rivulet of water streaked between her breasts. She shivered.
He cranked the heat up to its maximum setting. “There’s a sweatshirt inside my gym bag,” he said, motioning with his thumb toward the back of the car. “Help yourself.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the bag. No way could she reach it without leaning over and sticking her backside up in the air.
“I’m okay,” she said, even though her fingers were so chilled, she had to rub them to restore circulation.
“I promise it’s clean.”
His voice was low and persuasive, the same seductive tone she imagined he would use in bed. She rubbed her hands harder, berating herself for the wayward thought.
“I’ll warn you,” he said. “This heater takes forever to get hot.”
He wasn’t shivering at all. Maybe he was too hot-blooded to feel the cold. It certainly wasn’t because he carried excess body fat. The sinewy arms and chest pressed against her body earlier were solid muscle.
“Claire?”
She was supposed to be considering his sweatshirt offer, not his physical attributes. And although she was tempted, she’d have to pass—on both. Donning clothes he had worn seemed so personal. She cleared her throat. “No, thanks.”
He gave her a long, silent look, then returned his attention to the road.
Claire settled back and tried to assimilate what had happened to her…and what had nearly happened.
Damn, that job offer in Minneapolis was looking good. No more one-on-one therapy sessions with traumatized patients. No more decisions about who was fit to return to work and who should go on disability. And, of course, no more heart-stopping incidents like tonight. Just twenty hours a week of teaching stress management techniques to executives.
“Gene said you had Forrester committed to Ridsdale for seventy-two-hour lockdown.”
Abandoning her thoughts, she replied, “That’s right.”
“Why?”
Young’s question surprised her. But maybe Gene had been too rushed for explanations. “During our last session, I uncovered his intention to kill someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. The fire alarm went off, and we had to evacuate the building. Afterward, he wouldn’t come back and continue our session. Sending him to Ridsdale was the only way I could ensure he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Forrester definitely needs his head examined if he thinks shooting you is a smart move.”
Shooting you.
The image of her own bleeding, bullet-riddled body made her shudder.
Had Forrester intended to kill her?
She wished she could believe he’d only wanted to scare her, but the shots had hit too close. A few inches to the right, and she would have died without ever seeing her executioner.
Without ever seeing…
She turned toward Young. “Did you see him tonight?”
“What?”
“When you left me, did you see Forrester?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Then how can you be sure he shot at us?”
“You’re the one who fingered him as a potential threat,” Young said, irritation plain in his voice.
“What if it wasn’t him?” Forrester might be the obvious candidate, but they lacked proof of his guilt.
“You lock up anybody else recently?”
She stiffened. “Of course not.” Did he think she enjoyed confining patients to Ridsdale? That she got a kick out of exerting her power? Obviously, he didn’t know her. An important point to remember the next time she felt the slightest twinge of attraction for him.
“Make somebody angry enough to want to see you dead?” he asked.
Her own anger made it hard to respond in a calm tone. “Not that I know of.”
Young stabbed the dashboard with his forefinger. “Forrester had motive and opportunity. That makes him the prime suspect.”
When she drew breath to respond, Young interjected, “Don’t make this complicated, Dr. Lamont.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she stared out the window. Young had made up his mind about Forrester. And although his arguments had merit, so did hers. He was just too stubborn to consider them.
The swishing sounds of tires on wet road and the clacking of the windshield wipers made the trip seem endless. After a while the rain stopped, and Young shut off the wipers. But the tension inside the Mustang didn’t diminish.
Thirty minutes later, she spied a sign indicating Camel Lake on the right.
Young made the turn. “Almost there.”
Several miles farther, the road became a narrow laneway.
Finally, he stopped the Mustang in a small clearing. Flicking on the overhead light, he dug through the glove compartment. She heard the jingle of keys, then the murmur of his deep voice. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but the cabin’s pretty rustic.”
Rustic. A term used to make primitive dwellings sound charming.
She peered through the window at the surrounding darkness but couldn’t detect anything that looked remotely man-made. With a sense of misgiving, she turned to him. “How rustic?”
He shrugged. “Basic amenities only.”
“'Basic’ includes indoor plumbing, right?” She wasn’t expecting a complimentary robe, but the possibility of a dilapidated shack and outhouse had her wishing she’d asked for details earlier. Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of options.
He hesitated long enough to make her nervous before the corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah, there’s plumbing.”
That smile was the one she remembered from their first meeting, the one she had found so appealing, the one she had wanted to make happen. Now that she’d succeeded, she grew wary. Young’s smile made him far too sexy.
Careful what you wish for.
Grabbing her carry-on, she exited the car. Young hustled around to the trunk, retrieved his gear and set off along a narrow, winding path through the woods.
A pale sliver of moon glowed in the sky, lending just enough light for them to walk without tripping over rocks and tree roots. Their footfalls made rustling noises in the grass. Other sounds carried on the night air. Water lapped against the shore. Crickets
