Awaken to Danger by Catherine Mann Read Free Book Online Page B

she was wearing nothing but ratty gym shorts and
    a threadbare T-shirt over her damp body. "My students are studying Egyptian history. The kids have
    been crafting papier-mâché items to go in the tomb, and we tried to build this in class, too, but Trey
    Baker spilled his lunch inside the sarcophagus and tapioca pudding totally stinks when it rots, so I had to
    cut that part out. Although what kid actually eats tapioca? Most children I know like chocolate pudding
    with candy sprinkles or gummies, or maybe a cookie crumbled on top."
    "I liked tapioca when I was a kid."
    "Geez, were your parents health food nuts or what?"
    "Or what."
    Welcoming the chuckle, she leaned an elbow against the counter bar and smoothed down a straggly
    corner of newspaper sticking from the still-damp section. "Anyhow, I'm patching over where I cut out the
    damaged part."
    She'd taken a break from repairing the project to eat supper out on her balcony. Memories of Carson's
    apology had drawn her to the railing and before she'd known it, she was tumbling heart over butt toward
    the pool. "It should be dry enough to paint by tomorrow."
    "Shouldn't you be resting?"
    Reasonable notion except every time she closed her eyes she saw Gary Owens's vacant dead stare. "If I
    rest, I'll think. I'd rather work. Although building a coffin really isn't helping take my mind off this whole
    mess."
    "Rather macabre."
    "Macabre." She snatched up a piece of paper from under the phone.
    "What are you doing?"
    "Writing down the word." And trying to think about anything but the dead man and unanswered
    questions. She finished scrawling on the notepaper and tore the top sheet off from the soccer-patterned
    pad—a Christmas gift from one of her pupils. "I've got this student who's a word wizard. Feeding his
    brain is a full-time job. You use these words that are not the kind guys would usually choose."
    "I can't decide if you're insulting or complimenting me."
    "Neither. You just don't speak as informally as most guys I know."
    "I'm older than most guys you know. Hell, I even eat tapioca, remember? If I said dude a couple of
    times, you wouldn't notice the other words."
    "Still hung up on being a cradle robber, are you?"
    His eyebrows shot up at her open acknowledgement of their past relationship. Relationship? One-night
    stand.
    Ouch.
    He thumbed the pad of paper, fanning through sheets until one piece peeled loose. "Shouldn't you be
    resting?"
    "You already said that."
    "Must be early onset Alzheimer's at thirty-five." Absently he picked up the stray piece of paper, leaned
    back against the bar and started folding. "I understand you need to keep your mind off things, but how
    about reading a book? Your body has been through hell the past few days. You should take care of
    yourself."
    "I'm a young, resilient twenty-three, not an old thirty-five like you."
    He stopped midfold on the soccer paper. "I'm guessing your mother and father encouraged you to speak
    your mind when you were a kid."
    "What clued you in?" She smirked for a full five-second gloat before the fun faded with reality. "And how
    surprising that you always manage to bring up my dad anytime we speak."
    "People have parents."
    "You don't."
    "Sure I do." His fingers started tucking and folding the paper again, drawing her eyes to his talented
    nimble hands.
    Hands she remembered feeling over her skin too well right now. "Other than our tapioca conversation,
    you've never mentioned your parents once in all the time I've known you."
    "I didn't crawl from under a rock."
    She smiled slow and just a little bit impishly vindictive. "That's open for debate."
    His laugh rumbled low and long, wrapping around her with far more languorous warmth than the
    ineffective bubble bath she'd stepped out often short minutes ago. Her body tingled with awareness, her
    breasts suddenly oversensitive to the brush of cotton against her bare skin.
    "Damn, Nikki, you never did cut me any slack." Shaking his head with a final self-derisive