself before he reappeared a moment later in the doorway.
“That’s better,” she said. “As soon as the power comes back on, we can dry your clothes.” If she didn’t kick him out in the cold first.
“Thank you.”
Such sincerity. Such humble gratitude. He wasn’t making this easy for her. “What did you mean earlier when you said I was going to die and there would be nothing I could do to stop it?”
“It’s true,” he said. “You won’t be able to stop it … but I can.”
“How?”
“By changing your destiny.” “Well, that’s mighty big of you.” Crazy as a loon, Claudia thought.
“I came here to save you.”
“So you keep saying. Just who are you saving me from?”
“Those who wish to kill you.”
“How do you know—” She caught herself and paused with another shiver. “What makes you think someone wants to kill me?”
He gave her a strange, probing look.
Then his gaze shifted to the kitchen a split second before the teakettle began to whistle.
Before the teakettle whistled.
Now it was Claudia who gave him a hard stare as she hurried into the kitchen to turn off the burner.
She placed the gun on the counter within easy reach and was just debating on whether to offer him tea— which would hopefully keep him calm—when he asked from across the room, “What is chamomile?”
Slowly, she turned to face him. “Why did you ask that?”
Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the container of teabags by the stove and realized he must have read the side of the tin. Whatever else might be wrong with him, he obviously had excellent eyesight and hearing.
“You’ve never had chamomile tea?” When he didn’t answer, she muttered, “I guess you wouldn’t remember if you’ve been erased.”
Erased.
Good heavens.
“Chamomile is a member of the daisy family,” she said, striving for a conversational tone. The last thing she wanted to do was inadvertently set him off. There was a good possibility that instead of coming here to murder her, he could be just some troubled soul who’d stumbled into the middle of the road at an inopportune time. In which case, the best thing to do was try and keep him calm. “The tea is an acquired taste, but it’s wonderfully relaxing. Would you like a cup?”
She could do with a bit of stress relief herself, Claudia thought.
When he started toward her, she said quickly, “No, no, that’s okay. Just stay there. I’ll bring it to you.”
She got down a second cup and poured hot water over the teabag. When it had properly steeped, she mixed in a little lemon and honey, then grabbed the gun and carried the drink into the living room where she placed it on a table in front of the fire.
Returning to the kitchen, she fixed herself a fresh cup. By the time she came back into the living room, he’d settled himself on the floor before the fire.
“Make yourself at home,” she murmured.
He picked up the cup and took a tentative sip of the tea. “Tastes like flowers.”
“As I said, it’s an acquired taste.”
He drank some more. “It’s hot. Feels good.”
“You must have gotten a chill out there in the rain. It’s pretty cold tonight and your clothes were soaking wet.”
That was another thing about him that puzzled Claudia. His shirt, pants and lightweight jacket were hardly suitable for November weather in the Black Hills. Not to mention his canvas shoes, which were drenched all the way through. It was a wonder he didn’t have frostbite.
But maybe the inappropriate clothing wasn’t so strange after all. Before the storm, they’d been enjoying a warm spell in the area. The daytime temperatures had been so mild that Claudia had even been able to continue her morning hikes to enhance her cardio workout.
With the storm, the thermometer had dropped to a more seasonable chill, reminding her that soon enough the snows would come. She would be sequestered in the cabin for long days at a time, sometimes with no phone or power. Not a single, solitary soul to keep her company.
She shuddered in dread.
Better lonely than dead, she reminded herself.
But back to the stranger …
Perching on the arm of a chair, she rested the revolver on her thigh as she sipped her tea and watched him. He had the blanket wrapped around him, and the way he gulped the hot drink made him seem young and kind of endearing.
But in the glow of the fire, Claudia could see the muscle definition in his bare arms and shoulders. He was strong and probably anything but vulnerable. If she let down her guard for even a second, he could easily overpower her.
“Let’s talk about this memory loss of yours.” She set the teacup aside, but kept the gun on her thigh.
He put down his tea and gazed up at her, looking very mysterious and downright ethereal with the light flickering over his features. His dark hair was cropped short and Claudia had the sudden notion that if he wasn’t an escaped mental patient, he might be in the military or law enforcement. That could explain how he’d found her. Maybe someone was finally looking into the group responsible for Dr. Lasher’s murder. Maybe he had been sent to protect her.
Then again, for all she knew, he could have been sent by the people who wanted her dead. She couldn’t lose sight of the danger he potentially posed just because he had nice eyes and kept insisting that he’d come there to save her.
