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‘Oh, it’s no mystery,’ Da
Verna patted him on the arm as if he were a gentleman caller. ‘Well, how fascinating. Maybe you’d like a cup of tea while you tell me all about it.’
And, of course, he smiled and offered her his arm. ‘What a lovely offer, Mrs Washington.’
Excellent. Verna would keep him talking for hours, while Dee searched his room. She quickly sca
Making sure the coast was clear, Dee lifted off and slipped smoothly in through the open window.
She must not have been as smooth as she’d thought. She hardly made it into the room before there was a loud slam behind her. She turned to see that the window had fallen closed.
Oh, dear God. She was stuck. She plopped down on the quilt right next to the briefcase and tried not to panic. The door was open into the hall, but she sincerely doubted that an owl could flap right down the stairs without being noticed. Maybe she should hide in the closet until Da
There was a big time pla
She decided she could stay calmer if she distracted herself with her mission. She had turned pages before as a bird. Maybe she’d have enough time to turn these and see what she could find out. Flapping as quietly as she could, she flew over and settled on the desk.
The address book was open at the Ds. She sca
Was that who he worked for? If it was, he had a great job. Delaney was a legend. Best-selling, award-wi
Easy to be reclusive if you have this many addresses, Dee thought in passing. New York, L.A., London. Detroit. Detroit? Not her idea of a world-famous hideaway. The question was, what was a genre writer who pe
Dee hopped closer. Balancing on one claw, she reached over to try and flip pages. She needed the X page. Maybe the O. She needed to know if Xan had sent him. D… E… damn, this was hard. If she’d been human, she’d be sweating. Hop, pull, hop, flap…
She was concentrating so hard that she missed the sound of approaching footsteps. Suddenly the top stair creaked. Dee spun so fast, she almost fell over.
‘Remember,’ Velma’s voice trumpeted up from the front hallway, ‘the window’s a little loose and can close sometimes. If it does, just prop it with that big old dictionary on the desk.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Washington,’ Da
Dee had to hide. The minute Da
At first the situation looked promising. Once he was in the room Da
She could get out now, Dee thought, shifting from foot to foot. If he’d just turn his back, close his eyes, and ignore the sound of wings. Instead, he stood right in front of the window. Stretching his arms overhead, he slowly arched his back until Dee could hear little popping noises. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he muttered, stretching sideways. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for about five hundred miles.’
Dee knew she should scrunch down so he wouldn’t notice her up there, especially with his eyes facing the ceiling. But she was terrified into immobility, an owl statue surrounded by silk flower bouquets.
Facing out the window again, Da
And?
And he’d evidently finished with phone calls. Tossing the phone onto the bed, he shucked his jacket. Not just a leather jacket. An old, battered bomber jacket with the 390th Fighter Wing insignia. The Fighting Boars. The plain white T-shirt underneath betrayed every muscle in his chest and torso, and highlighted rock-solid shoulders.
Now, leave, she thought desperately. Give me a little space to get out the window. She sat as still as stone, terrified he’d see her. Holding her breath so she didn’t sneeze. Praying he’d take his shower.
She’d obviously prayed for the wrong thing. He was going to take his shower, all right. It was just that he was going to strip right here in the room. Sinking onto the iron bed, he pulled off his old battered cowboy boots, and Dee realized he had great biceps.
No. No time for biceps. Don’t look.
She looked. She loved biceps.
She really should go. Please turn around. Let me out.
He pulled off his shirt.
Dee gaped, frozen to the spot. It was like watching a theater curtain rise, only this one exposed the most incredible torso she’d ever seen: taut pecs and cut abs and a dusting of mahogany hair that curled at his throat and trailed right down to his waistband and beyond, and oh, God, he even wore a silver medal, the chain glinting against his tan skin.
Hadn’t she seen that this morning? When he smiled at her in that brief, tantalizing flash of fantasy in the dust? Dreaming about painting was one thing. But dreaming about painting him…
She had to close her eyes. She had to turn around. He had no idea what disaster he was courting just by shucking his shirt. He reached up to pull the silver chain over his head and dropped it on the nightstand, and Dee almost groaned out loud.
Was he humming or was she? She couldn’t tell. She just knew she should move. She should fly away, right now, no matter the cost. The danger certainly couldn’t be greater than what would happen if she shifted right on top of his chifforobe. Because the way her body was reacting to him, even her owl body, she just wasn’t sure it wouldn’t happen.
Concentrate on something else. He was out to get her parents. Not enough. Something else. Xan. He could be from Xan. She had to….
She forgot what she had to. He was unsnapping his jeans. She held her breath, terrified that if she so much as gasped, she’d start chirping like a car alarm. Her tiny heart was thundering. Her feathers had suddenly grown too heavy and hot for her skin. Warnings shrilled in her head.