Niederhaus took charge of the visit. “We’re here to see Mac Taylor. He’s an officer in the Crime Scene Investigation unit. Is he in?”
Did they expect a blind man to be off on an afternoon drive? Her amusement at their plain, polite talk faded with a nagging sense of unease. What sort of questions did cops ask other cops? What sort of answers did they expect to get from Mac?
“Could I see your badges, please?”
Detective Masterson reached inside his jacket, revealing the curve of the black leather holster strapped across his shoulders. Seeing the firepower he carried shouldn’t have fueled her suspicions. She’d seen cops with guns before, both uniformed officers and detectives. Plenty of them showed up to question victims and suspects in the ER. Two had even shown up as patients during her tenure there.
Maybe it was just the lingering tension of spending time with Mac that made her so jumpy. She quickly read the pertinent facts about Eli Masterson and nodded her thanks. Sergeant Niederhaus tapped his cigar ashes out on the stoop, ignoring her request.
But with Julia’s staunch refusal to open the door any farther, and Eli’s questioning glance, he reached inside the rotund silhouette of his jacket and pulled out his badge.
Satisfied that the two had official business to conduct, Julia stepped back to unchain the door. She nodded toward the sergeant’s thick stogie. “I’ll ask you to put that out before you come in.”
“Dammit, lady—” His face reddened as he caught himself. He could cuss loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood, if he wanted. Julia had certain rules around her patients. And certain personal tastes. She simply expected him to cooperate. Once the cigar hit the step and was ground out beneath his shoe, she closed the door and released the chain. Then she stepped back to usher the two men inside.
“I don’t mean to be unfriendly,” she explained, “but I’ve lived the past several years on my own in Chicago. You can never be too careful about who you invite in.”
Detective Masterson smiled in approval. “It pays to be smart, ma’am.”
“Is Taylor here? We have to ask him some questions.” Clearly, Niederhaus was from the old school. Maybe he didn’t approve of single career women or small talk. Maybe he simply didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Julia had dealt with all kinds of curmudgeons in her line of work. This old fart might be lacking in the charm department, but he deserved her patience and respect until he proved otherwise.
“Sorry about the mess. I was hired just this morning and haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. Feel free to push something aside and have a seat.”
“Thanks.” It was Eli who answered.
But as she crossed through the dining room en route to Mac’s locked door, she noticed that neither officer chose to sit.
That unnerved feeling crept along her spine again. Not for the first time that morning, she wished she was home, locked in her own room with her books and the mementoes from her childhood. Locked up in the past where she didn’t have to deal with men and their egos and all the games they liked to play.
Fearing the volume of Mac’s scarred voice would reach their guests in the living room, Julia gritted her teeth and knocked quietly on the old oak door.
“Mac, there are two police officers here to see you.”
“Nice try.” His tortured rasp reached no farther than her own ears. “Leave me alone.”
She glanced down the hallway and offered an embarrassed smile to the two officers whose watchful gaze she could feel, even at this distance.
She knocked again. “It’s Joe Niederhaus and Eli Masterson from Internal Affairs. They need to speak to you.”
She rested her ear against the wood and listened for sounds of activity on the other side. She heard the creak of a mattress. But was he getting into bed or out?
When another minute of silence answered her, she assumed he’d gone to bed and dismissed her. Her disappointment hissed out on a breath of air. Great. Now she’d have to come up with some excuse to get the detectives out of the house. Something like, Mac’s on his pity pot right now and won’t come out. Or, the professor’s in the middle of an experiment, and doesn’t want any company until hell freezes over.
She jumped at the unexpected click of the lock. Her breath came in shallow, sporadic gasps as the door opened a slit and Mac’s blank gaze glowered into the hallway.
“If you’re lying to me…”
The accusation hurt. If only. If she was a better liar, she could have saved herself a lot of pain over the years. “I’m not. It’s one of my shortcomings.”
His eyes swiveled from side to side, as if searching. But for what? “Is that supposed to mean something?”
She looked up into his face and shrugged, behaving as if he could see her reaction. Acting as if the expression on her face could tell him all about how much believing in lies had cost her.
But he couldn’t really see her. Nobody could see inside to the insecurities of a lifetime. She covered the awkward moment as she always did. By turning it into a joke.
“It means your company’s waiting in the living room. It’s a hazard area, so we don’t want to leave them there for long.”
His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, as if the effort to figure her out made him weary.
“Internal Affairs?” he asked.
Julia nodded, then realized the foolishness of the gesture. She gave the verbal answer he needed. “Yes.”
The door opened wider. She watched in curious fascination as his long, eloquent fingers reached out through the doorway. She stepped aside when she realized he was coming on out, but didn’t move quickly enough to avoid the graze of his fingers across her cheek in an unintended caress.
Mac snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” She failed to keep the catch from her voice. But at least she could spare herself the embarrassment of him seeing how the pink blotches of self-consciousness heating her face clashed with the honey-tan freckles that covered her skin.
For years, she’d fantasized about Mac Taylor touching her in a personal way. They’d collided more than once today, but she knew his hand skimming her breast or cheek meant nothing.
Whenever a man touched her, it meant nothing.
“We’d better get out there.” He nodded at the reminder. Julia swallowed what was left of her battered pride and made doubly sure to get out of his way as he marched Frankenstein-like across the hall.
When his hand hit the wall, he turned. Trailing the fingers of his right hand along the panelling, he reached out with his left, moving it back and forth in the uneven sway of a broken pendulum. Julia followed a step behind, chomping down on the urge to take his arm and guide him safely out to his guests.
“You really should have the rugs removed,” she admonished, when he stumbled on the dining room carpet. “Streamline the arrangement of furniture so you don’t have as many turns in your pathway.”
Mac stopped midstride and turned his face over his shoulder as if he could peer at her. “Drop the fix-it-up routine, okay?”
“I’m surprised the other nurses didn’t make those recommendations.” He turned so that his body faced her, and opened his mouth for another terse remark. But Julia cut him off. “I’ll bet they did. You’re just too pigheaded to let anybody try to help.”
“If you’re trying to goad me—”
“Officer Taylor?”
Mac stilled at the question from behind him. Julia’s combative energy whooshed out at the transformation on Mac’s