as a man stepped out of the truck. Then the intruder reached the light from the shed and her breath caught in her throat.
Nash Cordon.
Even at a distance she could make out his large six-foot-four frame that had once been hard with the muscles of a high school quarterback but were now sagging toward his middle. Lynne took waspish pleasure in the realization that his jacket had grown even tighter since she’d last seen him.
Jerk.
Watching him climb the back steps, she briefly considered the pleasure of calling the sheriff and having him arrested for trespassing only to quickly dismiss the childish impulse. Not only were the law officers busy trying to discover who’d killed two women, but the sheriff also had rubbed Lynne’s nerves raw when she’d been at the clinic.
Lynne would rather deal with Nash than Kathy Hancock.
Pulling the door open, Lynne stepped aside to give her unwelcome guest room to enter the kitchen. Nash shook the snow from his light blond hair. Over the past weeks it’d grown long enough to brush his shoulders. Lynne wrinkled her nose. Once upon a time she’d thought Nash’s dark blue eyes and golden features were handsome. Now all she could see was the peevish dissatisfaction that pinched his lips and sallowness beneath his fake tan.
His lips were pinched tighter than usual as he cast a quick glance around the cramped room. Lynne loved this house. Probably because it was where she’d been born and raised. It didn’t matter that it was small and simple and more than a little shabby. It was home. Nash, however, had often complained that she lived like a miser instead of a professional woman with a thriving career.
Only after they’d broken up did she realize Nash thought her family was wealthy.
Nash opened his jacket to reveal he was wearing a sweatshirt with the Bait and Tackle bar logo on the front, but he didn’t pull it off. Presumably this was going to be a short visit.
Thank God.
“Hey, Lynne.” A humorless smile curved his lips. “Long time, no see.”
Not long enough, she silently acknowledged. “What are you doing here?”
“Do you want to guess where I spent the past few hours?”
Lynne folded her arms, eyeing him with blatant dislike. “It’s late and I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Let me tell you. At the sheriff ’s office.” There was an edge she’d never heard in his voice. Nash could be charming, reckless, and sleazy, but she’d never thought of him as dangerous.
“Congrats.” She inched backward. “Go away.”
“I’m not done.” He deliberately closed the distance she’d just gained. “I haven’t told you why I was there.”
Lynne forced herself to hold her ground, despite the fact she had to tilt back her head to an awkward angle. This was Nash. He might be pissed, but he would never hurt her. “I assume it has something to do with stealing drugs from my clinic,” she said, going on the offense.
His smile faded, his expression settling into a peevish sulk. The one he used when he was in the wrong but refused to admit it. “I didn’t steal anything,” he argued. “The bottles were knocked off the shelf and they busted. Big fucking deal.”
It was Lynne’s turn to smile. “Busted while you were having sex with my receptionist?”
Nash narrowed his eyes. “Is that what this is about? You’re bitchy because you found out I was banging Chelsea, so you called the sheriff and claimed I stole your stupid drugs?”
“One.” She lifted her hand with the first finger extended. “I didn’t call anyone. The sheriff came to the clinic asking questions about my prescriptions and the protocols I use to keep them protected. Two.” She extended another finger. “It was Chelsea who told the sheriff that it was you who supposedly broke the vials—”
“There’s no supposedly about it,” Nash abruptly interrupted.
“That’s between you and the sheriff.”
His nose flared as fury darkened his eyes. “I’m not going to jail because you’re a petty, vengeful bitch,” he snapped. “It was your fault I was in that storage room in the first place.”
“My fault?” Lynne’s jaw dropped at Nash’s outrageous claim. “Not even your ego is that bloated.”
“I wouldn’t have looked twice at Chelsea if I hadn’t constantly been hanging around the clinic waiting for you to finish work,” he snarled. “How many nights did you tell me to wait for you to get back from some emergency? ‘Just five more minutes, Nash.’” He mimicked her voice. “I wasted endless hours. Why shouldn’t I have a