MOLLY GLARED AT her computer screen, the result of her search on the car that had followed them having taken far longer than it should have. Motherfucking sonsofbitches. It was every bit as bad as she’d feared.
“Hey,” Burke said from the doorway to her office. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She glanced away from her screen to Burke. “Patty get back to the Choux okay?”
“She did,” Burke said warily, sensing her fury. “She’s safe.”
It had been hard to listen to Gabe telling his cousin about his father’s death. On their return to the office, Molly had retreated to her office to give them space to grieve and talk things out.
“Who took her back to the restaurant?” she asked.
“Val. She’s going to remain on-site, just in case someone comes looking for Gabe or Patty.”
That was reassuring. Of all Burke’s PIs, Val Sorensen would have been Molly’s first pick. The woman was nearly six feet tall and tough as nails. She had long blond hair that made her look like a Valkyrie, the source of her nickname. She was sass and swagger. But underneath all that, Val was a marshmallow. She’d be gentle with Patty, even as she watched her back.
“I’ve got info for her, then. We were followed on the way back.”
Burke’s brows shot to his hairline. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because I’d hoped to get an ID on the vehicle so I could give you something concrete.”
“Did you?”
“Kind of. I circled around and got behind the car long enough to catch the plate.” She had to breathe for a second to calm her anger. “It was a fucking unmarked NOPD sedan.”
Burke closed his eyes briefly. “Of course it was. Someone must’ve been watching the Choux. Did the sedan come close enough to get your plate?”
“Probably.” Dammit. “Which isn’t good because I’m driving the truck today—the vehicle that Chelsea usually drives. If they follow her tomorrow, I’ve potentially put her in danger, too.”
“She still working from home?”
“Yeah, but she had a job interview in an office today with on-street parking. She has a hard time parallel parking the truck, so I told her to take the car.”
“Hopefully she’ll get the job but won’t need to start until after this case is closed. Until then, you can take your car and I’ll loan her mine if she needs one, just in case anyone gets too curious about you. I’ve been biking to work lately. Easier to get around traffic that way.”
Relief washed over her. “Thank you, Burke.”
He waved her thanks away. “Least I could do. What will she do with Harper while she’s at work if she gets the job?”
“Louisa is doing some summer classes online. She’s coming over to work at our place so she can keep an eye on Harper.” Joy’s daughter had been a godsend. Harper trusted her, and that was no small feat. “I might be overreacting, but knowing a cop was following me has me rattled, to be honest.”
Burke’s expression didn’t make her feel better. “Knowing what they’re capable of, I don’t think you’re overreacting. I saw the photos of Rocky’s body in the police report.”
She swallowed. So had she. Keeping her expression neutral in front of Gabe while looking at his father slumped over his kitchen table had been difficult. The exit wound had been . . . bad.
“I’ll tell Louisa to lock the doors and windows, to set the alarm, and not to let anyone in, not even delivery people.” She met Burke’s steady gaze. “I hate this. I hate even the notion that I’ve put them in danger. Harper and Chelsea are just getting better. Chelsea doesn’t bust out of her skin when someone talks behind her anymore. Harper’s nightmares are slowing down.”
“You didn’t put them in danger. Gabe didn’t, either. Whoever was following Gabe did this. I don’t want you to be distracted worrying about your family. I’ll assign someone to watch over them.”
Gratitude lessened a portion of her fear. “This case is going to cost you more than Gabe is paying you.” Especially if he had to take investigators off other jobs to work bodyguard duty. Burke’s firm wasn’t small—he employed six full-time investigators and at least a dozen part-timers—but this was still a major diversion of resources. “You can’t sustain throwing most of your staff at Gabe’s case. Not for long.”
Burke’s jaw set. “I don’t care. I want Rocky’s killer to pay, and I want Gabe, you, and your families to be safe. I don’t care what I have to do to make those things happen.” He shrugged. “And I’m not charging Gabe a full fee, either. Rocky was my family, too, just like Chelsea and Harper are. I’ll juggle priorities so that none of our other clients are shortchanged. Don’t worry about it.”
Burke wasn’t hurting for cash, so she decided not to argue. For now. “All right. I’ll let Chelsea know.”
“Did you get a look at the unmarked car’s driver?”
