“She’s addled but not dumb. She’ll realize a new number cuts her off from the jerkwad.”
“And you think Ariel can stop fraud that even the FBI can’t stop?” Yeah, so, he was curious. “That’s what you want? For her tocatchthe jerkwad?”
“I want him fried in oil and prevented from stealing from any more naïve idiots.” Pris was adamant. The flaming red hair practically glowed.
Yeah, she was related to Evie all right. Roark propped his shoulder against a porch post. “Boil one, and two more pop up. It’s whack-a-mole. The alternative is to protect your mother. Forward all your mother’s calls here. She’ll guess something is wrong in a day or two, so we’re taking chances on timing. We’ll need someone to pretend to be your mother answering the calls. I can’t do that.”
“And Ariel won’t. But I want these creepsstopped!” She glared at him.
Yeah, so did he, but not if he endangered Ariel and her family. Once his leg was healed... “I can’t do that,” he told her flatly. “Even the feds can’t do that. We can just save your ma.”
“I’ll be back when Ariel is awake.” Without further explanation, Pris climbed on her bicycle and rode off.
Roark rubbed his head and tried to decide if beyond-all flaky was better or worse than criminally charming. Mostly, he decided, families were weird.
An hour later, a photo came through. Roark glared at it in disbelief. There stood his father from twenty years ago, the young, curly-haired man Roark resembled—photoshopped onto an ad for a new Cadillac. Holy Mother Mary and Jayzus, which one of the reprobates had learned Photoshop?
All he’d have to do was drive into Afterthought in a Cadillac, and he could have Evie’s Aunt Ellen eating out of his hand. Or calling the cops.
He’d have to shave his head again.
* * *
He’s on my computer.
Ariel grimaced and tried to shut out the vibrations of her unwanted guest by stepping into her shower. All those male pheromones made her skin itch. She tried to scrub away the sensation but she only heightened her awareness.
By the time she’d dressed, she could tell Roark had abandoned her computer and was in her kitchen, permeating the air with the scent of frying bacon. The man exploded her senses.
And he refused to honor her schedule. She didn’t eat until she’d been up for two hours.
Warily, she eased into the hall. She couldn’t sense him in the house. With a sigh of relief, she entered the kitchen to find a fried egg and bacon on toast keeping warm, plus a sliced avocado wrapped tightly. Avocado! She hadn’t ordered anything so exotic. Unwilling to allow an avocado to go to waste, she added that and a tomato to the egg sandwich, fixed her tea, and checked her game camera on her phone while she ate.
But making notes of animal activity wasn’t anywhere as interesting as wondering what Roark was up to. Besides, the only animal she saw in mid-afternoon was Himself, pacing the woods, chinning on overhead branches like a restless bear, reminding her that she should be exercising instead of eating.
She finished her egg sandwich, returned to her room to brush her teeth and take her medications, did her exercises, then at exactly 15:00, went to her desk. She checked her phone for messages first—
And went ballistic.
Flying out the front door, she found Roark established in his porch cave and threw the phone at him.
The beast caught it with ease, flicked it on, punched in her code, andchecked her messages!
If she wasn’t usually incoherent, she was now.
“Bébé, youramigot trouble. I’m just helpin’ her. She’s coming out in a bit so we can fix t’ings.”
She snatched the phone back and hit settings and began resetting her code.
“Don’t do no good,cher. I can still hear it. You just put in your birt’day instead of Jax’s. If it helps, I’ll give you my phone’s code. If we gotta work together, we might as well make ourselves useful.”
He couldhearthe buttons? I cannot do this!
She picked up Mitch’s food bowl of insect pellets and flung it at him. Without a word, she returned inside, leaving him to his sweltering cave.
Even she knew that was mean. He’d fixed her breakfast. He was staying out of her way, living in discomfort for her sake. The man had been driven from his home by criminal bullies whoshothim and threatened his family. And she got mad because he... What had he done?Listenedto her passcode?
How was she supposed to react to that? If she had a therapist any longer, she’d email and ask. Talking to a therapist had always been torture anyway.