Page 83 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“Three would be reasonable. Even at our reduced size in Haven’s Rock right now, we have you, me, and Will, plus Kenny part-time.”
He glances over as we walk. “You’re concerned.”
“Hmm?”
“That wasn’t an idle question. At first, I thought you were wondering how many men they could spare to help. That’s not it. You’re wondering whether the number of full-time security guards is a cause for concern.”
“Is it cause for concern? That is the question.”
He nods. “Yep. That is the question.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
By the time we make it to Haven’s Rock, I’m ready to drop. Down south, I considered myself in good shape. I needed to be. If I’m chasing down a suspect, he’d take one look at a small female cop and decide fighting was his best option. That’s actually to my advantage, given that my bad leg means he really could outrun me.
So I kept up my aikido skills and my strength conditioning, along with some cardio, even if it’s my least favorite section of the gym. But then I came here and realized what I was missing. Endurance. The ability to effortlessly hike for half a day to get from point A to point B, in the same way I’d drive across the city as a detective. Oh, we have an ATV and my dirt bike, but I need to be able to walk for hours, including up mountainsides, while carrying a backpack loaded with gear.
Normally, I can do exactly that. But the morning sickness has me running on low fuel all day. I’m going to give the medical profession the benefit of the doubt here and presume they called it morning sickness because it’s worst in the morning. The name, however, implies that once the clock strikes noon, I’ll feel fine. I don’t feel fine. I just feel well enough to get a little bit of food down and keep it there.
Part of me is panicking at that. I’m eating for two! What if I’m starving my baby? Yeah, my “baby” could subsist on a bite of food right now. Me, on the other hand? I am not taking in enough nutrition to spend all day walking.
“Go inside,” Dalton says when we reach our house. “I’ll handle the updates.”
“No, I can—”
“You don’t trust me to update everyone?”
I scowl at him.
“Yeah, low blow,” he says. “Go inside. Rest with Storm, who also needs it. Tell me what you want to eat—anything you think you can keep down—and I’ll have someone bring it by for you.”
“I’m fi—”
“And don’t say you’re fine, Butler. You’re barely upright. I know you just don’t want to be a burden. You want to soldier through and do your job. But here’s the thing…” He glances my way. “When you insist on downplaying a health problem, you don’t make things easier on others. We either need to trick you into accepting help or muddle through with you working at half capacity. That doesn’t help you or us. And yeah, that’s another low blow. But also? Truth.”
He’s right, of course. Better to rest and eat and come back at full capacity—or as near to it as I can manage.
I don’t say that, because I’m tired and feeling like shit so, yep, I’m going to be a little pissy. I’ll make it up to him later. For now, I grumpily wave for him to go and stalk toward the house.
“Love you!” he calls after me.
“Whatever,” I call back, though I turn so he can see I’m smiling.
“You gonna give me a food order? Or do I have to tell them to make a little of everything and deliver it plate by plate, like a royal banquet?”
That actually sounds tempting, but I shake my head. “If they have any plain cookies or muffins, I’ll take those, plus some veggies. And if Isabel has lemonade, that’d be good.”
“Done. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He picks up his pace as he heads to town, and I try not to grumble about that, too. Someone isn’t feeling any worse for wear after a full day of hiking. Because someone’s health hasn’t suddenly been taken hostage, despite the fact that he contributed fifty percent of the DNA to the hostage taker.
Grumble, grumble. At least it’s a relatively good-natured grumbling. I’m home, and as much as I didn’t want to be here while Max is still missing, I can’t suppress a shudder of relief on opening that door.
With yesterday morning’s turmoil, we hadn’t tidied up before we left, and my gaze goes straight to the coffee mugs on the hearth and the plate of half-eaten toast by the sofa. If I start tidying, though, I won’t stop, and then I’ll pull out my notebook and phone and start reviewing my notes from the examination of Sandy’s body and …
Nope. My college dorm had looked ten times worse than this, mostly because I’d been rebelling against my parents’ and April’s obsessive tidiness even if the mess had driven me wild. Yes, for a supposedly rational person, I am apparently prone to acts of self-sabotage in the name of spite. Particularly pointless when my family had never visited my dorm to see the mess.
I collapse onto the sofa. With an equal groan of equal relief, Storm thumps onto her doggie bed. We both stare into nothing for five minutes. Then Storm is snoring … and I am still staring, my brain whispering that there would be nothing wrong with listening to my recorded notes from the crime scene.
