Being in a strange bed didn’t help her son settle down, either, so by the time he drifted off in a fitful, snuffling sleep, Penelope was beyond exhausted.
She dropped onto the couch in the living room, wondering what was taking Reid so long, and trying to calm her whirling mind and a throbbing headache. She stared blankly at the stone horse statue on Reid’s coffee table, one of the few items they’d deemed too heavy for Nicholas to bother, and she replayed the day in her head.
The silence of the lake house should have been soothing to her, but instead, the quiet tripped down her nerves and filled her with an antsy trepidation. Maybe being out of her element was the problem. Not only were she and Nicholas in a new environment, but being sequestered with Reid made her uneasy. They had so much history. And despite his explanations earlier today—jeez, had that just been this afternoon?—she still wasn’t sure what to think about his part in Andrew’s death.
Part of her wanted someone to blame for her loss, and Reid was the obvious target. A fresh set of chills washed through Pen. Reid’s denials of malice left more questions about Andrew’s death—questions that held horrifying implications, especially in light of today’s discoveries about her father. Someone had put the lethal chemical in the insulin vial on purpose. If not Reid, then who? Had her father known Andrew was keeping tabs on him and killed her husband in order to silence him?
“Pen?”
She jolted at the sound of the voice behind her and spun to face Reid, clapping a hand to her chest where her heartbeat skittered. “Jeez, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Where were you just then? You looked a million miles away.”
She rubbed her temple. Her headache was only marginally better. “Just remembering. Reflecting.”
“Well, less woolgathering in the future, okay? You need to be more aware of your surroundings. Especially now. A killer’s not going to announce himself.” Reid set a large bag on the couch and began unpacking the things he’d bought her. “Nicholas asleep?”
She nodded. Reid had changed clothes, she realized, and she wished fervently she could do the same. She was still finding tiny shards of his broken windshield in her clothes. And despite the cool temperatures outside, she’d perspired a thin sheen of anxiety sweat more than once this afternoon and felt grimy for it. “I had to battle a TTT, but he finally succumbed.”
“Come again? A TTT?”
“Tired toddler tantrum. They’re a horror to witness, trust me.”
“I can imagine. Poor kid’s been pulled from his home and routine today. I bet he was cranky.”
She nodded, and let her expression speak for the undesirability of messing with her son’s routine. “When did you become wise to the ways of small children?”
“I’m not a monk. I talk to people, read, observe. I’ve heard the term terrible twos. Not hard to extrapolate the cause of his TTT.” He handed her a pack of diapers, wipes and snack crackers. “I bought a couple steaks and potatoes for our dinner. Don’t know about you, but today has left me famished.”
The thought of food made Penelope’s stomach turn, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to appear unappreciative of all Reid’s thoughtfulness and generosity. Even if she did fear his motivation was guilt over his part in Andrew’s death. She had to put her son’s safety over any awkwardness about the circumstances surrounding Reid’s help.
They unpacked most of the items he’d bought, including toiletries and a couple new changes of clothes for her, before he tossed the rest of the bags aside. “The rest of this can wait. I’ll broil those steaks while you change. Then I want to get a look at the thumb drive of files I downloaded from your father’s computer before I call it a night.”
Grateful for the chance to clean up, Penelope excused herself to the bathroom farthest from where Nicholas was sleeping, hoping the noise wouldn’t wake him. The pounding hot water worked miracles on her tense muscles, though her headache remained. She’d have loved to stay in the steamy bath for hours, but knew Reid was waiting on her for dinner. After drying off, she selected one of the outfits he’d brought her—basic blue jeans and a dark green sweater—and joined him in the kitchen.
When she strolled up beside him, he glanced up from buttering a loaf of garlic bread and grinned. “So...did I choose well? Will those clothes do?”
“I’m hardly in a position to be picky. But yes, these are fine.”
When he didn’t return to his task right away, she tipped her head and eyed him suspiciously. “What? Did I leave a tag on or something?”
“No... I was just was noticing...Piper was right.”
“Piper picked this?”
“Well, I pretended I was buying a Christmas gift for Zane’s new wife. She’s a redhead, too. Piper said that dark green was a good color for redheads.” He stepped closer and gently brushed a hank of her damp hair back from her scratched and bruised cheek. “And she was right. That sweater brings out the green in your eyes.”
Her heart pattered erratically, and she took a step back. “And the blue in my bruises?” she teased, hoping to gloss over her awkward reaction to his touch.
He frowned, then continued working on their dinner. “I’d love five minutes alone with that shooter and the man who hired him for hurting you and terrorizing you that way.”
“Careful, Detective. That sounds a lot like vengeance rather than justice.”
He grunted. “Sometimes vengeance is more satisfying than justice. Besides, I’m not a cop anymore.”
She snitched a piece of crust that had fallen off the loaf when he’d sliced it and nibbled on the bit of bread. Her stomach growled as she savored the buttered bread. “Maybe I’m hungry after all. How long until we eat?”