Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [95]
“Sheesh, some people are grouchy this morning. Hoohoo . . . you could just come as you are, but since the idea is to come as something totally different, a leech mask would be redun—”
“Killer leech,” Jago teased, trying to keep his face straight.
“Yeah, well . . . hmm . . . how about coming as King Kong? That’d work. Or Oscar the Grouch.” He offered a winning grin and waved his screwdriver. Then his eyes glanced down and noticed what he was doing, and worried that Jago might view it as a threatening gesture he quickly stuck the tool in his back pocket. “Not my day, I fear. Just remember you can’t punch me in the face. Asha wouldn’t like that. She’d think you’re a bully. Then she might not let you play giant leech with her again.”
Jago’s chest vibrated with a suppressed chuckle. “Colin—shut up.”
“You know, I get told that a lot. I don’t mean to be irritating. It just sort of slips out naturally.”
“Really? That surprises me.” Jago swung his leg over one of the stools at the counter and asked Asha, “So, how about a lunchtime ride on the Harley with a killer leech?”
“Sorry.” She smiled. “I must work, but I’ll join you for lunch in a bit if you’re still around.”
“Plan to be. What’s good on the menu?” His green eyes flashed devilishly. “Besides maraschino cherries?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Singing an old Smoky Robinson tune, Jago rounded the corner of the restaurant. “‘What can make me feel this way . . . my girl . . .’” In high spirits, he executed a Motown spin on his heels and then laughed to the cat trotting alongside him. “Damn jukebox has me doing it, too, Puss. Of course, the tunes from that period were ones you could sing along with, upbeat tunes. That’s why so many turn up in commercials these days. And hey, I’m so happy, but it’s not the song. She makes me that way. I don’t ever recall being this happy.”
The cat glanced up and meowed, his pointed look saying, What about me?
“Hey, you’re getting to sleep in a comfy bed with two warm bodies and eating twelve square meals a day thanks to Sam. What more do you want? Sheesh, there’s no pleasing some pussycats—”
He stopped as the bungalows came into view. He’d meant to bend over, pick up the cat and drape him over his shoulder. Instead, he just petted the kitty absently, his eyes on the cabins across the small courtyard. The patio door to his was not fully closed, and was oddly open about six inches. Seeing the sliding door cracked set off alarms in his brain, similar to how he’d felt the morning he’d heard scratching at the window. A fine edge of unease began to inch up his spine—the same as when he’d spotted the reflection on the other side of the lock.
He recalled: after Liam and he had taken Asha and Netta back to the lodge, they’d driven over to the spot where you could see the river from Highway 27. Unfortunately, it had been getting dark, thus they only made a cursory inspection, little more than affixing the lay of the land in Jago’s mind.
Liam and Netta stayed that night as well. “Another sleepless night,” he grumbled to the cat. “No opportunity for me to practice ‘counting’ with Asha again. I got even, Puss. Just for spite—I rousted his arse at dawn and forced him to go tramping through the woods with me.”
Too sleepy to offer much of a protest, Asha’s brother had gone along on the excursion, possibly to work off his own excess hormones. Liam had seemed uncaring that someone had watched them from the cliffs. Finding a wadded up wrapper from a pack of Marlboro cigarettes on the ground near the spot where Jago had noticed the reflection had done nothing to change that apathy either. Nor was Liam perturbed by tire tracks in the muddy ground at the edge of the woods where someone had parked, hidden from view.
Liam had shrugged. “So? Someone walked through the woods, birdwatcher, hiker, camper, some guy fishing—no telling what he was doing up here. Seriously, I don’t think it’s anything to get concerned about.”
Jago had squatted and examined the tracks closely. “Could be a truck that made the tracks.