She shook her head. “Tinted windows. All I could see was that the driver wore a Saints cap.”
“Like a couple thousand other people in the city,” he grumbled.
“Sucks,” she agreed. “Where is Gabe now?”
“Kitchen.”
She chuckled at that, despite her worry. “Would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall when he saw it.”
“I would’ve given the fly earplugs. Gabe was not complimentary.”
“Gabe would be right. That ‘kitchen’ is a disaster.”
“It’ll get fixed. Eventually.”
It was exactly what he’d said when she’d started working for him three years before. She’d given up trying to make a nicer kitchen happen. She gestured to her laptop. “I need to go back to reading these police reports. I hadn’t realized that Rocky worked homicide before he retired.”
She’d read through two reports already and was experiencing minor PTSD, the crime scene photos stirring memories she’d rather have forgotten forever.
“He was Vice when I worked with him. He got transferred to Homicide after I left.” He tilted his head. “He’d asked for an IA assignment, but was turned down. It was the second time that I know of.”
“Who turned him down?” she asked, ears perking up. If Rocky Hebert had tried twice for a transfer to Internal Affairs and was denied both times? He might have been looking for something—or someone. And someone didn’t want him poking around.
“Don’t know. Had to have been higher than Cresswell. I’ll ask around, see what I can find.”
Mont Belvieu, Texas
MONDAY, JULY 25, 4:30 P.M.
“Xavier!” His mother stood in the kitchen doorway, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Crouching next to her tomato plants, Xavier mopped the sweat from his forehead with his bandana, then shoved it in his back pocket. “Still out in the garden, Mom,” he called back and watched as she carefully picked her way across the backyard, a paper bag in one hand.
She was dressed up, wearing makeup and heels and everything. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“Hey, Mrs. Morrow,” Carlos chimed in. “You look really nice. You got a hot date or something?”
She laughed. “Or something. It’s book club night. I’m going into Houston, and we are going to drink a lot of wine.”
Xavier grinned up at her until he’d stood to his full height, then he grinned down at her. Cicely Morrow was a small woman, barely five feet tall. Her mahogany skin was as flawless as it had been the day she and her husband had brought him home from the social worker’s office for the first time. He’d been five years old and so damn scared.
The Morrows had given him a home. A family. It hadn’t been automatic
—he’d been a traumatized kid who’d watched his own mother die in the Katrina waters that had flooded their tiny house. She’d boosted him to the roof with the last of her strength, her hands the last thing he’d seen. And the image that haunted so many of his nightmares.
But the Morrows had been kind and loving and patient, and within a few years he’d been calling them Mom and Dad. The loss of his father to a sudden heart attack during his sophomore year of high school had gutted him, and his mother had been so depressed that he’d feared she’d soon follow. But she’d bounced back. His mother was a strong woman.
“You want me to drive you?” he offered. “I can be your designated driver.”
She smiled. “Oh no, it would be an hour and a half round trip this time of day.”
“You know I don’t mind, Mama.”
“I know. It’s very sweet of you to offer, but I’m going to drive to Willa Mae’s house and we’re taking an Uber. I’m staying with her tonight and we’re taking vacation days tomorrow to go shopping in the city. I’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night. I left you boys a casserole in the fridge for tonight and here’s a snack. Ice-cold lemonade and some cookies.”
“Mmmm.” Carlos clutched his hands to his chest and pretended to swoon.
“I want to marry a man who makes cookies like you, Mrs. M.”
“Find him first, and I’ll teach him,” Cicely said with an easy chuckle, because Carlos’s sexual orientation had never been an issue with either Carlos’s or Xavier’s parents. “Have a good evening, boys. And thank you.
My garden looks so nice now. Carlos, when it’s time to harvest, I want you to take some of the tomatoes and zucchini to your mother. She makes the best zucchini bread, and we have a lot to share.”
“Will do, Mrs. M. You have a good time at that book club.”
“Oh, we will,” she said with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “We’re reading one of the Fifty Shades books.”
“Mama,” Xavier whined, his cheeks heating. “I don’t need to know that.”
Cicely laughed again. “I know. And we’re really reading a book about bees. I just wanted to tease you.” She backed away, waving. “See you tomorrow. You staying over, Carlos?”
“Yes’m. Xavier and I are planning weekend trips to Philly and New York.”
