I can drive.”
“No.” His pointed gaze took in her knotted fists and the shiver she couldn’t hide. “You’re in shock. Mom’s with the kids. She’ll enjoy babying you.”
Ridiculous to feel disappointed. Of course he wouldn’t stay with her. He had a murder to investigate. She knew the drill: he would probably work for twenty-four straight hours, canvassing neighbors, supervising crime scene technicians, following up on the tiniest leads. The older the trail, the less likely that a murderer would be caught, Stuart always said. Homicide cops did not drop an investigation to take the night off and pat the little woman’s shoulder.
“I…that’s nice of you, but shouldn’t you ask your mother?” Natalie had only met Ivy McLean a handful of times, the first at Stuart’s funeral. John was divorced and his two kids lived with him. His mother must be baby-sitting tonight.
Geoff cleared his throat. “You know Linda will give me hell if I don’t bring you home with me.”
Natalie doubted his wife would go that far. The two women were casual friends because of their husbands, but they had so little else in common, they’d never progressed beyond the occasional invitation to dinner.
A tiny spark of bemusement penetrated the numbness she’d wrapped around herself as snugly as the afghan. “I do have women friends who can run me a hot bath and tuck me in. Really, you don’t have to…”
John’s hard stare silenced her. “Yes. I do. I’d rather know where you are.”
Because she was a suspect in a murder investigation? The thought shook her. John couldn’t really believe even for a second that she would do something like that, could he?
“Yes. All right,” she said, sounding ungracious but too discombobulated to figure out what woman friend would actually have a spare bedroom without putting a child out. She would have to explain, too, listen to exclamations of horror, perhaps endure avid curiosity. Ivy McLean was the mother of not just one son in law enforcement, but three. She would have heard it often enough before to imagine the scene without wanting the details. Natalie didn’t like the idea of putting out a near-stranger, but if she just took a hot bath and went straight to bed, she didn’t have to be much trouble.
“What else do you need?” John asked. “Are you on any prescriptions? What about a nightgown or clothes for morning?”
Morning would be Saturday, and she wouldn’t have to work, thank heavens.
“My purse,” she said, explaining where she’d dropped it. “The middle drawer in my dresser has jeans, and T-shirts are in the one below that. I left a sweater draped over a chair in my bedroom. Nightgowns are in the top drawer.”
“Underwear?”
She could rinse out the ones she was wearing. But she’d sound so missish if she suggested that, Natalie tried to match his matter-of-fact tone. “There’s a small drawer on top next to the mirror.”
“Good enough.” John left to go fetch her things. He and Geoff had a brief discussion she couldn’t hear at the door. A moment later, Natalie heard Geoff telling the Porters he needed to ask them a few questions.
In the living room, they sat side by side on the couch, Mrs. Porter clutching her husband’s hand. She sat very straight, a dignified, tiny woman whose dark hair was whitening in streaks, her husband a tall, thin man whose color was none too good. Her eyes were bright, his dull. Natalie remembered guiltily that she’d heard something about bypass surgery a few months back. Had anybody in the neighborhood brought meals or even just expressed sympathy? Their kindness today made Natalie feel terrible about the way she’d shrugged off the casually mentioned news.
Geoff’s questions were routine. Had they seen or heard anything out of the ordinary? Cars they didn’t recognize?
Shaking her head, Mrs. Porter said, “We grocery shopped this morning, then had lunch.”
So they did actually go out.
“This afternoon Roger mowed the lawn while I deadheaded the roses. I don’t believe a car passed the entire while. Did you see one, dear?”
He frowned, giving it careful thought. “No. No, I didn’t notice one.”
“Then we lay down for a quick nap,” his wife continued. “I’d just begun thinking about putting dinner on.”
Geoff thanked them gravely and closed his notebook. Natalie carefully folded the afghan and laid it on the arm of the chair.
Standing, she smiled even as she felt the hot spurt of tears. “You’ve been so kind. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been home. Please, let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”
“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Porter stood and came to Natalie, taking her hand, hers dry but surprisingly strong. “We’ve wished we could help you since your husband died! All by yourself in that big house. You come see us anytime.” She turned a commanding gaze on the detective. “You will let us know when you catch the man who did such an awful thing, now won’t you?”
“It’ll be in the newspapers,” he promised.
“Assuming you do catch him,” she said acerbically, sounding like her sharp self for the first time tonight.
Geoff’s expression became wooden. “We’ll do our best, ma’am.”
“See that you do.” She gave Natalie’s hand a last squeeze. “Warm milk does help you sleep.”
“I’ll remember that.” Natalie was teary again as Geoff escorted her out. She must still be in shock. She wasn’t usually so emotional.
“We will catch him,” Geoff promised as they crossed the street. “Count on it.”
“I know you will.” Natalie paused on the sidewalk in front of her house and gazed at it, wondering if it would ever seem familiar and safe again. She felt again the sense of wrongness, and this time, it raised goose bumps on her skin. She rubbed her forearms.
“I only hope you arrest him soon. It’s going to give me the creeps to go home, wondering why they were in my house and whether he could get in again.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t go home.” Frowning, Geoff held open the car door for her. “Until we figure out for sure what they were after.”
She liked the way he worried about her. Even if his concern, too, was for Stuart’s sake.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to develop a phobia about my own house.” Natalie sighed and climbed into the passenger seat of the dark blue car. “We’ll see how it goes.”
He nodded, as kind in his way as the Porters had been. Voice gruff, he said, “Just remember, there’s a fine line between bravery and idiocy. Don’t push yourself to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
John McLean emerged from the house carrying her overnight bag and purse. Both she and Geoff turned their heads to watch him cut across her lawn. She liked watching him move, with the discipline and grace of an athlete, his stride purposeful and long.
What would she have thought of him if she were a normal citizen who didn’t know the investigating officers? Natalie wondered idly. Would his physical bulk and the bulge of the gun he carried in a shoulder holster have intimidated her? She certainly couldn’t have known that he had a dry sense of humor or that his eyes often held a twinkle even as his mouth remained unsmiling. Or that this cop in a dark, well-cut suit would go home most days to cook dinner for his children, help them with homework, supervise baths and tuck them in.
Her mind roved further. If she’d never met Detective John McLean, if she weren’t a widow of barely a year, could she have been attracted to him?
Jolted, Natalie uttered a small, startled sound that Geoff, mercifully, seemed not to notice. Where