Читать книгу: «One Night Standoff»
THERE WAS NO WAY SHE COULD HIDE THE BUMP…
Lenora Whitaker never thought spending one night with U.S. marshal Clayton Caldwell would put them in the crosshairs of a killer. Connected to a protective custody case gone awry, they are both attacked, leaving Clayton with a damaging case of amnesia and forcing Lenora to go on the run.
After taking a bullet to save her life, Clayton is unable to remember Lenora or that he’s the father of her baby. But the moment he tracks her down, it’s clear the attraction is still there. Hiding out together on his Texas ranch, Clayton admires the way Lenora will do anything to protect her unborn baby. Connecting with the pregnant beauty also triggers the first hints of his past. A past that could mend their broken lives—or unearth secrets he’d be better off forgetting.
“This might help me remember.” His warm breath hit against her lips when he spoke.
And suddenly more than anything, Lenora wanted him to remember. Oh, and she wanted him to kiss her, too. Clayton might not have any memories of their one-night stand, but Lenora was well aware that he could set fires with his mouth.
He moved in closer. Closer. And she was just a breath away from kissing him again. Too bad she could already feel it and also too bad her body seemed to think this was foreplay, that Clayton would haul her off to bed again.
That wouldn’t happen.
Even if she desperately wanted it.
Her eyelids were already fluttering down, getting ready for that kiss, when Clayton stopped. It took her a moment to realize why. The baby was kicking, and with her body pressed against Clayton’s, he could feel it.
One Night
Standoff
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Delores Fossen
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why USA TODAY bestselling author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Marshal Clayton Caldwell—He must rely on broken memories and a mysterious woman, Lenora, to stay alive and outsmart a hired gun. Even though he’ll protect her with his life, he’s not sure he can trust her with his heart.
Lenora Whitaker—After a one-night stand with Clayton, Lenora realizes she’s pregnant. However, her secret past is catching up with her, and it puts Clayton, their baby and her in the crosshairs of a killer.
Kirby Granger—Clayton’s foster father who’s under investigation for an old murder.
Adam Riggs—He’s in jail awaiting trial for killing Lenora’s friend, but he could have hired assassins to take out Clayton and Lenora so they can’t testify against him.
James Britt—A Justice Department agent investigating the attempts to kill Lenora and Clayton, but he could have his own agenda.
Quentin Hewitt—Lenora’s former boss and a man she once thought she loved. He could have strong objections to Lenora’s involvement with Clayton.
Melvin Larson—Clayton’s biological father. He abandoned Clayton years ago but now he’s back.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Extract
Chapter One
Marshal Clayton Caldwell figured this could be bad.
He waited at the window and watched the woman exit the dark blue car that she’d just parked next to the Marshals Service building where he worked. She glanced around, but because of the other vehicles, there was no way she could have seen the black truck that eased to a stop about a half block up the street.
Clayton saw it, all right.
And he didn’t like the looks of this.
Had the driver of the truck followed her?
And if so, why?
Since Clayton had been at the second-floor window finishing his morning coffee and watching for his visitor to arrive, he’d been able to see the car and truck. Both unfamiliar. Not that he knew every vehicle in Maverick Springs, but the truck’s front license plate was obscured with mud or something. That, and the fact that the driver didn’t get out, made Clayton very uneasy.
Or maybe that was just a reaction to Lenora Whitaker’s visit.
Until the night before, he hadn’t heard from her since—well, just since. After nearly two months, Clayton had figured it’d stay that way.
“Everything okay?” Harlan McKinney asked. His fellow marshal and foster brother was seated in the corner of the desk-clogged room. Harlan’s attention was on some reports, but judging from his concerned look, he’d given Clayton a glance or two.
That’s when Clayton realized he’d slipped his hand over the Glock in his leather waist holster.
Old habits.
Sometimes he wished he could turn off this blasted LEO—law enforcement officer—alarm in his head, but he’d been a marshal for nearly a decade now. Too long to turn off alarms. Or to get a decent night’s sleep, for that matter.
“I’m not sure if everything’s okay,” Clayton answered. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
And that sent Harlan from his desk and to the window, where he looked out, as well.
