He didn't get it, she thought. He truly didn't get it. She kissed him again. "Nothing. Just that you're the handiest handyman I've ever met."
"It's not like jobs are thick on the ground in Trail Stop, and I knew I'd never see you if I went off to work somewhere and came home only at night. Besides, I like being my own boss."
She knew what he meant. As stressful as it was being out on her own, at the same time, owning the bed-and-breakfast, and sinking or swimming by her own effort, was particularly satisfying.
He lifted his head, looking a little concerned. "Would it bother you, being married to a handyman?"
Marry. There it was, the big word, the Big M. She had barely gotten her mind around being in love with him, and he was already moving to the next step. To him, though, this was nothing new; he'd spent the last three years getting accustomed to the idea. "You want to marry me?" she squeaked.
"I didn't wait three years for you just for sex," he pointed out with stunning practicality. "I want the whole enchilada. You, the twins, marriage, at least one kid of our own, and sex."
"Can't leave out the sex," she said faintly.
"No, ma'am, you can't." He was firm on that point.
"Well. In that case. In reverse order, though you really didn't ask a second question: yes and no."
"The answer to the question I didn't ask is yes?"
"That's right. Yes, I'll marry you."
A slow smile started in his eyes, crinkling the corners, spreading to his mouth.
"As for the first question, I'd marry you no matter what your job was, so I guess the answer to that one is no."
"I don't make a lot of money - "
"Neither do I."
" - but when you add my military pension, I do okay."
"Plus Neenah will have to start paying you for her repairs, once you move into the B and B."
"I'll have to fix her ceiling for free, though, since I'm the one who chopped the hole in it."
"That would only be right." Their lighthearted mood dimmed then, as they were reminded of the situation they'd left behind, the people who were dead. She snuggled closer to him, feeling suddenly chilled and needing to cling. "It makes no sense, what those men did."
"No. There's nothing reasonable about it. You gave them Layton's things, they had what they wanted, there was no reason to - "
He stopped, frowning, and she saw his gaze turn inward. After a minute it was her turn to say, "What?"
"You gave him a suitcase," he said slowly, "but I carried two pieces upstairs."
"A suitcase was all Layton brought in - " Now she stopped and stared at him with dawning horror. "The shaving kit! I couldn't get it in the suitcase because of the shoes. I forgot about it."
"I would have noticed if there weren't any shaving things in the suitcase. So whatever it is they want, they must think you still have it."
All the pieces snapped into place, and suddenly everything made sense. Tears stung her eyes, dripped down her cheeks. Seven people had died because she forgot to give Mellor a damn shaving kit. She was both furious and devastated, because if he'd bothered to pick up the phone and call, she'd have mailed the damn thing to him. Hell, she'd have sent it express!
A cool, decisive look entered Cal's eyes. They lay awake talking for another hour while he formulated his plan. Cate didn't like it; she argued and begged that they go back together, but this time he was impervious. He held her and kissed her, but he didn't change his mind.
"I have a better angle on them now," he said. "You were worried about me going into the water; now I won't have to. Well, except for crossing the stream. I won't have to stay in it." That slightly distant look remained in his eyes, and she knew he was mentally working out the details, weighing the odds, developing a strategy.
Finally, worn out. she slept, and woke at dawn to Cal making love to her. He loved her long and carefully, holding back as if he couldn't bear to let the moment end. She was sore, but if the pleasure was mixed with discomfort, she didn't care. Terrified that she might lose him so soon after finding him, she held on tight and prayed.
Over fifteen hundred miles away, Jeffrey Layton stood at the sink in a ratty motel room in Chicago and shaved with a disposable razor. He was in a shitty mood. This should have worked. He'd been certain it would work. But this was the eleventh clay, and Mill the money he'd demanded from Bandini wasn't in his numbered account.
He'd told Bandini he had fourteen days to transfer the money, but Layton had never intended to wait that long. He knew Bandini would be doing everything possible to hunt him down, and he had no intention of helping the odds in Bandini's favor. Before he'd ever started down this road, he had decided that ten days was it. If he didn't have the money in ten days, he wasn't going to get it.
Okay. He wasn't going to get it.
He had deliberately left a trail to Podunk, Idaho, calculating how long it would take for someone to trace his credit card charges there. His intention had always been to drive back to Chicago and hide in plain sight, in the one city in which Bandini would never think to look for him, effectively hiding right under his nose. He still had no idea whether the nonlocal he'd heard in the dining room at the B and B was someone Bandini had hired, but that wasn't a risk he'd been prepared to take. The accent had been totally different, that was certain, with a sort of fake heartiness that he'd been able to tell the locals despised. Rather than risk being seen, or alerting the guy with the opening and closing of the front door, Layton had elected to leave the cheap stuff he'd bought behind in the B and B, climb out the window with the flash drive in his pocket, and get out while he could.