He shook his head. “No, how did he know you were here, in my house?”

Alisha frowned. “He also talked about my trip to the hospital. And he mentioned something that makes me think he knew I spent a night at Tripp’s.”

Devon’s lips tightened. “You said you didn’t want the media involved, but in light of the drugging, you need to mention a few things when you talk to the police. If you’re worried about the media finding out we can ask Marcus who’s the best to discuss this with—he and Becki have contacts in the RCMP.”

Alisha tugged him toward the kitchen. “After we eat. I’m starving.”

“But after?” Devon hugged her close when she nodded. “Good. And next time? Don’t open the door.”

“Trust me, I’m kicking myself for that already.”

He tweaked her nose and she blushed, and all his bare skin was far too tempting. Stupid as it was with all the other concerns, those bands of muscle wrapping around his torso were begging for her to use her tongue on them. The faint trail of hair disappearing under the elastic of his boxers teasing like a siren’s song. If it weren’t for the animal in her stomach begging to be fed, she’d have dragged him to the bedroom instead of the kitchen.

She ignored the lust that rose far too quickly, in spite of all her lingering concern about exactly what Vincent had been referring to in terms of someone close to her being hurt. Food first, everything else after.

* * *

Alisha had been quiet since they’d left the RCMP station. Devon figured some of that was fallout from the drugging—and even thinking about that again triggered the most astonishing sensations deep inside him.

Someone had drugged her.

Fury, frustration, fear—everything driving him crazy was bottled up with nowhere to go because the last thing she needed right now on top of everything else was him being ballistic.

When they’d placed her on the gurney he’d had a tight grip on her fingers and hadn’t planned on letting go anytime soon. The sight of a uniformed RCMP officer bearing down on him had shaken him more because he’d had to allow her to slip away behind a door where he couldn’t see what was happening.

So now as Devon held her hand, he was hyperaware of the warmth of her fingers in his. Aware of how she could be torn away in an instant. The thoughts that kept popping into his head were not the casual reflections of a friend, but of someone wanting more, and the idea wasn’t nearly frightening enough.

They walked down Main Street, the tourists around them wandering slowly and peering into windows while he and Alisha paced quicker on the edge of the wide walkway.

Alisha slowed for a moment, and he tried to see what had caught her eye, but it was the usual shop full of knickknacks stamped with BANFF NATIONAL PARK. Cute, wide-eyed, stuffed toy beavers and chocolate-covered almonds packaged as moose droppings. Thick slabs of rich fudge and furry toques with attached antlers.

She twisted toward him and smiled, the edges a little rough, but she was obviously trying to lighten up. “You want to hit a movie or something? Mindless entertainment since I’m not ready for a workout or anything else.”

Devon considered. “What about our own movie night? Pick out a few online, make some popcorn—just hang out for a while. When you’ve had enough, we can call it a night.”

Her face brightened further. “Can we order pizza?”

“Of course. That was one of the top three menu items planned for the event.” He switched direction to return them to his house sooner. “Tell me if you need a break, okay?”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m not dying. The walk is good for me—moving around will help get the crap out of my system sooner.”

They strode in silence for a while, Devon allowing her to set the pace.

She sighed, shaking her head and muttering softly.

“I hate to remind you that talking to yourself is a sure sign of trouble.” Devon squeezed her fingers. “It is that bad?”

“It’s not good,” Alisha said. “You weren’t in the office when I talked with the officer, but there’s not much anyone can do about Vincent. He’s not officially crossed any lines, and since I didn’t want to file a restraining order or anything, unless I phone them they can’t even watch him on the sly. Not that they’d have time in the first place.”

“Did they find anything at Lifeline? Did they say?”

“No.” Another sigh. “Turns out Becki had done the dishes after we left—including washing the mug I drank out of. She came to pick up Marcus, and while he was finishing paperwork she did some tidying. You called right when they were ready to leave. And we know I didn’t have anything different from the team to eat or drink all day while on the rescue.”

Which created a lovely dead end. The helplessness he felt was beyond frustrating. Another thought occurred. “Why is Vincent sticking around in the first place? He’s been here for a long time.”

Alisha snorted. “He said he would stay until he’d gotten the job done.”

Shit. “He can’t possibly have Bailey Enterprises business keeping him here. Does that mean he’s only here to bother you?”

She jerked to a stop, eyes wide. “I hope not.”

Now he wished he hadn’t said anything. “Hey, it’s okay. He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. Get that straight.”

All the nodding in the world couldn’t hide her disgust that Vincent was still in Banff, probably on her behalf. Devon didn’t blame her—the guy was a creep and an ass.

She’d barely made it through the front door when a huge yawn took her.

Devon grinned. “I saw that.”

“What a shitty day. I’m going to nap for a bit,” Alisha slapped her hand over her mouth to cover another yawn. “God, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and go. Sleep until you’re done. I won’t phone for pizza until you’re awake, so there’s no agenda.” He tugged her against him, relishing the contact. “There’s no pressure here, Alisha. We’re your friends.”

She stole a hug. “You are. Thank you for that.”

Devon planted his feet and forced himself to not follow her to the bedroom. She was capable of putting herself to bed for a nap. She didn’t need him babysitting, no matter how much he wanted to wrap her in cotton right now.

To distract himself, he pulled the pile of correspondence he’d found in the mailbox and went through it. Bills had a way of making the world disappear for a bit.

