Taking a deep breath, she started putting her things back in their proper places. And mentally she did the same thing, which meant the whole attraction thing had to go right out the window. It was too soon. She was too vulnerable. Look where her last relationship led her.
She inhaled a breath meant to induce calm, but the air smelled like cigarette smoke. She recalled the dreams. The madness of it all had her heart racing. The busy work gave her a few minutes to convince herself that she wasn’t crazy. She was just grieving.
Ten minutes later, she walked into her living room. Lowell had a broom in one hand and his foot was wedged against the dustpan. He stopped to rub his shoulder.
She knelt to hold the dustpan. He swept up the shards of broken ceramic lamp into the dust pan, and she emptied it in the trash.
“We make a good team.” He smiled and she noticed the bruise under his lip again. “Did you finish in the bedroom?”
“Good enough.” She studied him. “What happened?” She touched her lip.
“What?”
“Your lip. And you keep rubbing your shoulder. And don’t tell me football.”
He grinned. “It’s nothing.” His gaze lingered on her face. “Do you need anything from here before we go?”
“My life back.” Then she smiled to make light of it. “Do you really think it’s dangerous for me to come home?”
“Don’t even think about it.” The authoritative tone returned with an even rougher edge. “You’re not coming back here until we get this creep behind bars. I’m serious.”
She let out a deep breath. “But it could take days to—”
“It could take weeks.” He leaned in. “I don’t care. It would be stupid to come back here. He’s wanted for murder, for Christ’s sake.”
Her mind wouldn’t wrap around the word. “Murder? He... killed somebody?” She’d slept with a murderer? The non-bitch, the Charmin-faced girl, had slept with a murderer? Her stomach cramped.
“The jewelry store your bracelet came from, they beat up the old man who owned it. He died of brain injuries later.”
She dropped on the sofa, remembering Mrs. Gomez’s praise of Stan. “But Stan was so nice to old people. I can’t believe—”
“Then you’d better try harder to believe it.” His tone sounded sharp, angry.
She looked up. The pinch between his eyebrows had returned.
Her mind kept trying to make sense of everything. “I just can’t believe he would do something like that. He helped my neighbor bring her groceries in. He was nice to the old man who runs the donut store. And—”
“If you’re about to tell me how much you still love him, you can stop now.” Gone was the detective who’d smiled and held her so nicely. In his place was Mr. Little Dickhead.
She raised her chin. “I don’t love him.”
“But you still think he’s a good guy?”
She stood. “Not good. I just don’t see him hurting an old person.”
He stared at her with so much frustration, she didn’t understand. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“To go to your mother’s house,” he said curtly.
“Yeah,” she lied. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the Cancer House. The place where she’d watched cancer slowly take her mom’s life.
~
They hadn’t exchanged a word when he parked at a fast-food restaurant. “I’m hungry.”
And obviously hunger put him in a foul mood, Cali thought.
Once inside, he ordered a hamburger and fries. She ordered a salad. Pulling a ten from her wallet, she laid it on the counter. He glared at the money.
“I got it.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed down a twenty.
“Let me pay,” she said. “You’re already helping me enough.”
“No!” He stuffed the ten back in her purse.
Cali grabbed her salad and soda and planted herself at a table. He sat down in front of her. Refusing to look at him, she forked a piece of wilted lettuce, her appetite nonexistent.
“I just don’t get it.” With the corner of her vision, she saw him rip the paper from his burger. He leaned toward her to get her attention. “What makes women do this?”
“Do what?” She looked back down, cut her tomato and forked part of the tomato wedge.
“Allow a man to treat you like crap, and then stand there and defend him.”
She set her fork down. “I’m not defending him. I just—”
“Don’t want to believe he’s guilty.” He scowled at her.
She felt her stomach tighten. “I didn’t say that.” When she met his eyes, bright with frustration, she stopped herself from trying to explain. “Look, I’d really appreciate it if you just ate and took me back to my car.”
“Fine.” He stood up and walked out of the restaurant.
She stared at his untouched food and, just because it felt good, she gave her salad another jab. Taking a deep breath, she got up, tossed her salad in the trash, then went to the counter and asked for a to-go bag. She rewrapped his burger, packed his fries, and picked up a couple of ketchup packets on the way out.