“Good.” Her smile faltered just a smidge before she gamely forced it back to her face. “Lord, I’m gonna miss you two. But it’s high time you get outta my house, Xavier Morrow,” she added lightly. “My son, the doctor. It has a nice ring to it.”
“You can always send us cookies,” Carlos said hopefully.
“Every two weeks,” she promised. “Bye, now.”
When she was gone, Xavier turned to Carlos. “You’re staying over?
Why?”
Carlos gave him a duh look. “Because you’re still freaked out. Don’t tell me you’re not.”
He couldn’t deny it, because it was true. All day he’d felt . . . odd. He’d taken a bag of yard waste to the curb a few hours before and had sworn there was a guy in a blue car on the curb, watching him. But when he’d blinked the sweat from his eyes, the car was empty. I should have checked it out. But part of him didn’t want to know. Sometimes real estate agents came to show the house for sale next door, right? “It’s just my imagination.”
Carlos shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll stay. No arguments.”
“I won’t argue. But it’s gonna be boring. I was going to read a few chapters out of one of my anatomy books. I want to walk into my first class ahead of the game.”
Carlos shrugged. “I have a physics book in my backpack. We can read, play some Call of Duty, maybe get the group online for some D&D. And then order pizza.”
“Mom made a casserole.”
“Which we will annihilate, because I am starving. After we annihilate these cookies.” Carlos shook the bag. “Feels heavy. Your ma is a cookie wizard.”
Xavier’s lips curved. “She really is.” Damn, he’d miss her. But she was so proud of him. So he’d go to Philly and ace med school and make her even prouder.
Carlos gathered up the garden tools and started for the shed in the back.
“Hurry up, hermano. I’m starving to death here.”
Chancing a look over his shoulder, Xavier froze. The blue car was back.
The one with the guy who’d been watching him before. Get in the house. Run into the house.
He shook himself. He was being stupid. Nobody was out for his hide.
Nobody was watching him. He hustled himself to the shed to help Carlos put the tools away.
He was going to chill the hell out and memorize all the bones in the hand.
And eat cookies. And casserole. And pizza. And stop worrying.
He blew out a breath, knowing he’d continue worrying. “Four out of five’s not bad, at least,” he muttered.
The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana
MONDAY, JULY 25 , 5:05 P.M.
Molly’s attention was yanked from the police report she’d been reading by three things simultaneously: her stomach growling, the sublime aroma of the dish being placed next to her keyboard, and Gabe’s gasp.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, horrified.
Molly realized too late what he’d seen on her screen and closed her laptop abruptly. This was why she hadn’t wanted to read Rocky Hebert’s reports in public. The photo hadn’t depicted a particularly gruesome crime scene—
Molly had seen far worse—but the victim had been a child and that was always harder. She’d had to psych herself up to open the file. She’d been able to maintain her composure until Gabe had interrupted. Now the reality of what she’d been reading rushed in, and she felt unsteady, too.
Gabe Hebert was pale, his skin a little green. She stood and pushed him into her chair, taking another big bowl of food from his hands. Which were shaking.
“Why—” He swallowed. “Why were you looking at that?”
She placed the bowl on her desk, ignoring the rude rumble of her stomach because it smelled so damn good. But her priority at the moment was her client, who looked like he was going to pass out. “Your father investigated the homicide two years ago.”
“Oh.” Gabe pressed the back of his hand to his lips. “Who killed her?”
“Her father.”
Gabe’s gaze met hers, stricken. “Why?”
She lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “Because he was a shitty, abusive bastard. If it makes you feel better, your dad made sure that he was put away for a long time. It’s a solid case and your father’s work was impeccable. The prosecutor’s job was easy.”
“Is the shitty, abusive bastard still in prison?”
“Yes, and will be for another twenty-some years before he’s eligible for parole.”
Another swallow, this one audible. “Then why were you reading it?”
She hesitated, then decided that he could handle the truth. If he couldn’t, she was going to make Burke give him another bodyguard so that she could do her damn job without messing Gabe up even more than he already was.
“Because the child’s mother was not a cooperative witness. She swore her husband didn’t do it and gave him an alibi, which your father easily disproved. The mother threatened to see your father in hell. Said she wouldn’t rest until Rocky Hebert paid for his lies.”
“Where is she?”