The fine envelope was out of place in the rest of the plain white ones, and he pulled it forward with curiosity. Handwritten to the main house—it had been redirected to him because of his position with the owners.

He read the letter quickly, laughing at the proposal to purchase the house. There was no way in hell the owners would want to give up the heritage home. Then he spotted the amount of money being offered and whistled softly, not wanting to disturb Alisha but needing to make some noise. Well, maybe the deal would be enticing. The offer was for at least twice the going market rate. Devon wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that many zeros when a dollar sign was involved before.

While he hated the idea of potentially losing his sweet rental, there was no way he could ignore this offer. He’d have to send them a copy to consider.

Devon was about to place the letter aside when he noticed the signature and name at the bottom, and suddenly everything changed.

Vincent Monreal.

What the hell?

He double-checked the date on the letter. Examined the calendar on the wall to confirm his suspicions, but his first impressions were correct. Vincent had put in the offer only a day after Alisha had moved into his place.

Suddenly another mystery made sense. He wondered if her landlord had received a similar incentive to up and move.

Vincent was literally trying to make her homeless.

The doorbell forced Devon to leave the damning evidence until another time, but it certainly proved Vincent wasn’t above using dirty methods to get what he wanted.

Discovering Tripp out on the front porch was a shocker. Devon glanced behind him, but his teammate was alone. “Hey.”

Tripp slid in the doorway and glanced around. “Alisha here?”

“She’s sleeping. What’s up?”

“You got a minute?”

Devon gestured him farther in. “You want a drink or something?”

“Water. I’ll grab it.” Tripp helped himself to a glass from the cupboard, making himself at home. He drank about half before lowering the glass to the counter and making a disgruntled noise.

“You’re procrastinating, aren’t you?” Devon asked. “All the signs are there. We’ve spent the past two years working in close quarters, and you’re only twitchy when you’re trying to avoid a confrontation. Just say it.”

Tripp nodded. “Okay. Fine. So this is going to come out totally stupid, and I’m not sure what exactly it all means, but you know the other day when I went home sick?”

“Yeah,” Devon leaned on the wall. This uncertainty was not typical Tripp—something had him tied in knots like Devon had never seen before.

Tripp made a face. “I think I was drugged.”

Shock hit first, then confusion. “Wait—you had the stomach flu, didn’t you?”

“I thought I did, because it made sense. I was fine that morning, though, and not even an hour into training I suddenly got dizzy and nauseated. When I got home I crashed and slept nearly around the clock, and it took a couple days to get over it.” Tripp paused. “But you know, Jonah never caught it, and he catches everything. No one else on the team got sick, and I wasn’t around anyone else who was sick.”

“Still pushing it. I mean, public places are germ pits.”

“I know, but it makes me wonder. Xavier has access to all kinds of wonderful things in his medic kit, doesn’t he?”

Dread filled Devon at the direction in which the conversation had turned. “Of course he does, but why in the world would he want to drug either you or Alisha? For that matter, I can get into the medical supplies at Lifeline, and so could you.”

“I know; that’s why I said this makes no sense. I had to talk to someone about it.” Tripp glanced down the hallway. “How is she?”

“She’s going to be fine. Knocked her for a loop—she’s not very big to start with, but she’s damn strong.” Devon cupped Tripp’s shoulder. “Did you talk to Marcus about this?”

Tripp shook his head. “I got to thinking about it last night after I talked to you, but it was just this morning I clued in to the possibility. I’ve been going in circles ever since. It makes sense, but there’s no reason for anyone to drug me, and what kind of ass would I be to make an accusation that could ruin someone’s career without proof?”

Hell. “How much worse would it be to not say anything, then have someone on the team seriously hurt because we didn’t mention it?”

The other man’s face tightened. “I’m not eager to go pointing fingers at a teammate who’s done nothing up to now to indicate any reason for him to act out of line.”

Devon took a deep breath. “Tripp, this isn’t something we can laugh off and wait and see what happens next. Marcus needs to know. You don’t have to accuse anyone of anything, but you have to tell him you think you were drugged.”

Tripp shuffled his feet uneasily.

This wasn’t a matter for debate, and Tripp needed to understand that. “If you want me to, I’ll go with you, but I’m serious. You tell Marcus, or I will.”

“I will. You’re right. I’ll talk to him first thing in the morning.” Tripp took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You okay if I hang out here for a while? Jonah is gone this weekend, and I’d . . . well, I’d like to see Alisha.”

Devon patted Tripp on the back and pushed him toward the living room. “You’re welcome to stay. She should be awake soon. We were going to order a pizza and watch a movie.”

“Don’t say anything about this to her right now, okay?” Tripp turned in the doorway, holding up a hand. “I’ll talk to Marcus first.”

No problem on Devon’s side. “I agree, let’s keep things low-key tonight. Give her another day to recover before tossing anything else into the mix.”

Tripp went one direction while Devon went the other, checking the fridge for food ideas.

The doorbell rang and Tripp beat him to the front door, opening it to let in Erin, who had a huge box balanced in her hands.

“Take it before I drop it,” Erin ordered. “Hey, Devon. I brought dinner.”

“Visitors bearing gifts. The best kind.” Devon grabbed the box, glancing behind her to see Anders and Xavier also on the walkway. “What are you, the Pied Piper?”