“I heard you,” Ace said.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Meyers,” Dr. Ramirez said. “Enjoy your time in Shadow Creek.”
Emiliano walked the doctor back to his car. “Ace had to be out for close to four hours,” he said.
“I did the math,” the doctor agreed. He unlocked the car and set his bag on the passenger seat. “That works in his favor in this case.”
“How so?”
“Because being unconscious, his body was able to purge the drug without as much of a fight,” Ramirez explained. “Once I have these labs back, I’ll know if he needs more attention. In the meantime, water and rest will do him the most good. If he were in real trouble, it would be obvious in his breathing and heart rate.”
It was small comfort, but he’d take it. “Do you think his assailants dragged him to the door?”
Ramirez chuckled. “Knowing Ace, he stumbled there on his own, trying to find help. He’s too stubborn to let a head injury or sedatives have all the advantages.”
While the last part was true, Emiliano was sure Ace would’ve gone for the back door over the front. It was habit. Then again, between the head injury and the drug, he couldn’t have been thinking clearly. Maybe more details would come out as he recovered.
“I found a syringe in the office,” Emiliano said. “I’ll let you know what the evidence lab finds.”
Emiliano watched the doctor drive away, the bagged syringe in his back pocket for the evidence team to process later, and his thoughts scattered.
At the sounds of small paws on the gravel, he turned to see Scrabble racing his way, Marie hesitating under the soft glow of the porch light. “Is Ace okay?”
“Just fine,” she said. “He’s hungry and I wanted to check with you before I invaded your kitchen.”
Emiliano knelt down and patted his chest and Scrabble bounced into his arms, a trick he’d taught her when she was just a puppy.
“Impressive,” Marie said as they joined her.
“Corgis are more athletic than people think at first glance,” he said, his mind on more complicated issues. He was about to walk inside when she hesitated. “What?”
“Do you think your team will sort this out quickly?” she asked.
“Missing Dallas already?”
“Not exactly.” Her mouth turned down as she frowned at him. “I told you Shadow Creek is lovely.”
“You’ll see more of it,” he replied without thinking it through.
“But the Cohort,” she pressed. “Do you think they hurt your friend because of me?”
“Time will tell. It’s hard to believe these incidents are unrelated.” He rubbed at the tension in his neck. “The Cohort isn’t easy to crack, even when its motives are clear,” he admitted. “Then again, the FBI is investigating and Christmas is the season of miracles.”
She stared up at him for a long, silent moment.
Under her puckered brow, he read the doubt in her big brown eyes. She didn’t have to say the words aloud for him to recognize she was a woman who didn’t have much faith in people, the FBI or miracles in any season.
Once things had settled down last night, Marie had been shown to the guest bedroom. Decorated in a soft color palette that reminded her of the sunset, the space was fresh and scented with a bouquet of dried lavender. A warm, inviting space she couldn’t seem to get comfortable in.
It had been a typical first night in a new house for her, rife with those old uncertainties she’d worked hard to bury or eliminate from her life since turning eighteen. She wasn’t that girl anymore, blowing from place to place like a brittle leaf in a hard wind. This was temporary.
At Emiliano’s insistence, Ace had spent the night on the couch, and she suspected Emiliano had slept out there as well to keep an eye on his ranch manager. The men shared a close camaraderie only time could bring. A camaraderie that had tripped her up emotionally when she’d thought she was past all of it.
Back in high school English class there had been a poetry unit she’d enjoyed. Though she no longer remembered the poet’s name, she recalled the sentiment of his poems that described the way people interacted with each other. Some stuck and took root in a life and others drifted by, only involved for a time or a short purpose. The foster system had made her a drifter, and from the moment she’d left, she’d done everything possible to take root where she wanted to stay.
And yet, thanks to circumstance, here she was, drifting again. Not the same thing. She had friends at the office back in Dallas. Friends she couldn’t contact while Emiliano kept her phone and other devices for the sake of safety and the investigation.
A pale dawn teased the edges of the curtains at the window and, hearing the men stirring elsewhere in the house, she rolled out of bed. She gathered her things and a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom Emiliano said was hers to use during her stay.
Showered and dressed, she went to the kitchen, where the rich aroma of coffee filled the air, anchored by the savory scent of bacon and spices. Emiliano stood at the stove, pouring pancake batter onto a griddle. No dark FBI suit today, he wore faded jeans that hugged his legs and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves pushed back to his elbows. Both looks fit the man like two sides of a coin and left her a little breathless.
Ace, sitting at the table tucked into the bowed window, sent her a winning smile. “Well, good morning, gorgeous.”
He was incorrigible. Helpless against the friendliness in his eyes, she smiled back. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty near perfect,” he said. “Hard to feel bad when Emiliano’s dishing up breakfast and the loveliest lady around is about to join me.” He patted the seat beside him.
“Take it easy, Casanova.” Emiliano shot him a look as he stepped back from the stove and gave a pancake a perfect flip.
The man had surprising skills. “Need a hand?” she offered.
“I’ve got it,” he replied without looking at her. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee.”
She didn’t know what to do with herself when no one needed her. She splashed a little cream into her cup, added hot coffee and joined Ace at the table.
“Where are the dogs?” The distraction would be welcome, while she figured out where she fit into this new scenario.
The older man grinned and tipped his head toward the back door. “Scrabble and Gordo are outside. Scrabble likes to count heads before we do. That one thinks she knows it all.” Ace chuckled. “Gordo’s just along for the stroll.”
“Count heads?” Marie asked.
“She’s
