Every Breath She Takes by Norah Wilson

mistake . She was so wired up, her breathing was keeping time with the clock as she paced her living room.
    She wiped damp hands on her jeans. Meeting him here after dark was probably a huge mistake. Not that she’d had much choice about the time. If she were going to keep an eye on Marlena, she had to stay vigilant until after nightfall. The murderhad taken place during the daytime, and no matter what this… thing …was between her and Cal, she couldn’t forget someone’s life was at stake.
    Marlena was alive to see another day. And Cal…
    She should have picked a safer location to meet with him. A more neutral location. Why, oh why, had she chosen her cabin?
    You know why .
    A soft tap at the door arrested her pacing. Taking a steadying breath, she crossed to the door and opened it. Right away she was glad she’d taken a big gulp of air because she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. There in the soft glow of the porch light stood Cal, dressed in fresh jeans and a soft blue chambray shirt. As good as he looked in a Stetson, he looked better without it. His blond hair, still dark now with dampness from the shower, was slicked back to his finely shaped head.
    “Are you going to invite me in?”
    She stepped back, blushing. “Of course.”
    He handed her a bottle of wine she hadn’t noticed he was carrying. “I swiped this from Delia, so I guess it’s decent.”
    She eyed the label. “An Australian Shiraz. What’s not to like?”
    “I’ll take your word for it. I tend to gravitate to the Canadian lagers myself.”
    Lauren grinned. “Shall I open it?”
    Cal glanced around the small room. “That’s the general idea. I could use a little Dutch courage.”
    She was rummaging in the utensil drawer for a corkscrew when those words jerked her head up. “You’re nervous about this?”
    “Maybe a little.” He rolled his shoulders. “I don’t much like talking about myself.”
    “So I noticed.” Lauren’s own apprehensions abated in the face of his confession. “It’ll be painless, I promise.”
    “I doubt it.”
    She’d found the corkscrew and he took it from her, along with the bottle, which he opened with an ease that put the lie to his earlier claims of ignorance. She found two wineglasses, which he filled expertly.
    Back in the living room, he sat on the couch and she picked a chair. She took a sip of her wine. “Mmm, very nice.”
    “Can we do this backwards? Q & A first, niceties later?”
    Lord, he was practically vibrating with tension. She thought briefly about letting him off the hook, but decided he wouldn’t thank her for it. A bet had to be honored.
    “Sure. We could do that,” she said instead. “Why don’t you pick it up wherever you want?”
    “My mother died when I was five.”
    Good gracious! Lauren didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. He was going back some. “I’m sorry.”
    He didn’t even look up from his contemplation of his wine. “I don’t really remember her, except maybe for her voice. Sometimes I think I can remember that.” He swirled the ruby liquid in his glass, as yet untasted. “But the point is, my dad pretty much raised me. He wasn’t mean, I don’t guess, at least not as a rule, but he didn’t have much softness in him either.”
    Lauren had a sudden image of Cal as a motherless child, all solemn gray eyes and aching grief. With effort, she clamped down on the emotions the image evoked. Cal wouldn’t thank her for her pity.
    “By the time I was fifteen, we were butting heads pretty regular. I wanted to ride broncs and drive fast cars, and I didn’t much care for the day-to-day grind of ranching.”
    “In other words, you were a normal teen.”
    He didn’t seem to hear her. Instead he sipped the wine, but it might have been water for all his expression gave away. “The day I turned sixteen, I split.”
    “Because you were bored? Fed up with the routine?”
    “No, because I had the mother of all fights with my dad.