“I will. She’ll be totally safe with me. In fact, she’ll be safer with me than she would be on her own because I’ll be able to help her steer clear of any guys who you’d want to keep her away from. Not that I’m assuming she’d date those guys if left on her own. She’s probably too smart for that.”

“Even smart girls can get caught up with the wrong man.”

“One of the many reasons she needs me.”

He nodded slowly, and I could tell he was getting into this idea.

I sure was. Okay, yes, I was attracted to her, and usually when I was attracted to a girl, I pursued her relentlessly. But I could hang out with Skylar and help her acclimate to Tilikum without crossing that line. I wasn’t a total animal. I had some self-control.

I could resist the cookies in this cookie jar.

It was simple. I’d be friends with Skylar, and that was all.

Now I just had to talk her into it.

8

Skylar

The water pouring out of the faucet in the kitchen sink caught my eye. Absently, I rinsed off the plate in my hand, pondering the clear liquid flowing from the tap.

A waterfall. No, a dam—maybe one built by beavers. Sticks and debris everywhere. Maintenance workers wade into the murky water to clear some of the mess and find it’s not just river detritus causing the blockage. It’s a body.

I made a mental note to research the effects of prolonged submersion in water on a corpse.

Again.

My Google search history was rather morbid. Job hazard.

But… where was the story?

The homicide detective trying to make a name for herself gets caught in a web of lies and danger as she digs into the murder? Internal cover-ups and conspiracy? Or is it a family member of the victim, intent on proving it wasn’t suicide, who stumbles on a secret society, and the penalty for revealing its existence is death?

A knock at the front door jolted me from my thoughts. I took a quick breath and turned off the water. Leaving the plate in the sink, I went to answer the door.

If the knock had startled me, the person standing outside almost made me jump out of my skin.

Gavin Bailey.

My heart suddenly beat too fast and a flush hit my cheeks. Great, I was blushing for no reason. I opened my mouth to say… something, I didn’t really know what, although hi would probably have been a decent start. Only I got all tangled in my thoughts, still half-thinking about a body caught in a beaver dam and how it had gotten there.

“I don’t know,” I blurted out.

The corner of Gavin’s mouth hooked in a smile. “You don’t know what?”

Oh god, how embarrassing. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else and I guess my brain wasn’t finished thinking it.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“A body caught in a beaver dam.”

“How’d it get there?”

“That’s what I don’t know. But that’s not even the most important question.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Then what is the important question?”

“Where’s the story?”

“That is an important question.” He shifted his weight on his crutches. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry again.”

“No problem. I’ve just been on my feet a lot today.”

I stepped aside so he could come in and it was impossible not to notice the way his muscles flexed as he walked. The crutches necessitated use of his upper body strength, something he clearly had in spades. He wasn’t huge and bulky, but he was athletic. That was a good word for it. And toned. So very, very toned.

And now my face was getting warmer.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what Ginny had said about Gavin being a hot firefighter. Because Gavin Bailey was the definition of hot firefighter. He was January and December and all the months in between in every hot firefighter calendar ever made.

If you were into that sort of thing, of course.

Which I wasn’t.

Okay, that was a total lie.

Gavin had thick dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and soft brown eyes that did all sorts of terrible things to my insides when he looked at me. And his body. God. I followed him into the kitchen, tilting my head to watch his ass as he walked. The way he filled out his jeans was nothing short of remarkable.

“Sky?”

I gasped, realizing that not only had I walked into the kitchen without noticing where I was or what I was doing, but he’d sat down at the table, leaving his crutches leaning against it while I’d been lost in thought.

“Sorry. I was just… thinking again.”

“About bodies found in a beaver dam?”

No, but that’s a better answer than the way your ass looks in your jeans. “Yeah.”

“Is that for the book you’re writing? I guess that’s a dumb question. Of course it is. You’re not a detective or FBI agent who’d be investigating a real body found in a beaver dam.”

“No. Just a writer. And not really. I was just doing the dishes and it got me thinking.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Think.”

I blinked at him. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“No.”

Laughing softly, I sat at the table with him. “I suppose it was my turn for a dumb question. Of course not everybody thinks a lot.”

“Nope. I have some friends who never think about anything. Or at least it seems like they don’t.”

“Then what do they do all the time?” I asked, although I hadn’t really meant to ask it aloud.

He tapped the table with his index finger. “They do stuff, I guess. Work, eat, hang out with their buddies or girlfriends, drink beer, sleep.”

“Sounds kind of nice. Simpler.”

“Simpler than what?”

I took a deep breath to clear my head. “Simpler than thinking too much. Which I’m pretty good at doing.”

“Overthinker, huh? Good to know.”

“Why is that good to know?”

He shrugged. “Just is.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you doing here? My dad’s at work.”

“Oh, I know. I was just there.”

“So why are you here?”

He grinned at me, flashing those dangerous dimples. “I brought cookies.”

“That’s… nice but strange.”

“Why strange?” He set a plastic container on the table.

“Do you always bring random girls cookies?”

He paused, like he was thinking about it. “No. But you’re not a random girl either. Anyway, I made cookies earlier and I figured I’d bring you some.”

“You made these?”

“Yep. My friend Cara was bored and invited me over to bake with her.”

His friend Cara? What did that mean? And why did the thought of him baking cookies with someone named Cara make my spine prickle like I’d been poked with a needle?

“Oh.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Not that kind of friend.” He took a cookie out of the container and set it in front of me. “Try one.”