“That’s what I have to find out.” She pulled a water bottle from her bag and handed it to him. “Drink. I don’t want you to pass out on my watch.”
Irritation flashed in his hazel eyes, his cheeks flushing with color. He snatched the bottle and twisted off the cap angrily. “I’m not going to pass out goddammit.”
“Good to know. At least now you’re no longer pale as a ghost.”
He frowned. “You said that on purpose?”
“Mostly. Partly because what you saw was horrible and any normal person would be shaken. And because I really didn’t want you to pass out.”
He drank again, more calmly. “So you’re not normal?”
She tilted her head, studying him. His breathing had slowed, and his pulse was no longer visible in the hollow of his throat. But his hand still trembled.
“You mean because I don’t appear to be upset by the photograph you saw?”
“Yeah,” he said curtly. “Are you upset?”
She pulled one of the visitor chairs around her desk and grabbed the bowl he’d brought her. Mmmm. Shrimp and grits. Simple enough, but it smelled delicious. “The first time I investigated a child murder, I had to go to therapy for a year. And I’d seen a lot of death already.” She took a bite and closed her eyes. “This is so good.”
“Thank you.” His tone was still abrupt, but less so than before. “Does it still affect you?”
She opened her eyes and let her inner shields drop, showing him how much the photo had upset her. On a scale of one to ten, it had been a twelve.
“Of course. But I had to learn to compartmentalize, or I’d never be able to do the job.”
His expression softened. “What was your job?”
“I was a cop.” That seemed to surprise him. Please don’t ask me why I left. Please.
“Why did you leave?”
Dammit. She deliberately took another bite, forcing the images from that night into the darkest recesses of her mind, where she kept all the bad shit.
She debated putting him off, telling him it was a long story, letting him just look it up on Google. That was what she usually did when clients asked her that question.
But Gabriel Hebert felt different. He’d just lost his father to murder, and Molly knew how that felt. She sighed and pointed to the other bowl he’d brought. “You gonna eat that?”
He glanced at her closed laptop and shook his head. “Not now. I don’t think I can.”
“I hope you don’t think badly of me because I can. I was a Marine. We ate when food was served or when we had a moment of downtime, no matter what was happening around us.”
He motioned to her bowl. “By all means, go ahead. And you don’t have to answer my question if you don’t want to. I can ask Burke.”
She snorted softly. “And here I thought you were being so agreeable and noninvasive.” He lifted a ruddy brow, and she exhaled. “I killed my brother-in-law.”
His mouth fell open. “You did what?”
“I killed my brother-in-law,” she repeated slowly. “Shot him, right between the eyes.” And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why? What did he do?”
She took another bite, taking extra time to chew while she got a hold on her emotions. “He killed my father and tried to make it look like my father had committed a crime.” A dirty, disgusting crime that Molly had to shove into the dark along with all of the other images that she couldn’t deal with.
“But your father hadn’t done it.”
“No. My father caught my brother-in-law trying to . . .” She put the bowl on her desk, grabbing a tissue to wipe her mouth. She couldn’t eat now, either. “I have a niece.” She could see understanding dawning in Gabe’s expressive eyes. “My brother-in-law was a sick sonofabitch. My dad suspected what he was up to and waited. Caught him going into my niece’s bedroom one night. Grabbed him and they fought. Jake—that was my brother-in-law—grabbed Dad’s gun and shot him with it.”
“Your dad had a gun?”
“He did. But he was a farmer, not a cop, and he hesitated. He’d never shot a person before. He couldn’t even shoot a coyote trying to steal his chickens.
He always aimed over their heads and just bought more chickens.”
Gabe’s smile was sad. “He sounds like he was a nice man.”
“The nicest.” It was her turn to swallow hard. “I miss him every day.”
“Jake told everyone that your father was trying to molest your niece?”
“He did. But he underestimated my dad, who’d hidden a camera in my niece’s room.”
“So your niece was . . .” Gabe trailed off. “Jake was successful?”
She nodded once. This was the part she hated the most. Unfortunately, it was all covered in various news reports, so Gabe could read it for himself.
None of them mentioned Harper by name, of course, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. Jake and Chelsea had only had one child. Molly only had one niece.
Molly wished she could dig Jake up, bring him back to life, and kill him again. Sometimes the fantasy was the only thing that kept her going, especially when Harper cried in the night.