Clayton waited, watching the wipers on the truck slash away the rain from the windshield. Not a gentle April shower. More like a downpour. But it wasn’t long before he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Not just ordinary footsteps, though.
Heels.
They really stood out in the building where all six of the marshals were male. There were female employees in the other parts of the building, but this time of day they rarely came to the second floor.
The woman stepped into the doorway of the squad room, her attention zooming right to Clayton.
Lenora.
Yeah, it was her, all right. She stood there, her damp shoulder-length brown hair clinging to the sides of her face. The water dripped from her raincoat and the umbrella she had clutched in her hand and splattered onto the floor.
“Clayton,” she said on a rise of breath.
Her gaze darted to Harlan, and she cleared her throat. Maybe because Harlan was just plain intimidating, with his linebacker-size body and hard lawman’s eyes. Thankfully, Clayton’s foster brother went back to his desk in the corner and pretended not to notice they were in the room.
“Marshal Caldwell,” Lenora corrected herself.
That surprised him. Women he’d had sex with didn’t usually get so formal after the fact. Of course, Lenora and he had only been together for that one night—and at one of the worst times in her life, to boot—but still she had to remember it.
He certainly did.
Despite being all mussed and wet, Lenora was a darn attractive woman. And judging from her dark green eyes, a troubled one.
“There’ve been no updates on the investigation,” Clayton volunteered to test her reaction. Was that why she’d asked to see him?
Clayton glanced at Harlan, who was glancing at them and no doubt wondering what the heck was going on.
So was Clayton.
Lenora had been cryptic when she’d called the day before, saying only that she needed to catch up with him.
“No updates,” she repeated. “Yes.” And that was all she said for several seconds, before she cleared her throat again. “Marshal Walker called a few weeks ago to say there’d been no progress.”
Marshal Walker, as in Dallas Walker, another of Clayton’s foster brothers. Dallas was indeed in charge of the investigation into the murder of Lenora’s best friend. A murder that’d happened nearly two months ago.
The last time Clayton had seen Lenora.
And they hadn’t exactly parted under good circumstances. In fact, Lenora had sneaked out of the hotel room while Clayton was in the shower, and she’d left him a note saying it’d been a big mistake for them to have sex.
Since that wasn’t exactly a good memory, Clayton pushed it aside and hitched his thumb toward the window. “Did someone in a black pickup follow you here?”
Lenora’s eyes widened, and she practically ran across the room to look out.
No truck.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “It was there a few seconds ago. Guess I was wrong about it.” Funny, though, his LEO alarm was usually a hundred percent.
Lenora was breathing through her mouth now, and her eyes were still wide. Her gaze darted around the parking lot and street. “You thought I was being followed?”
“Were you?”
“Maybe.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I’d hoped it was my imagination. I’m not sleeping well, and the nightmares are getting worse.”
Yeah. He knew all about those nightmares. A woman, Jill Lang, was dead. Gunned down right in front of both of them. She’d been Lenora’s best friend. And a witness in Clayton’s protective custody.
He didn’t expect the nightmares to end anytime soon.
Clayton could practically feel Lenora’s worry, and even though she’d given him the brush-off two months ago, he reached out and touched her arm. Well, the sleeve of her wet raincoat, anyway. He hoped it was a sympathetic gesture without getting too close.
“Jill’s killer was caught,” Clayton reminded her. And even though the man had yet to go to trial, he would be convicted of murder. No doubt about that, since there was a mountain of evidence against him, including Clayton’s and Lenora’s own eyewitness accounts.
But maybe this wasn’t about Jill’s killer.
“I know about the break-ins at your house in Eagle Pass,” Clayton told her.
Lenora pulled her shoulders back, and she shook her head. “How? Why?”
Both good questions. He didn’t exactly have good answers, though, and it sounded a little creepy to admit that he’d kept tabs on her. But he had. Too bad Clayton didn’t know exactly why he’d done it. He’d had short-term relationships before that he’d dismissed without a second thought.
So why hadn’t he been able to do that with Lenora?
