But she hadn’t encountered anyone else in these five years, or in her entire life for that matter, that seemed capable of this kind of thinking and plotting. And maybe Malachi simply wanted revenge, maybe locked away as he was, that was all he could do.

It almost had to be. Because the other theory made no sense. It couldn’t be a result of her contacting anyone about her father’s secret file; she’d called only friends of her father’s, people who would never, ever hurt her.

She didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until Hayley gently woke her, and she managed to get through the litany of questions to prove she was aware. Asked if Cutter was bothering her, she immediately said no, half joking that he was probably the only reason she’d slept. So Hayley left him with her.

Since there was none of the high emotion there had been with Adam, she was able to go back to sleep until Quinn arrived for the next check at 6:00 a.m. She sleepily sat up, but he told her to go back to sleep until she woke up hungry, but this time he collected the dog.

That wake-up turned out to be a couple of hours later, right on time to show she was fine yet again. And not only was she hungry, the smell of fresh coffee was a lure she couldn’t resist. She got up and took a quick shower, glad the Foxworth amenities ran to an en suite bathroom in the guest room. She looked in the mirror and grimaced, but did what she could with what she had on hand, most of which had been rescued by Adam.

She found the clothes she’d been wearing yesterday folded neatly on the foot of the bed when she came out, and realized Hayley must have taken them last night and washed them. Or maybe Quinn; the man certainly didn’t seem to think he was above such tasks. She dressed quickly, then stepped out of the room. The first thing she noticed as she went into the living room was the neatly folded blanket on the end of the couch, topped by a pillow. Adam had slept on the couch?

She glanced toward the kitchen, where she could hear lowered voices. She walked that way. Adam and Quinn were there, talking quietly. She got close enough to hear just as Quinn said something about sugar. Adam quickly switched his coffee mug to his right hand and reached for the small bowl with his left, handed it to Quinn, then switched the mug back to his left hand and took a sip of coffee. It seemed odd to her, but he’d done it with the ease of long practice.

“How much bend do you have?” Quinn asked.

Bend? What did that mean?

Adam shrugged. “About a hundred degrees.”

“Must make things interesting, back home.”