Smokies Special Agent. Lena DiazЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Six

      Duncan plopped his legs on top of his desk and grabbed a red apple out of his snack drawer. “Shouldn’t Lee and Grady be back with lunch by now?” he complained around a mouthful of the sweet, juicy apple. “I’m starving.”

      McAlister stood beside Duncan’s desk, looking out the front window. “What do you think she’s doing?” He motioned toward Remi as she stalked back and forth in the gravel parking lot, golden hair bouncing around her shoulders, cell phone glued to her ear.

      Duncan shrugged. “As red as her face is, she’s probably yelling at Supervisory Special Agent Johnson for emailing a copy of her personnel file to us. Or she’s freezing. Or both. When she calms down she’ll realize she left her jacket in here.”

      “Maybe I should take it to her.” In four steps, McAlister had the puffy white coat in his hand, ready to play the chivalrous knight to their fuming guest.

      “Don’t,” Duncan said. “She has more incentive to come back inside on her own if she’s shivering.”

      McAlister dropped the jacket on top of Duncan’s outstretched legs and braced his hand on the wall beside the window. “You don’t seem worried that she’ll take off.”

      “Where’s she gonna go?” He frowned at a large bruise on the apple and turned it, looking for a better spot. “She doesn’t have her car up here. She’s injured. No backpack of supplies. No jacket. I’ll bet you dinner that she won’t last five more minutes outside.” He took another bite.

      “I think you just bought me dinner.”

      Duncan glanced up. Remi wasn’t on the phone anymore. She was running, fast, across the gravel, heading away from the trailer. She was already halfway to the road. “Ah, hell.”

      McAlister started laughing.

      Duncan tossed the rest of the apple in the trash and grabbed Remi’s coat.

      “I’m thinking a big medium-rare steak will do the trick,” McAlister called after him as he ran for the door. “One of those delicious fill-it mig-non numbers at The Peddler Steakhouse. Or maybe a New York strip.”

      “Rain check,” Duncan yelled, grabbing his jacket and gloves before barreling outside. He cleared the concrete steps in one leap and landed with a bone-jarring crunch on the gravel.

      Remi was nowhere to be seen.

      The door opened behind him and McAlister leaned out. “Looks like she’s headed to town. She turned left at the road.”

      “Thanks, Pops!” Duncan sprinted after her, yanking on his gloves and jacket as he went.

      Five minutes later he was back at his Jeep, cursing as he hopped inside and tossed Remi’s coat on the seat beside him. How a woman a hair over five feet tall could outrun his long stride was beyond him. He would have caught up to her eventually, but closing the gap between them had been taking far too long.

      He peeled out of the parking lot, adding a few new gravel dents to the metal storage shed that housed their ATVs and snowplow attachments.

      It didn’t take long to catch up to her in the Jeep. She was running on the shoulder of the road at a ground-eating pace. As he slowed alongside her, he rolled down the passenger window.

      “Need a lift, pretty lady?” he drawled.

      The tightening of her mouth was the only sign that she’d heard him. She stared straight ahead, her hair whipping behind her. Something about her stride seemed off. It dawned on him that it was because of her hurt shoulder. She was using her left hand to hold the sling, probably so it wouldn’t bounce against her chest as she ran. Judging by the lines of pain bracketing the side of her mouth, it wasn’t working very well.