Part 34 (1/2)

She had started to relax with him at Whitaker's ranch. Perhaps, he realized now, because he had done all the talking. He'd enjoyed teaching her about the land he loved. But he also remembered how reluctant she was to repeat that ride. Or go with him for supper.

He wasn't vain enough to think a woman should fall into his arms. But he would have been stupid not to recognize the attraction that had sparked between them. Something held her back. He'd thought it was her loyalty to a dead husband.

But there were small things ... like Harry's unusual silence about his father, and his mother's worried expression when anyone talked to him.

Doug didn't like the thoughts. He liked her more than any woman he'd met for a long time. He had begun using cologne and dressing with more care. He'd smiled more since meeting her.

She was unquestionably a very pretty woman, although she seemed to try to hide it. She rarely used lipstick and dressed in oversized s.h.i.+rts and loose jeans or slacks. But the bone structure of her face was exquisite and she had a shy smile that lit all of the outdoors.

Now he recalled her expression when she'd first met him. He'd seen echoes of it since. Fear. It had been fear. The kind of fear that an abused wife usually harbored. He had seen it far too many times to mistake it.

Could she be running from an abusive husband?

His protective instincts couldn't quite shroud a warning: If she was running from a husband, what about Harry? Had she violated a custody order?

He was jumping to conclusions, but they were conclusions reached from years of experience in domestic disputes. It would explain much that had puzzled him.

He rifled through a pile of bulletins for missing women and kidnapped children. As he discarded each one, he breathed easier.

Still, his instincts were usually right. She was afraid of something.

He would go by her house tomorrow. Perhaps take some offering. Candy. Cookies for Harry. His niece loved making chocolate chip cookies and he could drop off a package. Perhaps he could get Liz to confide in him.

He would also continue looking. A fugitive wife or not, she might well need help. He was d.a.m.n sure going to try to give it to her.

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Meredith woke up in Gage's arms. They had not made love, but he had accompanied her upstairs and had lain down with her, his arms around her. Comforting. Protective.

She'd been cold. So very cold. She had lain awake for a long time before drifting into a listless sleep. Questions. So many questions.

Who killed her father and why?

And Lulu Starnes?

And had whoever tried to run her down in the hospital garage really meant to kill her? If so, why hadn't they used the gun that shot out the garage lights?

Nothing made sense.

Her mother! Should she tell her about her husband's death? Would some subconscious part of her mind understand? Meredith was suddenly aware that her mother's care was now in her hands. Guilt twisted inside that she had not stayed at her mother's side nor had she had any success in finding her sister.

Did her mother understand on some level that Meredith was trying to fulfill that one last wish, trying frantically to do so before her mother died?

Why did one thing seem to be connected with the other? A lost daughter. Death.

She'd finally slipped into sleep. She didn't know how long she slept but when she woke, Gage's arms were still around her. She turned and looked at him. He was awake and looked as if he had been for some time. She wondered whether he'd slept at all.

”Hi,” he said in the low lazy drawl that had so attracted her from the beginning. He was still fully clothed except for shoes, and his hair was tousled. Golden bristle covered the lower part of his face. His eyes were fully awake.

”Hi,” she said as a wet nose b.u.mped her arm.

Nicky.

He chuckled. ”Get use to it. The perils of having a dog.” He rolled over to the side of the bed. ”I'll take him out, then make some coffee,” he said. ”Why don't you stay here and get a little more rest?”

”I can't.” She looked at the clock. It was nine.

”All right.”

She liked the way he accepted her comment. He didn't push. Didn't baby her. Didn't try to manage her. She left the bed and went into her bathroom. She stared at what she saw in the mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Her hair stuck out in all directions. Her T-s.h.i.+rt looked as if it had just emerged from the bottom of a clothes bin.

Funny she could regard herself so pa.s.sionlessly when the only world she knew was collapsing around her. She imagined she was still in shock. She supposed that was one of the mind's protections.

She took a quick shower, shaking the cobwebs from her mind. She pushed away grief by making a mental list of things that had to be done. First was a visit to the police department. She would tell them everything she knew, including the information about her sister and how it might be related to two deaths.

She would have to formally identify the body, make funeral arrangements, prepare information for the obituary. She shuddered. His death wasn't really real to her. She suspected it soon would be.

Her search for her sister would have to wait.

She went back to her bedroom and changed into a dark blue linen suit she'd just purchased for court. She added just a hint of lipstick and went into the kitchen where the smell of brewing coffee met her. Nicky was contentedly eating a piece of toast.

She would have to get food for him. She added that to her growing list.

Two slices of toast popped up from the toaster. A gla.s.s of orange juice was on the table.

”I was going to make an omelet,” Gage said, ”but your fridge is dismally empty. It's obvious you do not have growing boys in your household.”

”And you're a growing boy?”

”d.a.m.n, I hope not. But I am a hungry one. What about breakfast on the way to the police station?”

She wasn't hungry. But she hadn't had anything to eat since a quick bite at noon the day before. She needed her energy, and her wits. She took a cup of coffee. ”Before we go to the police department, can we go by Lulu Starnes's home?”

He raised an eyebrow.

”You're the detective on the case,” she said.

”Probably not for long. I called my partner just now. I am being sought by my superiors, probably so they can inform me that the case is being turned over to the detectives involved in your father's case.”

”But you haven't been told yet.”

He eyed her with bemus.e.m.e.nt. ”Nope.”

”Have you reached Mrs. Starnes's family yet?”

”Yes, a sister. She's in Detroit. She should be here later today.”

”Then we should go to the house now. Will you get in trouble if you take me there?”

”As you said, it's still my case. What are you looking for?”