And no, he hadn’t said it, but she didn’t need the words. She’d known the instant he climbed in the shower with her in all his clothes. She’d known from how he’d made love, from how he looked at her, from how he’d opened his heart to her.
Still, she jumped when she heard the landline ring from the other room. She was relaxed, even happy, but even that innocuous sound of real life hit like a shot of adrenaline. It did the same for Cord. “I’m not answering it. There’s nothing that can’t wait for a few more hours. I guess we should solidify some plans, though.”
Her blissful mood faded, but of course she didn’t expect that euphoric high to last forever. And they did want to agree on a plan of attack for the days ahead. Although Cord had done several back-and-forths to feed and water Caviar, Sophie was still fretting about the cat being alone. So they agreed that they’d head in really early tomorrow morning-where she’d pack up some clothes, her work, pick up her mail, get rid of old milk and somehow maneuver Caviar into a cage.
The goal was for her to set up here for a while. Technically, she could do her translating work anywhere, so it was no hardship to hide out at Cord’s. “And something has to break,” he kept saying. “They’ve got more suspects and clues and information than Carter ever had liver pills. One of the leads has got to hit pay dirt.”
She not only agreed, but being an enthusiastic coward, she was happy to hide out in Cord’s cave. The deep bruises on her back were still swollen and achy. There wasn’t a reason on the planet to put herself in harm’s way. She wanted to help, but being victimized by someone who mistakenly thought she was a threat was crazy.
She heaped more of the soft, warm brie on a cracker. “Did you think about what we discussed before? That the day Jon was murdered, there had to be some kind of trigger for the killer, something unique that happened?”
“Yeah. And I think you’re absolutely right.” He took a pull on the beer, as comfortable naked as he was fully clothed. “Something had to have happened that day. Something that provoked the person into confronting Jon. God knows, any number of women could have been motivated to kill him. But if we could figure out the trigger on that one day…”
“The puzzle would come together,” she finished.
“Sophie, we need to talk about a couple of the women you know. Jan Howell and Penelope Martin.”
Cord’s head was down; he was still opening tops, finding more stuff Cate had made for them. Something looked a little green; he put the lid back on. Likely it was petrified vegetables. Sophie, though, had gone absolutely dead-still. She couldn’t say why alarm bells suddenly went off in her head. But something was…off. Cord’s tone had changed in an odd way, become too casual, too careful. And he’d brought up the two names out of seemingly nowhere.
“Sure,” she said. “What about them?”
Again, it seemed like an innocuous question. But they hadn’t been talking about innocuous things. Sophie felt another whistle of unease. “Well, you know how it is around Foggy Bottom. There are a lot of people living there alone, temporarily-like for political jobs, or for the schools, or for projects with the government or whatever. There just seemed a regular group who grabbed breakfast on Sunday morning at the same bistro. You start to recognize people in the same neighborhood, you know? They made the first moves, I think. Made friends. I wouldn’t say any of them are soul mates or likely to be lifelong friends, but they’ve been good neighbors. Good company.”
“Like Penny. Like Jan.”
“Yeah. And like Hillary.” For someone who’d been eating like a wanton pig, she suddenly couldn’t look at the food. And sitting there without clothes abruptly felt…wrong. She reached down, found his shirt on the floor, yanked it on. “They talked about your brother all the time, naturally. All the best gossip revolved around him. Everybody knew Jon. He wasn’t awake most Sunday mornings, but he was known to grab a coffee there, too. What makes you ask about them?”
Cord wasn’t looking at her. Of course he was still eating. “I just think that your holing up here for a while is a good idea.”
“Actually, I was thinking that we’ll be in Foggy Bottom early enough tomorrow that I could do my Sunday coffee klatch thing with them. They’ll think it’s weird if I don’t show up. In fact, they’ll worry. Besides which…Cord, they’ve been really good to me, like pitching in to help after that first break-in.”
“Maybe they pitched in. But maybe that gave them an ideal excuse to nose around.”
The comment startled her. “They’re nosy for sure. Gossipy. But I can’t imagine a reason to be suspicious of them.”
Cord fell silent. She watched his expression, watched his body language, and thought he might as well have been stabbing her in the heart.
Before making love, before becoming so close, he might have reasons to keep serious things from her. Cord was private by nature. So was she. But at this point, he surely had to know she’d trusted him with her heart. With her life, when it came down to it. Yet every instinct megaphoned that apparently, that trust wasn’t shared, because he was locking her out of something.
She tried a short joke, a laugh. “What? You think the police see Penelope or Jan as suspects in your brother’s murder?”
His response was immediate. “I think the cops see everyone as a potential suspect right now.”
She tried another short laugh, this one downright fake. “Next thing, you’ll be telling me they think I’m a suspect.”
There was just a flash of dark in his eyes. He immediately said, quietly, strongly, “There’s no way you’re a suspect, cookie.”
But she knew from that flash in his eyes, from his sudden stiffness, from the way he jerked around for his drink-that she was. She actually was a suspect. And Cord knew of the police’s suspicions.
She didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask anything else, couldn’t, not then. Cord’s exhaustion caught up with him, which was probably the reason he’d slipped with those comments to begin with. He crashed early. So did she.
Yet, on the morning drive back to D.C., Cord kept trying to make conversation. She answered him. She smiled.
Yet her heart sank lower with every mile. The glow from the time with Cord-his lovemaking, his caring, the shelter of feeling unquestionably loved-was dissipating like fog in the wind. She didn’t doubt he wanted to protect her. She didn’t doubt that he cared, or that their lovemaking had touched him.
But something was broken. And she was afraid it was her.
A watery sun peaked over the horizon as they reached Foggy Bottom. He dropped her off, rather than both of them wasting time finding a place to park. She said the obvious things, that she’d see him in a few hours after she got all her things together.
But the instant she entered her apartment and called for Caviar, she sank in a chair, feeling weak as dandelion fluff. The tomcat immediately prowled into the room, meowing furiously as he leaped on her lap, and butted his head under her chin.
“Okay, okay,” she murmured. “I know you’re mad I was gone. But Cord was here every day, giving you fresh food and water. You know I’d never abandon you, you doofus.”
But the cat seemed beside himself, kneading and purring and nuzzling. Sophie closed her eyes, burying her face in the cat’s soft fur, wishing the thick, sad lump in her throat would go away. She knew she had some unreasonable fears. She knew it was irrationally hard for her to believe that anyone could last in her life.
But Cord’s behavior-his suddenly changing from a lover to a man keeping secrets from her-hurt like a raw wound. When the killer was found, he’d be gone. What had held them together was the danger, the connection to Jon. But he’d always had one foot out the door.
Trusting someone was always a choice, always a risk.