Because there was something that wasn’t quite right about this. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.
She pushed her hair from her face and glanced at Harlan again. “Could we go somewhere private and talk?” she asked Clayton.
Maybe Harlan was making her nervous. He had that effect on people. But from Clayton’s assessment, Lenora had been nervous before she even came into the room.
Clayton set his coffee on his desk and grabbed his jacket. “There’s a diner across the street,” he said, already walking toward the door. “Call me if something comes up,” he added to Harlan.
“Tell me about these break-ins,” Clayton insisted as soon as they were out of the office.
Lenora gave a weary sigh. “The first one happened last week—as I’m sure you read in the report. I wasn’t there, but the person destroyed an antique panel that I’d been restoring.”
Property damage. Much better than damaging her body, but he could tell from her tone that it still hurt. Clayton didn’t know a lot about Lenora’s job in stained-glass restoration, but he remembered her saying that she often worked with expensive antiques.
“What about the second break-in?” He stopped just outside the building and looked around. Lenora did, too. There was no sign of that black truck, so he took her by arm and led her across the street.
“You already know.” She sounded upset, or something, that he’d read the police reports, but Clayton didn’t intend to apologize for that.
“I still consider you my business,” he clarified.
She blinked. “Why? Because my friend was killed on your watch? If so, that wasn’t your fault.”
The question threw him. Yeah, that was part of it—that a woman in his protective custody had died. In fact, that should have been all of it. But there were feelings buried beneath this, and maybe Lenora’s blink meant it wasn’t all business for her, either.
She looked away, mumbled something he didn’t catch. “Back to the break-ins. Again, I wasn’t there for the second one. In fact, I’ve been living at one of those extended-stay hotels since the first break-in.” Lenora paused. “The intruder left threatening messages scrawled on my bedroom wall.”
Clayton cursed. That hadn’t been in the initial report he’d read from the Eagle Pass P.D., but Clayton knew this was an escalation. If Lenora had been there—
But he cut off that bad thought.
Maybe their one-night stand had made her want to keep some distance between them. But she was here now, and though she hadn’t said it specifically, she appeared to be asking for his help.
Which she would get.
And Clayton assured himself that it had nothing to do with the night he’d spent with her. Or this cool heat still simmering between them. He would have helped anyone who needed it.
They took a booth by the window so he could keep watch for the truck, and he asked the waitress to bring them two cups of coffee.
“Do the cops have a suspect in the break-ins?” he asked.
Lenora shook her head. “They don’t have any prints, any type of trace evidence, and none of my neighbors saw anyone suspicious.”
That meshed with the reports he’d read, but witnesses often came forward later. Maybe that would happen in this case.
“Tell me who you think was in that truck,” Clayton said.
Another head shake. “I don’t know.”
“A boyfriend, maybe?”
“No. I’m not seeing anyone. And I don’t think I’ve been followed before.” Lenora blew out another breath, and she had a death grip on the coffee cup. “There’s more.” She said it so softly that Clayton didn’t actually hear her. He saw the words form on her lips.
“What?” he pushed when she didn’t explain.
This was beyond a bad feeling, and he instantly went back to the night they’d spent together. He wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with what she was about to say, but he also knew he had to hear it.
“You’re pregnant?” he came out and asked.
No blink this time. She nodded.
And that nod sent his heartbeat racing out of control.
Oh, man.
It felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. All the air left his lungs. All. But he fought to get enough breath so he could speak.
However, Lenora beat him to it. “I wrestled with whether to tell you at all. I mean, we hardly know each other. But I decided if our situations were reversed, I’d want to know. By the way, I don’t expect anything from you,” she added.
That gave him a jolt of breath he needed. “Well, you damn well should expect something.”
Lenora eased back, her attention fixed to him. “Obviously, you’re not pleased about this—”
“Only because I didn’t see it coming.”
“Yes.” And she repeated that. “It caught me off guard, too. We used protection, but something must have gone wrong.”
Obviously.
He pulled in a couple of quick breaths and hoped it’d clear his head. He needed to think. To say the right thing.
Whatever that was.
