Part 24 (1/2)

He dropped into the chair next to mine and I saw the red blotch on the left side of his nose. At least there was no blood.

I popped out of my chair, got ice from the freezer and put it in a sandwich bag, then wrapped the whole thing in a kitchen towel and handed it to him.

He accepted the icy package but he didn't put it up to his nose. Instead, he laid it on my cheek.

I winced. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten my attacker had slapped me.

”You sit here for a couple minutes and catch your breath.” When I lifted the ice pack from my face, Declan put his hand over mine and put it-and the ice-back on my cheek. ”Then you can gather up some things and we can get going.”

”Going? Where?”

”You don't think I'm going to let you stay here another night, do you? You're going to my mom's house.”

It was the smart thing to do. I knew that the moment he suggested it.

Just like I knew I wasn't going to budge.

”No.” I got to my feet, the better to stand my ground. ”I don't need you to take care of me.”

”Hey, you're the one who called me.”

”I did.” It was too late to tell him it had been a mistake. Besides, the way he was acting pretty much proved it. ”I didn't know what else to do. I don't know anyone else in Hubbard and-”

”And I'm glad you did.” He stood and took the ice pack out of my hands. ”And, believe me, I'm not trying to b.u.t.t in and I'm not trying to take over. I just want to help. My mom won't mind. She's got plenty of empty bedrooms. You'll be more comfortable there.”

”Thank you.” Why did those two words always seem to stick in my throat? I cleared away the uncomfortable feeling with a cough. ”But I'm staying here.”

”I can't let you.”

”You can't stop me.”

”Laurel, you don't have to prove how tough you are. You already did that. You fought off the guy who jumped you. You gave the police as good a description as you could. You've already been a hero tonight. You don't need to prove yourself again.”

”No, I don't.” I backstepped away from him, gathering my thoughts. ”But see, here's the thing, and maybe you won't understand, but it's the truth so just hear me out. I've spent my whole life being shuffled from one family to another, from one home to another. I'm not going to let it happen again. n.o.body's going to push me around. Not anymore. n.o.body's going to say where I can live and where I can't and where I can sleep and where I can't. n.o.body's going to make me stuff everything I own in a big, black garbage bag and drag it along to another place. Not anymore. I'm staying, Declan. I'm staying here. No guy in a ski mask is going to make it so that I can't.”

He gave in with an almost imperceptible nod and grabbed his phone and walked into the living room to make a call. Within fifteen minutes, his cousins Martin and Dan showed up along with brothers Seamus and Brian, and Declan informed me that they'd be stationed outside the house all night long.

I protested. Long and as loud as I was able to, considering the condition of my throat.

Martin, Dan, Seamus, and Brian didn't even bother to listen. They went outside to let the cops in on what Declan had planned.

”You guys can't stay outside all night!” I insisted.

”Those guys can!” Chuckling, Declan strolled into the living room, fluffed the pillows from the couch, and plopped right down. ”I'm the one who thought of the plan. That means I'm the brains of the operation. I'm sleeping right here!”

I suppose I could have argued but, truth be told, I was dog tired. I got a pillow and a blanket and a sheet and I made him move so that I could lay it out on the couch. I put the pillow on the couch and dropped the blanket next to it.

”Why?” I asked him.

Declan spread the blanket out. ”Why . . . what?”

”Why here? What's so special about Sophie's house that a guy . . .” I couldn't help myself, even though I knew that the police were still out front, that Martin and Dan and Brian and Seamus were on guard duty, I looked over my shoulder at the front door. ”Why was he so dead set on getting in here?”

”That's what we've got to figure out.” Declan sat down and patted the patch of couch next to him. I sat down, too.

”Someone tried to break in here three times that we know of.” I told him about the first time when I'd heard the noise in the kitchen and figured it was the cat. Then about the attempted break-in the Sat.u.r.day before. ”Three times-that's no coincidence. They were looking for something. And it can't have anything to do with Jack Lancer's murder. Or with Kim Kline's. It doesn't make any sense.”

”It doesn't, but you know . . .”

I knew what he was going to say. I must have. Otherwise, my blood wouldn't have run cold. I put a hand on Declan's arm.

”That day at the Terminal. That's what you were going to mention, wasn't it? You were going to remind me about that day someone went through the Dumpster.”

Declan nodded. ”I sure was. Somebody's searching for something, Laurel. And it looks like they're willing to do anything to find it.”

Chapter 20.

I knew for a fact that the man who attacked me outside Sophie's house wasn't George. He wasn't tall enough to be the Terminal cook. He wasn't bulky enough. He didn't smell like fried onions.

No way was my attacker Maxine, the late, great Jack Lancer's most recent girlfriend, either, and besides George of the phony alibi, she was the only other person on my way-too-short list of suspects. It was a man's voice that warned me I'd better not make any funny moves, a man's strong arm that grabbed me around the waist, a man's hand that left an angry red mark on my cheek that still stung the next day.

I was back to square one, or at least I would have been if I could start thinking about the case dispa.s.sionately and stop thinking about everything that happened out in front of Sophie's house the night before and everything it meant.

Was the masked man the same one who'd gone through the Terminal trash?

And why?

Was he the same man who killed Jack Lancer? And Kim Kline?

And was I next on the hit list?

I promised myself I wasn't going to obsess about it, but sitting in Sophie's office at the Terminal, I just couldn't help it. Less than twenty-four hours after the attack and my knees still felt rubbery and my heart fluttered around in my chest.

If I hadn't fought back. If I hadn't thought to throw the keys where the man couldn't find them. If I hadn't been lucky in a way neither Jack nor Kim was . . .

The very thought made my stomach do flip-flops, and in the hopes of getting it to settle down, I did my best to concentrate on the stack of receipts in front of me, the ones I had yet to enter into the computer program Sophie used to keep the business of the Terminal in order. She'd be disappointed when she found out the truth-I'd been so busy concentrating on the investigation, I'd been ignoring the day-to-day details that were so important to keeping a restaurant going.

”No more,” I vowed, and I grabbed the pile of receipts and got to work.

The distraction was successful. At least for a little while. Not only did I get caught up, but I was gratified to see that my ethnic foods idea was starting to pay off. In the last few days, we'd sold lots of Irish stew and our colcannon orders outweighed the ones for french fries.

I was just about finished with the receipts when there was a knock on the office door.

George toed the line between the restaurant and the office.

”Can I . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. Down at the floor. ”I wondered if I could . . .” He cleared his throat. ”It's Tuesday and it's almost four thirty and we close in just a little while. I was thinking . . .” He scrubbed a finger under his nose. ”Can I leave a little early today? I've got something special going on, an extra sort of . . . an extra sort of meeting.”