Long Shadow (Veiled Intentions #2) - Elle Keaton Page 0,5

that he was back. That’s actually all he said, ‘I’m back,’ but I can’t imagine anyone else stopping by this morning.”

Alyson opened the front door to reveal Niall Hamarsson, his fist raised to knock again.

“Oh, good morning,” Alyson said.

Mat swallowed and forced himself to act normal. Niall was much like a skittish animal—a mistreated one, or maybe just wild. Mat knew he had to let Niall carve the path in their relationship, but it was difficult when the man moved at glacial speed. Niall’s light-green gaze caught Mat’s own, and Mat thought he saw a glimmer of heat and humor before Niall’s attention turned toward his dog.

“Did you behave yourself?” Niall asked.

That Fenrir was pleased to see his person was abundantly clear, and—not for the first time—Mat found himself jealous of the dog. This time it was his mother’s amused gaze that caught his.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Mat offered.

Mat wasn’t sure which Niall liked more, his dog or a good cup of coffee. He swore to himself, for the tenth or twentieth time, that he would let Niall lead this dance they were on. He wouldn’t force anything between them. But, damn, it was difficult.

Three

Niall

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hamarsson.” Long, slightly greasy, brown hair swung down in front of the motel clerk’s Lennon-style glasses. The glasses slid down his nose a quarter inch, and he nudged them upward with one finger before rushing on. “Your, um, dog…” The canine in question sat politely next to Niall, ears cocked, appearing to listen attentively to the young man behind the counter. Ricky paused again, clearing his throat, but kept speaking, proving he had some balls.

“The dog is just too big. I can tell by looking at him that he weighs over thirty pounds—and that’s the weight limit for pets at the Orca, thirty pounds. With the busy season getting closer, we, I was, um, told… we can’t have him here anymore. He might scare other guests.”

It was impossible for Niall to misunderstand what Nervous Ricky was telling him: he was (very politely) being evicted from the Orca Motel. Fenrir stared up at Niall, his golden eyes knowing and a tad judgy. Trust a wolfhound of sketchy origin to be the wise one between the two of them. Niall could almost hear the words “I told you so.”

Funny, Fenrir’s voice sounded a lot like Sheriff Mat Dempsey’s.

“Can I at least have a little time to figure something out? I’m sure you heard—my place burned down, so it’s not like I have somewhere to stay.” Niall was going to use the pity card for as long as possible.

Guilt flared, and Niall shoved it aside. Yes, he could stay somewhere else; he was just avoiding the Dempsey homestead. Mat Dempsey and his mother had both offered Niall a place in their home—and offered it again when he’d picked up Fenrir the other day. But Niall needed space, at least that’s what he told himself, and Mat seemed to take up all Niall’s space whenever he was around.

He glanced out the front window—noting it was pissing down rain, again—to the parking lot where no cars were parked except his. He stifled the urge to lean over the desk Ricky was using as protection and scare the kid just a little. It wouldn’t be difficult; the kid was already about to pee himself. But, Niall reminded himself, it wasn’t Ricky’s fault. Fenrir gave him the look again. Damn dog.

“I’ll check out the bulletin board at the Hook. With any luck there will be something there,” Niall said instead.

Ricky nodded enthusiastically. “There’s one at Chester’s in Killegen’s Point and the laundromat too.”

“Right, thanks.”

He and Fenrir headed back out into the rain and down the hill. The ferry terminal was at the bottom, empty, as the morning ferry had already come and gone. Inside the Hook, a popular greasy spoon in Hidden Harbor, there was a bulletin board hanging near the front entrance. Island residents posted all sorts of things: “Free Chickens,” “Bob’s Yard Service,” “Babysitting by Susie.” There were no posts offering housing to ex–homicide detectives and their canine shadows. Niall sighed. He had nothing to keep him busy right now. He might as well drive out to Killegen’s Point.

As Niall approached Chester’s Grocery-Mart, a camper appeared abruptly out of the mist. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, barely avoiding hitting it but managing to stay on the road. He only got a glimpse of the vehicle—battered, dingy white and beige with a faded