Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) by Lauren Giordano

Author:Lauren Giordano [Giordano, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harvest Moon Press
Published: 2016-08-05T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

"Mom— what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Ireland." Instinctively, Matt tried to block her access. Though his brain knew it to be hopeless, his gut had him side-stepping, as though he stood a chance in hell of stopping her from venturing beyond the foyer.

"I'm well, Matthew. Thanks for asking."

He winced. Twelve seconds and he was already on the defensive. "How was your trip," he asked belatedly.

"Cold and rainy. That's why I cut it short." Resting a large suitcase on the granite floor, her eyes widened when he shifted to intercept her. "Why are you blocking my way?"

Covering his ill-timed move, he leaned in to hug her. "I can't give you a hug?"

Suspicious, her gaze drifted beyond his shoulder. "Is something going on here?"

"I— uh . . . needed a place-" Gaping at her, his mind galloped in a hundred directions. Five grown men had just bolted from the living room— five professionals on the hunt for a merciless killer— scrambling to clear evidence of their presence. They'd had four minutes advance notice from their guard stationed in the parking garage. Knowing his mother— she'd have at least twenty pointed questions about the trooper stationed in the lobby.

"What's wrong with your place?" She dodged left and he followed, feeling completely foolish in the process. Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, Matt prayed they'd made it safely back to the kitchen.

"I had to . . . come back into town— and I didn't have time to shop-"

"So, you decided to raid my refrigerator?" She rolled her eyes over the obvious lie. "Darling, you'll have to do better than that." She removed his hand from her arm. "Step aside, Matthew. The traffic from Logan was miserable."

"Mom— this isn't a good time. Maybe we could— reschedule?" What the hell was he doing?

"Reschedule?" Her frosty voice interrupted his scrambled thoughts. "This is my house." When her eyes narrowed with suspicion, he stiffened. He knew that expression— he'd been caught by that expression at least a hundred times. Like a shark, her sonar was capable of tracking fear a mile away. "What's going on here?"

With a healthy shove, she pushed past him into the living room. "Did you hold a rager while I was out of town?"

Cringing when she drifted past the couch— his eyes saw evidence of the op they were in the middle of planning. Glasses and food wrappers cluttered the coffee table.

She eyed the room distastefully. "Have you forgotten how to run the dishwasher?"

Matt envisioned the guys cowering in the kitchen. Did he really think he could talk his way out of this? Any minute, his mother's hawk-like hearing would pick up on their presence. It was over. They were caught.

By his mother.

In the middle of a drug investigation— they would be forced to stop and relocate. Christ— the logistics alone . . . And with surveillance already scheduled for that night.

She advanced on him. "Why are there police blocking the garage entrance? I had to show identification before he allowed me to pass," she muttered.

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