“No. He was alone and I think I was scared of being completely alone.” She moved and sat in the chair beside the bed and stared at the pictures on the wall. Contemporary art—splashed with reds and blues. She didn’t want to think about Stan anymore.
“Where were you this afternoon?” This question came out in a different tone. Almost as if she didn’t have to answer it if she didn’t want to, but she did.
“The Hospice Center. It’s down the street. I had to sign papers about my mom. I was coming to sign some papers and saw the hotel and decided to stay here.” Another shadow of guilt touched his expression. Had he really believed she’d been with Stan today? The thought hurt.
At least the dickhead had a conscience. As well as great shoulders, she noticed again.
“I’m really sorry.” He folded his hands over his flat stomach. “Why didn’t you stay with Tanya?”
“I stayed there last night. She’s a jewelry artist and I know she has work to do.” And possible sex scheduled, even if she did say she was postponing it.
“You have any other family?” He yawned.
“No. It’s just Mom and me.” Her chest clutched again. “Just me.” Needing a new focus, she asked, “You got family?” She looked at the empty spot next to him on the bed, but didn’t move from the chair.
“A sister and a mom. A few cousins here and there. We’re not really close.” He leaned against the pillows.
“With who?” she asked.
“Who what?” He uncrossed his ankles and stretched out, letting his body sink deeper into the mattress.
“Who are you not close to?”
“My cousins... My sister is a great gal.” He shifted his shoulders as if to get a kink out and closed his eyes
“And your mom?” Cali asked. Having just lost her mother, she couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t value having a parent.
He opened his eyes. She noticed for the first time how tired he looked. His blue-greens were rimmed in red, bloodshot, and he had that crease between his brows. She remembered her mom saying he was going through something. And the shadow of pain in his eyes was familiar.
Had he lost someone he loved? The question lay heavy on her tongue.
“My mom is . . . complicated.” His eyes drooped shut and he scooted down just a bit, getting more comfortable.
Was he really going to go to sleep in her bed? “Complicated how?”
He didn’t answer. His head dropped an inch to the side. She remembered him telling her that he’d been working the night before when he found the picture of the bracelet. Then she recalled him being there the night Stan had shot at her. Did he work third shift? If he did and he showed up at the school this morning, that meant he hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. Okay, she’d let him nap for a few moments.
She checked the time. Almost nine. She frowned. He wasn’t the only one tired. She had to get up at six. She stood, turned on the television, and cut the volume on low.
Flipping channels, she found the nightly news. She saw a picture of a police officer on the screen. He looked familiar. Sitting on the foot of the bed, she listened.
“Officer Mike Anderson was found shot at his home earlier this afternoon. Police are...”
She stared at the face again and it hit her. “Oh, God!” He was the officer who had come to the house that first night. She remembered thinking he’d looked familiar then, too. As if she’d met the man somewhere else.
Looking back at Detective Lowell—okay, Brit—she wondered if he knew about this man’s death. Then she recalled him getting that phone call while they’d been in his car. He’d been upset. For just a second she wondered how one dealt with a job that could involve so much ugliness—crime, death.
She gave Brit another glance and considered waking him. But he looked so peaceful. His brows were no longer pinched and even, slow breaths moved his chest up and down. Rolling her eyes, she cratered. She’d let him sleep a few more minutes.
Kicking off her shoes, she decided she had a right to be comfortable, too. She stretched out, her head on the end of the bed, far enough she didn’t touch him. Then with her chin on her folded arms, she watched the news.
~
Brit felt the vibration in his jeans pocket. It took him a second to realize it was his phone. Opening one eye, he stared at the pair of feet resting on his chest. He blinked and opened both eyes. Where the hell was he? Everything came back at once: Chinese food, Cali, the motel. Cali’s feet?
He raised his head off the pillow an inch. Yup, Cali’s feet. Pretty feet with red toenails. Nice legs. Nice…pink panties. Her dress had ridden up to her waist—showing off a beautiful rounded ass covered with a thin piece of pink silk. He inhaled and felt his blood ride south. Really nice view.