That wasn't exactly the answer she'd been searching for. "How would an attack on the Bitterroot Sinclairs over thirty years ago be connected to the murders happening here now?"
"When I discover the connection, I suspect I'll discover the murderer." He hesitated. "How are you feeling this morning?"
She had a suspicion the question wasn't asked out of concern for her health, but rather something else. "I've got the mother of all headaches and a sore butt, but other than that, I'm fine. Why?"
"Are you up to a little breaking and entering?"
Her heart skipped then began to race. "Where?"
"Betise's hair salon."
Surprise flitted through her. "Why?"
"Because I suspect she slipped some sort of sleeping tablet into your coffee this afternoon. I want to see if she left the cup lying around."
"I put it down beside my chair, so she could have missed it." She frowned. "But why would she bother? Even if she's decided she doesn't like sharing you, what point would there be in drugging me?"
"For the last time, she and I have never exchanged promises, nor did I have more than one dance with her." His voice was tight, and anger flicked briefly behind the shutters. "And you could have died if I hadn't found you so quickly."
His anger burned her skin and made her throat go dry. Lord, it would be so easy to believe he actually cared. Which was ridiculous. He was a lone wolf — a man who enjoyed the dance and wanted nothing more from a relationship. "So how did you find me?"
"I was lucky." He pointed his fork at her barely touched meal. "Now eat, before it gets cold."
She ate, but could only get halfway through the huge bowl he'd given her. She pushed the rest of it away and leaned back with a sigh. "Thank you."
He nodded and rose, collecting both bowls and taking them over to the sink. She watched him walk away, admiring the way his faded jeans clung to his butt and wishing she had the courage to actually admit out loud what she really wanted right now. The wolf within might be free, but she wasn't totally courageous. Not yet.
"What else do you hope to find at the hair salon?" she asked, more out of a need to fill the heated silence than any real curiosity. "Because if she did drop sleeping tablets in my drink, they probably came from her handbag. I doubt she'd keep something like that at the salon."
"No. Which is why I want to head on over to her house afterwards." He handed her a cup of coffee and sat back down.
She wrapped her fingers around the mug and frowned. "I think her mother is living with her. I doubt she'd leave to head up to the mansion, even if Betise does."
"No. But she might head out to a dinner invitation with an old friend."
Neva raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think Iyona had any friends — old or new."
"According to Neeson Jones, she has two. Neeson's helped me arrange a little get together tonight at the Blue Moon."
The Blue Moon was the bigger of Ripple Creek's two bars and usually packed with partygoers when the full moon was rising. "You were lucky to get a table."
"Called in a favor. The owner's an old friend of mine."
She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. His gaze drifted down her body, lingering on the folds of silk covering her br**sts. Anticipation tingled across her skin, and the deep down ache sprang to life.
And all because of a look. It was almost scary just how attuned she was to this man.
"Why do you want to search Betise's house? What do you hope to find?" She stretched out her legs, her feet touching his. Warmth sprung between them, prickling up her leg.
"I don't know. Something strange is going on with that pair, not the least of which are the lies she's spreading about me. A clandestine search might uncover a few handy secrets."
"You don't think she's linked to the murders, do you?" She ran her toes up the long lean length of his foot. She'd never found feet arousing before, but just touching his was doing strange things to her breathing. As was the sexy smile that tugged at his lips, daring her to be bolder.
"At this point, no, though Iyona obviously hates my pack. It's always possible she does know something."
She slipped her foot up his leg, enjoying the contrasts of soft denim and taut muscle under her toes and half wishing those powerful legs were entwined around her. She reached as far as his muscular thighs but couldn't go any further without slipping off the chair. "Have you asked her about the Bitterroot incident?"
"Yes."