She shrugged. “We’re both adults. So what?”
He smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression. “Let’s not play this game, Addy.” He moved his head slowly from side to side. “We both know last night was about more than raging hormones.”
“You’re right.” She walked around him and grabbed the skillet from the stove. “Some asshole broke into my motel room and ruined my shit.” Reaching for the pot scrubber and dish detergent, she flashed him a smile—one just as fake as the one he’d shown her. “I’m pissed.”
“Not just some asshole,” he corrected. “Baggett said the glue was a match. The wording, not to mention the method of communication, was too similar. We haven’t released any information related to the letters. This can’t be a copycat. This washim.”
She wasn’t going to waste her breath reminding him that just because they hadn’t released the information didn’t mean it hadn’t gotten out. Happened all the time.
“This guy is watching you.”
“Probably.” She gave the skillet a scrub.
“Then why don’t you believe he was the one who came into your room?”
A quick rinse and she placed the skillet in the drainer, then dried her hands. “Because it wasn’t him. I explained that last night.”
Wyatt dropped his head back and blasted out a frustrated breath. “And I explained how those differences may have occurred organically.”
“Organically?” Mirth furrowed her brow. “Really? I tell you what, let’s put the letters Prescott and I received alongside the mirror,” which was now logged in to evidence, “take a long, hard look at them lined up together.” She moved back to the table and pushed in her chair. “My logic will be more obvious that way.”
“You going to call your mother?”
“Sure. It’s Christmas.” What kind of daughter did he think she was? A bad one, evidently. She knew that about herself but she didn’t need him reminding her. “We’re doing lunch.” She backed toward the kitchen door. “All the more reason to get a move on. Let me grab my jacket and I’ll be ready when you are.”
She hustled to the guest room, strapped on her belt, and nestled her weapon in place on her hip. She gathered her jacket and cell phone. The sooner she was out of this house the more comfortable she would feel.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she made a face. Damn, she needed a rubber band or something for her hair. Bathroom. Though she couldn’t imagine why Wyatt would have a ponytail holder of any sort, it couldn’t hurt to look. Maybe there was something usable in there.
She checked the hall bathroom. Didn’t find anything. Next she banged on his bedroom door. “I need to get into your bathroom.”
He opened the door. “What’s wrong with—”
She squeezed past him. “I’ll be ready in half a minute.” Since it was Christmas or maybe because it was Saturday, he’d kept the jeans and added a dark green shirt. The color would bring out the green in his eyes. It wasn’t necessary to look, she knew his eyes as well as she did her own.
Nothing in the two drawers. She crouched down in front of the vanity and opened the doors.
“What are you looking for?”
She glanced up. “Something for my hair.” She shoved a handful of the wild stuff behind her ear.
He loitered in the doorway, wedging those massive shoulders from jamb to jamb. “I don’t think—”
“Here we go.” She held up a ponytail holder. Black in color.Hmm.“You have a girlfriend with black hair?”
Frustration lined his brow. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Really?” Adeline held up a neatly folded pad in its flowery wrapper. “When did you start using these?”
Their gazes held for a few drama-filled seconds. The kind where you’re scrambling to come up with what to say or do next. The reality of what her feminine finds meant had abruptly sunk into her brain.
It felt intensely strange. He had a girlfriend. She’d had plenty of guy friends. Sex whenever she wanted. No real relationships but plenty of repeat dates. Nine years had passed. Of course Wyatt had been with other women. Maybe even moved one into his place—which was exactly what this felt like. What had she expected?
Adeline blinked first, looked away. She tossed the unused pad back into the vanity and stood. “This’ll work fine.” She slid the holder onto her wrist, fingered her hair into an acceptable bunch and tugged the stretchy holder into place. She checked her work in the mirror. Ignored the fact that Wyatt was watching her in that very mirror.
She turned to the door and the tall frame blocking her path. “I’m ready. You?” He looked ready. All the way down to the boots.
“Her name was Rita. She works in the courthouse.”