seen the living room but not taken it in. She couldn’t describe it as homey, exactly; Gabe had furnished it with the basics but not bothered with artwork or homey touches like table runners or rugs. The sofa and a big recliner were brown leather that made her think of saddles. The clean lines of the oak coffee table and single end table might be Mission style. Built-in bookcases lined one wall and held an impressive stereo system as well as quite a library. A big-screen TV hung above a cabinet that had drawers. Trina went to investigate those.
Among a good-size collection of movies for grown-ups, she found three DVDs aimed at kids: Finding Nemo, A Bug’s Life and Arthur’s Perfect Christmas. Chloe decided on Arthur’s Perfect Christmas. Trina succeeded in getting it started and Chloe climbed onto the sofa and settled happily to watch.
Returning to the kitchen, Trina reported, “Your renters apparently went home without a few of their movies.”
He was loading the dishwasher and glanced up. “Ones she’ll watch?”
How a man could look so sexy doing such a mundane task, she didn’t know, but he succeeded.
“Yep.”
“Then this is probably a good time for us to talk.”
“Yes, except...” She nibbled on her lower lip. “I have a problem.” Actually, she had so many problems they’d add up to a lengthy list, but one thing at a time, Trina decided. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to change the dressings on my back and apply more ointment. Unless you have a mother or girlfriend nearby who could be persuaded to volunteer.”
“Neither.”
* * *
WELL, HELL. SHE was going to half strip so he could stroke ointment over her skin with his bare hands? Might as well ask him to run his hand along a strand of barbed wire. Dangerous. He wasn’t the only one conscious of the risks, either; the pink in her cheeks was from a different kind of heat.
Think of this as a medical problem, he told himself. “How badly are you burned?”
“Not that terrible. According to the doctor, mostly first-degree, spots of second-degree. No worse than a really bad sunburn. The fire didn’t touch me, but while I was lowering Chloe out the window and waiting until I could follow her, flames burst through the door behind me and—” She visibly shied from the memory. “I was just...too close to it.”
“Okay.” He tried to sound gentle, which had the effect of roughening his voice. “How often do we do it?”
“Twice a day until it’s obviously healing. Which shouldn’t be more than two or three days.”
Gabe thought it over. “I don’t want to leave Chloe downstairs by herself. If you’ll pause the movie—”
“Why don’t we wait until she’s gone to bed?”
Yeah, sure. Then they’d be alone, house quiet and dark around them. Her stretched out on his bed, since Chloe would be in hers.
He cleared his throat. “If you don’t need it done sooner.”
“It can wait.”
“All right.” Needing a distraction, he lifted the carafe from the fancy coffee maker that had been one of his first purchases after he’d had the cabin built. “Would you like a cup?”
“That would be great.”
“You okay on the stool, or would a chair be more comfortable?”
“Chair.”
“Hey, hold on.” He left the room, returning after a minute with a heavy-duty parka. “This should give you a little padding.”
He doubled it over, and watched as she sat down gingerly. Looking surprised, she said, “That helps. Thank you. And speaking of... I don’t think I’ve thanked you for rushing to our rescue.”
Admit to his initial reluctance? Or that, on second thought, he’d been glad to have the chance to do something really meaningful? Probably not. Gabe settled for an acknowledging nod.
“I should at least call my insurance agent tomorrow.”
“It’ll have to wait. What phone number would you give him if he has questions?”
“But...”
“A few days is nothing, given the time it’ll take to rebuild.”
She finally nodded.
“I need you to tell me what’s happened so far.”
Looking startled, she began, “Didn’t Joseph—”
Gabe cut her off. “I want as much detail as you can give me.” The cops had one goal; he had another.
She glanced toward the doorway, as if to be sure the little girl hadn’t wandered into earshot. “Did you read about the murders?”
Having a whole family killed, and wealthy people at that, didn’t happen in these parts. The news had likely riveted just about everyone. “Yes,” he agreed, “but I had the impression the cops were holding back.”
“They did tell me something two days ago they hadn’t admitted up until then, but my impression is that they’re stymied.”
Gabe waited.
Trina began to talk, starting with the request from a Lieutenant Matson, who oversaw detectives, that she work with a three-year-old girl who was the only survivor after her family had been killed. “Either she’d climbed into one of the lower kitchen cupboards herself, or one of her parents put her there. When the police arrived, the cupboard door was open a crack, and her father’s body was right in front of her.”
“Once she heard the intruder leave, she might have pushed it open herself to peek out,” he suggested.
“Yes, but they didn’t think so. She was...frozen, almost catatonic. Stiff, staring, squeezed into the smallest ball she could manage.”
He played the devil’s advocate. “Seeing her father...”
“The detective said he’d been shot in his back and lay facing her. She couldn’t have seen the blood or...damage.”
“Unless she crept out, then went back to her hidey-hole.”
“I guess that’s conceivable, but I think it’s likelier that she never moved.” Her expression shifted. “You sound like another detective. Were you an MP, or...?”
“No, we do some of the same kind of thing when we’ve been inserted into a foreign country and discover our intel isn’t accurate. It’s time you and I start thinking like investigators.” He’d realized as much immediately. “If you trust the police, you’d be letting them protect you and Chloe. They offered protection, didn’t they?”
“Round the clock.”
“But you called your brother instead. Why?”
She made a face. “Two reasons. One is that they’re desperate for Chloe to tell them what she saw and heard. They called constantly, dropped by at the office. They were impatient, skeptical. Why wasn’t she talking yet? I overheard one of the detectives saying I was being too soft, that they could ‘crack her open.’ His words. All I could picture was a nutcracker smashing a walnut open.”
Gabe winced, sympathizing with her obvious anger. He could empathize with the cops’ frustration, too, but nothing justified traumatizing that cute kid any more than she’d already been.
“They didn’t like it that I wouldn’t tell them where I ‘stashed’ her during the day, while I worked,” Trina continued, with unabated indignation.
“Where did you?” he asked, curious.
“Some of the professionals and staff in the building went in together, rented a small vacant office