Free The Spring at Moss Hill by Carla Neggers Page B

won’t mind.”
    â€œI’m going to take a look around the place.”
    â€œI won’t call 911 if I see you, then. If you see anything suspicious, by the way, there’s decent cell service here. You should be able to call 911.”
    He stared at her a moment, then broke into a slow, thoroughly sexy grin. “I’ll keep that in mind, Kylie. Working the rest of the day? Should I worry if I see the lights on at 3:00 a.m.?”
    â€œIf you do, it’ll be because I got up early, not because I stayed up late.”
    His gaze held her for longer than she found comfortable. “I might take a walk later, or settle in and have a beer on the balcony—assuming it’s warm enough.”
    â€œEvenings still can get cool this time of year, but that can be nice, too. I had wine on my balcony during a snowstorm after I first moved in here in March. It was magical.”
    Russ raised his eyebrows. “We need to work on your idea of magical.”
    Kylie felt heat rise in her face. “Well, enjoy the rest of the day.”
    â€œI will, thanks. Knock on my door if you think of anything else that could help unravel what’s going on with these rumors.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a card, handing it to her. “Or call or text.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    Kylie took the card and slipped it into her pocket, eager to get back to her worktable.
    Time to disappear.
    She waited for Russ to go into the main building before she headed inside, her pace picking up the closer she got to her apartment and a locked door between her and her temporary neighbor. She wasn’t afraid of him. She just didn’t want him prying into her life.
    And it was tough to be neutral about him. He was physical, intelligent and always on alert. No question about that.
    Also, sexy.
    No question about that, either.
    Kylie dove into her apartment, breathing deeply as the door shut behind her. Her reaction to him wasn’t going to get her anywhere but into deep trouble.
    Time to calm down and get to work.
    * * *
    She made tea. She sharpened pencils. She cleaned erasers. She sorted crayons, dusted her scanner, changed the batteries in her wireless keyboard and checked three times to see if the ducks had returned to the river, but they hadn’t.
    Finally, Kylie approached her worktable as if it held classified information.
    Imagine the field day Russ Colton would have if he knew about Morwenna Mills.
    She frowned at Sherlock Badger. “Where were you today at lunch when I needed you?”
    A little stuffed badger wouldn’t have helped her case with a real investigator.
    She didn’t sit. She stared out at the river, concentrating on the shadows and the green of the fields rising up across from Moss Hill. But her mind didn’t clear. It was cluttered with images of lunch, Ruby’s fears, Mark’s firm denials of problems at Moss Hill, Jess’s quiet concern and Russ—questioning, suspicious and thoroughly confident.
    And so damn sexy. The dark blue eyes, the tawny hair, the broad shoulders, the easy smile.
    None of that was helping, either.
    Kylie had to adjust her thinking, since she’d expected Julius Hartley, the investigator who’d escorted Daphne Stewart to Knights Bridge last summer. He was a good-looking man, but in his fifties and clearly out of his element in the small, rural town. Russ was closer to her age and struck her as a man who made a point of not being out of his element anywhere.
    She picked a random blue crayon out of a basket on her worktable. Some days she thought she should have a studio separate from her home. She could go to work like “normal people,” as her sister would say, then insist she’d been joking. But ever since Kylie had entered art school, friends, family, professors and strangers had cautioned her about the chronic uncertainties of being a freelance illustrator, especially of children’s books. Even