“Is she safe?”
My father sounded really worried, and while that concerned me—did he know something I didn’t about why the maniac had wanted me dead?—it also made me happy to know that he cared. He wasn’t much for hugs or the sharing of feelings. Everything I knew about his opinion of me, I’d heard right here, and I’d never heard any of it said in a voice like that.
“I’ll protect her.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the best one I have, sir. I’ll stay until I’m sure the case is closed. I need to know who this guy was and why he’s killed who he has. Usually murder victims are connected in some way.”
“Unless it’s a moron with an automatic weapon in a movie theater, or worse.”
“Even then the victims are connected by location.”
“But there’s no reason behind it,” my father said.
“There’s always a reason. Though it might not make sense to anyone but the reasoner.”
“You think this man came after Raye for a reason, not just because she was there.”
“Yeah,” Bobby said, “I do.”
“Why?”
I waited for him to tell my father that I’d lied, but he didn’t.
“A hunch.”
Silence stretched so long I would have caved, but Bobby was made of sterner stuff, or perhaps, he just didn’t want to please John Larsen as badly as I always had. As badly as I still did.
For the first time in a lifetime of interrogations, my father broke first. “How can you possibly connect Raye to the dead woman? She wasn’t from here. They didn’t know each other. They weren’t even close to the same age.”
“I’ll do my best to find out why this happened in your town.”
“You think it has something to do with the town?”
“No.”
My father sighed. “Too bad.”
I had to agree. Because if it didn’t have anything to do with New Bergin then it had something to do with me. I just didn’t know what.
Murmurs of good night were followed by footsteps retreating toward my parents’ room, then Bobby’s came up the stairs. I returned to the door and quietly opened it. By the time he reached the landing, I stood in the hall and beckoned.
He cast a quick glance at his room, and I shook my head, beckoned again. “Your room is right over his. He’ll hear everything we say.”
And do.
He joined me. “What are we going to say?”
Nothing half as interesting as what I’d like to do.
“You didn’t tell him I lied.”
“I didn’t tell the chief of police, why would I tell your father?”
“I suppose you’ll have to tell Johnson. It’s relevant now.”
“Only if we can figure out ‘why you’ in relation to ‘why her.’”
“Good luck with that,” I said. “No one’s been able to connect me with anyone on the planet so far.”
Might that be why I felt so damn lonely? I had friends—well, Jenn. Parents—well, Father. A job. Students. Stafford and assorted ghosts. But there always seemed to be something missing.
Bobby stepped closer and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. His fingertips trailed across my skin, and that part of me that felt so empty … felt emptier.
“Who’s tried?” he asked.
I blinked, managed, barely, not to gape and say, “Huh?” But he must have seen it on my face because he continued. “Who tried to find your family? How did they do it?”
“Police, social services. I think my father hired a detective.”
“DNA?”
“Over twenty years ago? No.”
“Even now.” He shrugged. “Unless one of your relatives is in the system it isn’t going to help, but … I could see what the protocol is if you’re willing.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“They dumped you. From what you told me, they might have been trying to kill you.”
“That appears to be a new favorite pastime.”
“And why is that? You’re a kindergarten teacher. Who could you piss off?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“No doubt,” he agreed. “The other victim was a hospice worker.”
“Guy has a problem with saints.”
Bobby stepped closer still. “Maybe you should sin a little.”
“I wouldn’t know how.”
His eyes shone cool blue, but his gaze had gone as hot as the hand he placed on my hip. “I can help.”
I kissed him. Why not? He wouldn’t stay; I couldn’t go. What could one kiss hurt?
Questions like that were always trouble. Because one taste of his mouth, and I forgot everything. My job. This town. The ghosts. My name.
He tasted of coffee and strawberries, sugar, heat, the night. Something howled—the wind, a wolf, me?
My hair stirred in an impossible breeze. No, wait. Those were his fingers tangling in the strands, tilting my head so he could delve with his tongue. My hands on his biceps flexed, my thumbs stroked; I licked his teeth. I wanted to lick a whole lot more.