Yet her mood was also something to take note of. Even as the warm breeze toyed with the blond wisps around her face, and birds chirped sweetly beside her, she was a study in conflict: She was clearly arm wrestling something or someone in her head. And he wondered if it was herself.
She’d lied about putting the computer in the tin days before. He’d watched her do that last night.
Kind of ironic that he’d been spying on her while she’d obviously been setting up her tower to self-destruct overnight.
Putting the hammer down, he hand-and-foot’d it down the roof slope and jumped off over the gutter, landing on the ground with a bounce. As he walked to the main building, he jacked up his jeans and ran a hand through his hair. His boots were heavy, but he made sure they were silent as he hit the damp gravel, and when he transitioned onto the grass, he lowered his head so that as he passed in front of the windows of the waiting room, that receptionist with the pink hair would think he was busy with something important.
Not a lie.
Lydia wanted him. Physically, that was. And he was going to have to use that to his advantage.
But he also wanted her. So he was going to have to be careful—and in this, they were a pair. He, too, was wrestling with himself.
Snap.
As he stepped up onto the porch, he continued to be quiet because he wanted her to remain focused—because he wanted to study her for a bit longer. He also felt the need to be in control—of both of them.
“See something out of place?” he said when he was ready.
His target wheeled around and put her hand to the base of her throat. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry I snuck up on you.”
“It’s okay.” She looked back out at the view. “I’m just jumpy.”
He stayed silent, giving her the space to tell him something, anything, because he was curious to see what she’d come up with for conversation.
When she just seemed to get lost in the lake view again, he gave her a nudge: “Is it what was in the newspaper this morning?”
She pivoted to him and looked up through the dappling sunlight, her brown eyes catching the golden illumination so that her irises were the color of whiskey.
How fitting, he thought remotely. A man could get drunk on them.
Not him, though. He might catch a buzz, but there’d be no under the influence, much less intoxication, for Daniel Joseph.
“I saw it in the break room,” he murmured. “The front page of the newspaper. I read the article on the hiker who was found not far from here.”
“It was a good four miles into the preserve.”
“Like I said, it’s around the block. Compared to the Canadian border.”
“You’re not in any danger working here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not scared.”
She considered him for a moment and pushed a loose curl out of her face. “Maybe you should be. Wolves are wild animals. Their rules are their own.”
“Let me amend that statement. Fear is a creation of the mind. It’s an internal fiction.” He put his palms up. “If you refuse to believe in it, it’s fire without oxygen. A spark without kindling.”
Her eyes returned to the view of the water and the mountain opposite them. “You haven’t met true evil yet. And I commend you for your luck.”
“You’re not looking at the lake, are you. It’s that thing on the mountain, the building site.”
“Abomination,” she muttered. “An absolute eye-sore.”
Daniel joined her at the rail. “So that’s where the hotel is going, huh.”
“Not if I can stop it.” A harsh laugh came out of her. “And I can’t.”
“So that’s your evil.”
“They’re taking things they don’t have a right to—and before you throw out something like, hey, they own that property, they can build whatever they want on it, I’ll stop you right there. They’re poisoning my wolves on my property, which is more than illegal.”
“Murder of animals in the first degree?”
Angry eyes swung his way. “You think this is funny.”
“I have no sense of humor, remember? And I’m not expressing an opinion, I’m just trying to clarify yours. I don’t get involved in business that isn’t my own.”
“Well, sometimes you have to get involved because it’s the only way you can sleep at night.” She cleared her throat. “Or I suppose you can go through life not connected to anything, floating above it all as you skip from place to place. I’d argue that kind of insulation doesn’t keep you warm, it keeps you numb. But what do I know, right.”
The sliding glass door opened behind them, the pink-haired receptionist leaning out. “Lydia, the executive director is here and he wants to see you in his office.”
“Peter’s on-site?” Shock registered on his woman’s face. “I thought he wasn’t coming in.”