Eagan scowled. “Give me the fucking phone.”
One eyebrow came up, and she smiled ruefully. “Fine.” She passed the phone to him and turned to leave. “It’s your damn funeral.”
Eagan stepped out from behind the prep counter and pushed the speaker to his ear.
The first thing he heard was a gruesome scream. His blood ran cold at the sound. Something was wrong.
“Destiny?”
“WHAT?!”
Eagan winced, pulling the phone away from his ear.
The hell?
A tortured moan came from the other end of the earpiece, and then, “How much longer? I can’t do this three tiiiiiimes.”
“Give me the phone.” Diz’s voice came calmly in the wake of Destiny’s roar.
“No. I can talk. I need to talk… just…” Another roar of pain cut off her words.
Holy shit.
There were countless minutes of heavy breathing and then she finally sounded normal. Sort of.
“Eagan? You still there?”
“Uh…” Was the right answer yes? “Yes?”
“Good, okay. Make this quick because another contraction will happen in about… one minute.”
Contraction. Oh… damn. Destiny was in labor.
“This about the book?” she asked when Eagan remained silent.
“Yeah. Uh… you sure you want to do this now?”
“I’m sure. What’s up?” She said the words as if she hadn’t chomped his ear off just seconds ago.
“You said to read it.”
“That’s right.”
“And I did.”
“Perfect!” she exclaimed as if the book held some secret to life.
“But it doesn’t make any sense.”
“What do you mean?”
Eagan turned to face the wall even though that wouldn’t keep Bailey from overhearing the conversation.
“All it is, is page after page of lists. Random things and amounts. Foods, brand names, things like that. And dates. And addresses. There’s no rhyme to it. It’s just an eternity long list.”
“Ahh,” Destiny said.
“Ah?”
“You read the wrong book.”
Eagan frowned. “Wrong book?”
“Or maybe the right one. I can’t be sure.”
A whimper passed through the line.
“Destiny, that makes no sense.” His voice rose with frustration.
“Because you read the wrong goddamn MOTHERFUCKING BOOK!” And then another agony-induced scream ripped through the phone.
“Okay, okay.” Eagan tried for a placating tone. “I’ll just, you know, read all the books that I find that aren’t mine and hope one of them makes sense.”
“Yeah,” she snapped. “You do that.” And then the line clicked dead.
Eagan looked at the phone, wondering if that had really just happened. Destiny was a sweet female. She’d never raised her voice even once when she’d stayed at the lodge.
“A small cat having wolf babies,” Bailey murmured. “That has to hurt.”
Eagan turned to look at her. Bailey had a point. Destiny wasn’t like the cats around the lodge. She was a wild species, but definitely not considered large.
“Bethany is human and she had a panther baby. I don’t remember her turning murderous.”
Bailey laughed. “You weren’t there for the delivery. Should’ve seen Doc Davis. She had nail marks the whole length of her arms.”
Eagan’s eyes peeled wide. “Doc let a human mark her up?”
Bailey shrugged, pushing the peach cobbler into the oven. “She’s all about patient care. Plus, I think she felt sorry for her.”
Eagan shook his head. He didn’t know the first thing about females having young. Probably would never learn either.
He handed the phone to Bailey. “Take this back to Layna, would you?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Dinner time came, and the dining room filled with guests and employees. Eagan stayed busy, prepping dishes while the waiters served them. But his mind remained where it had been all day. On the woman and the book. But mostly the book.
Was it a wish list? Things she was looking to steal? Maybe she was contracted to steal the items and made money when she delivered. Except that didn’t sit well with him. She wasn’t stealing high-priced items from the lodge. The things they were missing were small time. Camping supplies, food, clothing…
Survival supplies he realized.
Eagan’s grip tightened on the rag he was using to wipe down the counter.
Survival. Was that why his thief was stealing?
He pulled the notebook from his back pocket and flipped through the pages.
One quart, whole milk
One loaf bread, whole wheat
Processed cheese singles, 24 ct.
He skipped a few pages.