They were completely in sync. “That’s a good thing because I’m the dumbass who didn’t properly tie our boat and it’s floating around somewhere. I’m sorry. I should have taken better care of you.”

She stopped at the stairs and smiled up at him, a gleam in her eyes. “Oh, you took care of me, Rene Darois.”

It was good to see her smile. She didn’t expect perfection from him, and that made him relax. He brushed his lips over hers. “I’m still sorry we don’t have a boat. And since we don’t have power, we also don’t have coffee.”

Her smile faltered. “What?”

So she wasn’t all sunshine this morning. That oddly made him comfortable, too. “I’ll build another fire and boil some water for you. I promise I will make this work.”

Sylvie moved up the steps without him. “What’s that?”

He tested his full weight on his bad leg and was satisfied when he was steady. He hoped he had another pair of sweatpants, though. These were covered in mud, and he was going to have to suffer an incredibly cold shower. He followed her and saw what she was talking about. There was a pouch slid under one of the two rocking chairs on the porch. The leg of the chair would ensure the pouch didn’t blow away. “Is it wet?”

She leaned over and picked it up. “No. It’s perfectly dry. We can assume it wasn’t sitting here all night. Do you think that man left it? It has to be intentional. It couldn’t have fallen under there.”

“Give it to me. I don’t want you to open it.” He held out his hand.

“What do you think it is?” she asked, handing it over.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you to touch it if it’s dangerous.” It didn’t weigh a thing, and he couldn’t feel anything hard inside.

“Maybe you shouldn’t open it, either. We could wait until we get back to town and let the sheriff deal with it. Technically, that man was trespassing.”

He was too curious to wait. He slid the zipper open and discovered some folded papers. “It’s a note.”

Sylvie sank to the rocking chair. “Good. Someone probably borrowed supplies and they left a note about it.”

He opened the paper and his heart sank. And a kernel of rage sparked. He was staring at his company letterhead. “It’s our bid for the Lowestone job. They’re a banking chain and they’ve been a client for years. Our contract was up and we have to place a bid on the job. This is our bid.”

“Why would it be . . .” She stood again, her arms crossing her chest and a hard look entering her eyes. “Charles has been coming out here on weekends. Is he supposed to be here tomorrow?”