And the Plutarch.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. It was still there. That didn’t rule out Gabriel as the intruder, of course, but I knew it wasn’t him.
I paced around, wondering whether Vinnie and Suzie were home. But they’d had enough of my traumas lately. I didn’t want to wear out our neighborly relationship. I’d never minded being alone until this moment.
I knew who I wanted to see. Summoning up a few more ounces of courage, I found the business card and made another phone call.
He answered on the first ring. “This better be good.”
“It’s Brooklyn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone broke into my house.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I stared at the phone, hearing nothing but a dial tone.
Having taken some action, I felt more relaxed. I looked down at my threadbare pink kitty jammies. Robin would be appalled. I needed to change into something normal.
As I rounded the bar toward my bedroom, I heard the floor creak behind me, then something hard and heavy smashed into my head. My thoughts evaporated as I crumpled to the floor.
“That’s it, baby. Come on, open your eyes.”
I drew in a breath and smelled the most delicious scent of leather and forest and springtime rain.
My eyes flickered open, then closed again.
“That’s it, you can do it,” he whispered, his voice warm and rich like whiskey sweetened with caramel-flavored hot chocolate.
I was either dead and gone to heaven or suffering serious brain damage, because I vaguely recalled waking up to that same voice in my ear once before.
I mentally surveyed my situation and surroundings. I wasn’t dead. That was a good thing. I was on my couch. The cushions felt like clouds under me. My head felt as if a train had collided with my skull. A cold cloth covered my forehead.
I opened my eyes. Derek held my hand and stroked my cheek. I was safe.
“Thirsty,” I managed to whisper.
“I’ll get you some water.”
I opened my eyes, saw him cross the living room to the kitchen, then return a moment later with a glass of water.
“I brought you a painkiller. I found the prescription bottle on top of your refrigerator.”
“Thank you.” I still had some Vicodin left over from the evil dentist I’d seen last month.
He carefully lifted my head and held the glass for me to drink. “There you go.”
“Thanks,” I said again, then focused beyond him. The coffee table was at a right angle to the couch and the overstuffed red chair was pulled into the space. He sat there, about two inches away from me. “Did you rearrange my furniture?”
“Yeah.”
“Odd.”
“I take liberties where I can.”
He helped me lie back down until I jolted from something icy on the pillow.
“It’s a bag of frozen peas,” he said. “Lie down.”
“I have peas?”
“Surprisingly, yes. I found them in your freezer behind several dozen packages of pizza and ice cream.”
“Don’t judge.”
“Lie back. The peas will help with the swelling.”
“Good news.” The thought of my head swelling up was not appealing. I carefully laid my head down on the frozen package. It was cold, but after a few seconds it began to numb the pain.
“Better?” he asked.
“Seems to help.” Trying not to move my head, I squirmed around to adjust the cushions and yank the hem of my pajama top down until I was more comfortable. Figures I was still wearing my provocative pink kitty jammies. “How’d you get in?”
“Good question,” he said, sitting back and filling the big red chair nicely. “Your door was wide-open.”
“I was afraid of that,” I whispered. “Did you call the police?”
“They’re already here.”
“Good. Maybe my neighbors saw someone.”
“I take it you saw no one.”
“No, of course not.”
“The door to your front coat closet was open.”
“I checked all the closets.” But that closet was stuffed with coats, so I supposed someone could’ve hidden themselves behind them.
I struggled to sit but gave up as soon as my head started to pound. “Did you find my baseball bat? They might get prints off it.”
“Still playing at crime-busters, I see.” But he said it mildly, without a hint of sarcasm.
“I guess,” I said wearily.
“I’d better make my report, then.”
“What report?”
He held up his hand. “First off, the blood you found on the book belonged to Abraham.”
“Oh.”
“The fingerprints found in Abraham’s studio were his.”
“No one else’s?”
“No. And the only prints found at Baldacchio’s house were his own.”
“Oh.” My shoulders relaxed. “I guess that’s something.” And the fact that he’d shared that information caused my heart to beat somewhat erratically. Or maybe it was the frozen peas.