A baby!
He’d never planned on being a father. Never. And this was a shock that made him speechless.
She looked up. Their gazes connected. But then Lenora looked away again. Not at the coffee this time, but rather out the window.
“Is that the black truck you saw?” Her attention was on something over his shoulder.
Clayton turned in that direction and saw the truck. Yeah. It was the same one. It was creeping along Main Street, going past the diner.
Unlike before, the window on the passenger’s side was halfway down. There didn’t appear to be anyone seated there, only the person behind the steering wheel. Clayton couldn’t see the guy’s face.
But he saw the gun.
“Get down!” Clayton shouted to Lenora and everyone else in the diner.
He reached beneath his jacket to draw his Glock, but it was already too late. The bullet blasted through the window.
Clayton felt the sharp pain in the side of his head, and even over the blast, he heard Lenora yell. He tried to move. Tried to return fire and protect her, but he felt himself falling.
And everything around him turned cold and gray.
Chapter Two
Lenora’s heart slammed against her chest, and she snatched up the Glock that dropped from Clayton’s hand and onto the table. She saw the blood, no way to miss that.
No way to avoid that punch of adrenaline, either.
That fear.
Oh, God.
Clayton had been shot.
That was her first thought, quickly followed by the realization that this could all be her fault. But she shoved those things aside because every second counted now.
“Call an ambulance!” Lenora yelled out to no one in particular.
She couldn’t let this guy get off another shot. She had to stop him, or he could kill Clayton, her and anyone who was unlucky enough to be near them.
Lenora took aim at the truck.
And she fired.
The shot blistered through the air, but it was practically drowned out by the screams and shouts from the other diners. Lenora couldn’t be sure, but she thought she managed to shoot the guy in the arm. She took aim again, but the driver hit the accelerator, and with the tires squealing against the wet asphalt, he fishtailed away.
She scrambled across the table, catching Clayton as he slumped to the side. There was even more blood now. And it wasn’t in a good place, either.
He’d been shot in the head.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
With her heartbeat pounding in her ears and her hands shaking, Lenora kept watch to make sure the shooter didn’t return for a second round. She couldn’t risk that.
She jerked the scarf from around her neck and lightly pressed it to Clayton’s wound. She couldn’t add too much pressure, because it might embed the bullet even deeper. It might even kill him.
If he wasn’t dead already.
“Clayton?” She choked back a sob and tilted back his head a little. No response, so she pressed her fingers to his neck.
He was alive.
Thank God.
But he needed a doctor immediately.
“Get that ambulance here,” she shouted, though she figured it was already on the way. Still, it couldn’t arrive soon enough, because every second counted now.
A dozen thoughts went through her mind. None of them good. It had only been two months since her friend Jill had been gunned down just like this. Right in front of her. In front of Clayton, too. This had to have a different ending than that shooting.
Somehow, someway, Clayton had to survive this.
“Clayton?” she repeated. “Can you hear me?”
He turned his head toward her, and his lips moved, too. He mumbled something that Lenora couldn’t understand, so she put her ear closer to his mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
That seemed to get his attention, and he tried to open his eyes. “The baby.” The two words didn’t have any sound, but she was pretty sure that’s what he was trying to say.
The baby.
The reason for this visit. Lenora had dreaded coming here. Telling him. And had braced herself for his reaction. But now she had a different reason to dread why she’d decided to tell him.
If she hadn’t come here, this might not have happened.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the movement of the man approaching and nearly lifted the gun again before she realized it was Marshal Harlan McKinney. With his own gun drawn and holding his cell to his ear, he raced across the street toward the diner and had to dodge a car that nearly plowed right into him.
“Get here now!” Harlan shouted into his phone.
“The driver of that black truck,” Lenora managed to say. “He shot Clayton.”
“I saw it from the window,” Harlan mumbled, and he practically pushed her aside so he could take hold of his foster brother. The fear was right there, in his eyes and in every part of his body.
“Hold on, Clayton,” Harlan said. “The ambulance should be here any minute.” His gaze flashed to her. “Why’d this happen?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then guess!” Harlan insisted. “Because I want to know why my brother was shot.”