“So you killed him.” Gabe’s mouth tightened. “Good.”
“Not in cold blood. It was ruled self-defense.”
She almost believed that herself.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
“My sister confronted him, and he came after her. Was beating her. When he saw me, he started hitting me.” Because she’d goaded him into it. Had relished the sharp pain of his fist as it had hit her eye, knowing she’d have a shiner. All the better to support a claim of self-defense.
She hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t known Chelsea would confront him that night. Although she should have known.
I should have known.
And maybe she had. The uncertainty behind her motivation and her preparation had kept her up a lot of nights.
Gabe simply shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She managed a smile. “Thank you. So, after the dust settled and my name was cleared, I knew we couldn’t stay there. Not in that house.”
“I don’t guess you could have.”
There was sympathy in his voice. Sympathy and a grim understanding.
Which was why she’d told him herself.
“I was reinstated on the SBI—that’s the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation—but I couldn’t go back. I just couldn’t.” She’d known there were corrupt cops, of course, but she hadn’t worked with any. Not that she’d known of. But then Jake destroyed all of their lives, and she’d seen corruption up close and personal. Jake was a cop himself, and his friends had rallied around him, protecting him, painting her father as a pedophile. They’d been vile. They’d closed ranks.
But, after putting Jake down like the dog he’d been, she couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t a little corrupt, too.
“So you came here?”
“Yeah. I called Burke when my dad was killed. He’d known Dad, too, and loved him.” She smiled sadly. “Kind of like he loved your dad.”
“Father figures.”
“Exactly. Burke was on his way to me, only half an hour out when Jake started hitting Chelsea and me. He got there after the cops did and . . . just handled everything. Got me a good lawyer. Made sure he got photos of my face. And Chelsea’s. And he checked in on Harper when she went to emergency foster care.”
As had her SBI boss and his wife. Steven and Jenna were good people.
She missed them.
“So you went to work for Burke?”
“I did, but not right away. There was an inquiry, and I was cleared.
Especially when Chelsea turned over the tape showing that Jake had killed Dad.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “But it also let everyone know that her daughter had been molested. That can’t have been an easy decision for her to make.”
Molly stared at him, something inside her chest squeezing almost painfully. “No one else has understood that. Everyone was all, like, of course Chelsea showed the tape, but she and I fought about it. I didn’t want her to because it would put Harper in the spotlight, but my lawyer was afraid I wouldn’t be cleared without it.”
He tilted his head, studying her, his hazel eyes filled with an understanding she hadn’t seen anywhere else. Not even from Burke. “You feel guilty about that, too.”
She swallowed. “I do. I mean, we got Harper out of there, but she’s always going to have that over her head. That it happened, and that everyone knows. Therapy has helped—all of us. But . . . yeah, I feel guilty.” A whole lot more over that than over shooting Jake in the head.
Molly owed her sister a debt that she’d never be able to repay. But she’d tried, taking care of them and making sure they were safe. Until today.
She hoped she was overreacting, hoped that whoever had been following them earlier would focus on her and not her family. Part of her was tempted to quit this job and go home and barricade herself in their apartment. But that would be overreacting. Burke had said that he’d put someone on protective detail, and she trusted him to do so.
“I’m sorry,” Gabe said again.
She shrugged. “It’s done. It’s over.”
“I meant that I’m sorry I made your father’s death seem unimportant earlier today.”
She met his gaze, finding his eyes had grown calm and warm and . . .
Nope, nope, nope. She did not find his eyes compelling. His gaze did not make her feel . . . safe. She wanted to snarl at herself, but he’d think she was crazy. So she only nodded. “Thank you. I’ll do whatever I can to find out who killed your father. I hope you know that.”
“I already did. Now I’m even more certain.” He glanced at her closed laptop. “What else did you find in the police reports while I was cooking in that horrible thing you dared to call a kitchen?”
Her lips twitched up in a small, but real, smile. “It really is pretty awful.”
“It’s a hot plate, a refrigerator that was built while there was still a Berlin Wall, and a microwave that may have cooked my liver while I stood in front of it. What is Burke thinking? It’s a menace.”
“He’s thinking that if he puts in a better kitchen, we’d all live here, and he wants us to have ‘work-life balance’ or some such shit.”
