She’d just settled back into her chair and shaken off her case of nerves when Bo’s ears pricked, and he let out a soft little bark.

“Enough,” she said. “Okay?” Then she heard the low rumble of a truck’s engine. She knew before she glanced out the window that Slade was back.

Great. Just what she needed on top of everything else. Ever since her phone conversation with Detective Montoya, she’d been second-guessing herself. Reexamining her life.

She closed her eyes for a second and fought that tiny little urge deep within, the absolutely ridiculous feminine part of her that Slade still touched.

Quit fighting it. Be glad he’s with you. He might be able to help you find Camille’s killer. If not, at least he’s moral support.

She scoffed at herself. Moral support? From the man who’d tried to seduce her sister?

What a joke.

Then again, Cammie might have lied about what really happened. Hadn’t Val already considered that as a very real possibility? Either way, dealing with Slade would be difficult.

Bo was going nuts, wiggling and whining at the door. Sure enough, through the crack in the blinds, Val watched Slade get out of the truck and, instead of heading for the main house, turn and make a beeline for her cottage.

“Here we go,” she said, walking to the door just as he rapped on it. Bo was beside himself as she unlocked the dead bolt and tugged open the door.

Slade stood under the porch light on the other side of the screen. His face was all shadowy planes and angles, his jaw set and beard-shadowed. He offered her the hint of a smile, a crooked twist of his thin lips. “So did I give you enough space?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

There was no denying Slade Houston’s presence. His shoulders nearly filled the doorway, reminding her of how solid and wide his body was. “Be nice,” he said.

“I’m always nice.”

His grin widened. “Right. Nice people invite people standing on their porch inside.”

Bo yipped, then quieted with a sharp look from Slade.