But Lenora didn’t even get a chance to speculate.
Or lie.
She heard a welcome sound. The ambulance sirens wailed from up the street, and it didn’t take long for the vehicle to screech to a stop directly in front of the diner. Two medics got out and came rushing toward them.
Harlan and she stepped back out of the way, and Lenora watched. Prayed. And tried to keep it together. In addition to the flashbacks and the fear crawling through her, she thought she might throw up.
Bad timing.
She’d had few symptoms of the pregnancy, and she didn’t want to be queasy now when so much was at stake.
“Marshal Caldwell?” one of the medics said to Clayton.
Still no response.
“Clayton?” Harlan tried.
And this time Lenora saw his eyelids flutter and open just slightly. Clayton’s coffee-colored eyes were unfocused, glazed, but he turned them in his brother’s direction.
“You’ll be okay,” Harlan assured him.
Lenora prayed that was true.
Clayton mumbled something. Or rather he tried, but like before Lenora couldn’t hear what he said. The medics moved in front of her, easing Clayton onto the gurney, and they hurried to the ambulance with him.
Lenora moved, too. She didn’t want to lose sight of him, and apparently neither did Harlan, because he latched on to her arm and dragged her into the back of the ambulance with him. He didn’t ask them for permission to ride.
The ambulance sped away from the diner, and Harlan and she watched as the medics took Clayton’s vitals.
“You returned fire,” Harlan said and held out his hand. “I’ll need Clayton’s gun.”
For a moment Lenora had forgotten that she was still clutching it. She had to force her hand to open, and she gave the Glock to him.
“Not a smart thing to do,” Harlan snarled. “Discharging a firearm in a crowd.”
“There weren’t any bystanders in my line of sight,” she blurted out, wishing that she hadn’t, because it brought Harlan’s attention directly to her.
“Why did you come to see Clayton?” he demanded.
The truth would only lead to more questions, and she didn’t want to be interrogated by this particular marshal. “Two months ago, my friend was murdered. I wanted to know if there’d been any new developments. I wanted to make sure her killer would stay in jail.”
Harlan no doubt knew all about Jill and the investigation. He stared at her, suspicion in his eyes, and Lenora had enough instincts to know that if Harlan’s foster brother hadn’t been just a few feet away and bleeding from a head wound, he would have called her a liar.
She was.
And Harlan would have pushed for a better answer than the one she’d just told him.
But there was no reason for her to tell this man about the pregnancy. When Clayton was better, he could break the news to his family. And he could also decide if he wanted to be part of this baby’s life.
If Clayton survived, that was.
She stared at the father of her unborn child. The man she’d slept with because she’d been too distraught to make a logical decision.
Sex wasn’t always logical, though.
Neither was the attraction she’d felt for this lawman. The attraction had been instant. Probably because he had rock-star looks to go along with that cowboy attitude. Or maybe it was because she’d felt this, well, connection with him. Connection aside, it’d been beyond stupid to sleep with him. She should have just walked away. Should have written Clayton and this attraction right out of her life.
That would have been the safe thing to do.
But she hadn’t. And now he was lying on a gurney, maybe dying.
Harlan’s phone buzzed, and while he took the call, Lenora moved slightly closer so she could get a better look at Clayton. There was blood on his dark brown hair, on the side of his face as well, but the flow was barely a trickle now. She had no idea if that was good or bad. The only experience she had with head wounds was they were usually fatal.
“That was Dallas,” Harlan said when he finished the call. “Marshal Walker,” he added, but Lenora already knew who Harlan meant. Another of Clayton’s foster brothers. Another federal marshal.
In fact, Clayton had five foster brothers, all of whom were U.S. marshals. That would mean five sets of questions, and each of them would deserve answers as to why one of their own had been shot while having a cup of coffee with her.
“They found the shooter,” Harlan added. “He wrecked his truck only about four blocks from the diner.”
Lenora certainly hadn’t expected that and would have thought the guy would manage to get out of the area. “Who is he?”
“According to the ID in his wallet, his name is Corey Dayton. Ring any bells?”