“I hope irradiated livers are covered by his insurance.”
She chuckled. “It’s not that bad. The microwave makes a mean bag of popcorn.”
He scoffed. “It couldn’t make a kind bag of popcorn.”
Feeling better, she reached for the shrimp and grits and took another bite.
“You managed okay. This is delicious.”
“Thank you, but anyone could make this. It’s simple.”
“We can’t. Well, maybe Val can. She’s one of our PIs. She has hidden talents we keep discovering like Easter eggs in a video game.”
She went back to eating and he watched her, saying nothing until she’d scraped the last grain of grits from the bowl. Then he nodded to the laptop.
“What did you find?”
“Three cases that your father investigated where either the perpetrator or a family member vowed revenge. Of course, there are likely other cases where the angry party wasn’t stupid enough to threaten a cop where he could hear it and put it in his report. But I’ve got something to start on. I’ll do background checks on the three possibilities and see if they’re still alive, for starters. Then I’ll find out where they are now and . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to cause him pain. But he’d said that he wanted to be a part of the investigation. “And where they were six weeks ago.”
Gabe flinched. “That makes sense.”
“I’m also going to need access to your father’s financial accounts.”
He frowned at that, visibly bristling. “What do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know. But we say ‘follow the money’ for a reason.”
His jaw went rigid. “You think my dad was on the take?”
“Nope. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check.”
“I understand,” he said stiffly. “And I’ll come with you when you do these checks. No more trying to shove me in a half-assed kitchen so I can make your dinner.”
“Burke says you can come, so yes. I’d prefer you choose another bodyguard, but if you don’t get in my way, we can make this work. But,” she added as gently as she could, “I may find things that you don’t want to see. That happens sometimes when someone dies suddenly.”
His jaw was still square, his eyes now cold. “Did you find anything weird when your father died?”
“Well . . . We found out that he had quite a collection of porn. That was uncomfortable, to say the least. It was all pretty vanilla, and the activity was recent. Mom had died years before. She had an aneurysm and Dad missed her so much. We didn’t find any lady friends. Just the . . . you know.”
He grimaced. “If you find something like that, I really don’t want to know.”
“I don’t blame you.” She injected lightness into her tone. “I needed brain bleach after that.”
He smiled and seemed to relax. “Thank you. I do want to accompany you.
It’s my responsibility. He was my father.”
“I get that.” She hoped his responsibility wouldn’t get him hurt. Or worse.
Which was her responsibility to prevent. “Do you have any self-defense training?”
“Some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”
She was impressed. One of her black belts was in BJJ. “How much is some?”
“Brown belt.”
She was even more impressed. “All right, then, that’s more than I was expecting. Are you proficient with any weapons?”
He made a face. “My dad was a cop. He took me to the range for the first time when I was ten years old. It was our bonding time.”
“Did you hate it?”
“So freaking much.” He shuddered. “But I can shoot okay. My knife skills are very good.”
“If we get attacked by an onion, I’ll hide behind you. Otherwise, you hide wherever you can. If bad shit goes down, I want you safe. He was your dad, but this is my job, therefore this investigation is my responsibility. Are we clear?”
He huffed an annoyed breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
She grinned. “I like being called ‘ma’am.’ ” She pointed to the bowl of untouched shrimp and grits. “Can you eat now?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. You eat while I run background checks. I want to check out your father’s house next. I don’t imagine we’ll find anything since you searched already, but you never know. Then we’ll head for your place.”
“I can make up the guest room for you.”
“Actually, I’ll probably just sleep on the sofa so that I’m near the front door. Do you have a security system?”
He rolled his eyes. “My dad gave one to me as a housewarming present.”
“Any weapons in your house?”
“My Wüsthof knife set. And the damn dog.”
She’d forgotten about the dog. “Why didn’t you say something about the dog? You’ve been gone all day.”
“I had a doggy door put in the week after Dad passed. Shoe’s got access to food, water, and a half acre of grass to sniff and pee on. He’ll be okay.”
She lifted her brows. “You have a doggy door? There goes your security system.”
He winced. “I didn’t think about that.”
She started packing her things. “I can do the background checks once we’ve secured your house. We can go to your father’s house tomorrow. Grab your dinner and let’s go.”