“No.” And that wasn’t a lie. Of course, the ID could be fake, and she might recognize his real name. “Does your brother have him in custody?”
Harlan shook his head. “He’s dead.”
Lenora pulled in her breath. “From the bullet I put in him?”
“Maybe. But he wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and he crashed into a parked garbage truck.”
Part of her was relieved that the man who’d shot Clayton was out of the picture, but a dead man couldn’t give them answers, and Lenora very much wanted to know why this guy had fired into the diner.
“Tell me,” Harlan said, “is this connected to your friend’s murder?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “When you can, you’ll want to question the man who murdered Jill. Adam Riggs,” she supplied, though Harlan no doubt knew the name of the man behind bars. And he would absolutely question him.
When his brother was out of the woods.
It was possible that Riggs had hired the shooter, maybe because Riggs was riled that Clayton had arrested him for Jill’s murder. If so, Harlan and the other marshals would soon find that connection.
So would Lenora.
She’d find it, and if Riggs was responsible, then he was going to pay, and pay hard.
Of course, Riggs could have hired someone to aim that shot at her, too, because he might believe that as Jill’s friend she’d helped catch him. She hadn’t. But there was a lot of twisted stuff in a killer’s mind. Especially this killer’s.
“Are there any loose ends with Jill’s murder?” Harlan asked.
Lenora knew where this was leading—the marshal was looking for quick answers. But she didn’t have them.
“Maybe I’m the loose end.” Lenora had to pause, take a breath and choose her words carefully. “Jill worked for Adam Riggs and discovered he was into big-time money laundering. She was about to testify against him when he shot and killed her.”
Lenora saw those images as clearly as she saw Clayton in front of her. God, when was this going to end?
“Clayton put you in protective custody along with Jill,” Harlan supplied. “Because he thought Riggs might use you to get Jill to back off her testimony.”
“He would have,” Lenora confirmed. “But killing Clayton and me now accomplishes nothing.” At least nothing that she was aware of.
Still, something wasn’t right about this.
But what?
What was she missing?
Maybe it didn’t even matter. What mattered was that Clayton had been safe until she’d arrived to tell him about the baby.
She saw Clayton’s hand move, and Lenora leaned in. Clayton’s eyes were open now. Still a little dazed looking. But he looked directly at his brother, who’d moved to her side.
“What happened?” Clayton asked Harlan.
It such a simple question, but it caused relief to flood through Lenora. Clayton wasn’t just conscious, he was talking.
“You were shot,” Harlan answered. The words didn’t come easily. His voice was clogged with emotion. “We’ll be at the hospital soon. You’ll be okay.”
Clayton stayed quiet a few seconds, shook his head and then tried to get off the gurney. The medics quickly stopped him from doing that.
“I have to go,” Clayton insisted. Definitely no slurred words now. He seemed like the determined, focused lawman that she knew. “I have a witness to protect.”
Well, focused except for that last part. Maybe he didn’t realize he’d been shot.
“Jill Lang,” Clayton added and tried to get up again. “I have to protect her.”
Lenora froze. Why would Clayton mention Jill’s name? Obviously he wasn’t as coherent as she’d thought, because Jill had been dead for two months.
“I have to protect her friend, too,” Clayton insisted while the medics held him down. “I have to protect Lenora Whitaker.”
Clayton certainly didn’t say her name as he had earlier. It sounded foreign on his lips.
As if he’d spoken the name of a stranger.
“Lenora’s here,” Harlan said, inching her closer so that Clayton could see her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t hurt in the shooting.”
Clayton stared at her, and even though his eyes were indeed clear, something was missing. He shook his head, his stare aimed right at her.
“You,” Clayton said. He winced, took a deep breath.
“Yes,” Lenora answered. “It’s me.”
But he only shook his head again. “Who are you?” Clayton asked.
Lenora froze.
Oh, mercy. He hadn’t just said her name as if they’d never met—the look he was giving her certainly wasn’t a familiar one, either.
It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger.
“Who are you?” Clayton repeated with his attention fastened to Lenora. “And why are you here?”
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