Donovan(12)

I glanced at her, wondering what it was she might have unwittingly gotten herself into. And then I shook my head, shaking away that line of thought. It wasn’t my job to find out the who or the why. It was my job to make sure she made it through this unhurt.

We pulled into the driveway of a modest brick house on the outer edge of Santa Monica. It had a small yard, a few rose bushes growing low under the front windows. And there was a one-car garage that Ash had left the remote to in the SUV’s cup holder.

“Where did you…?”

I pulled the SUV carefully into the garage and reached to grab her arm to keep her in her seat until the door closed completely behind us.

“I’d rather you not make a target of yourself.”

She jerked her arm away. “You don’t have to manhandle me. You could have simply asked me to wait.”

“Would you have listened?”

She didn’t answer, but the look she shot me was all the answer I needed.

She climbed out and marched toward the door that led into the house. I followed closely behind, checking my phone to make sure an alert hadn’t come in from David’s program. Before David’s program, I would have swept the house before I allowed the client to walk in, but the program made that unnecessary. If anyone had gotten into the house between the time Carson’s team left and we arrived, I would know it because the program would have known it.

The garage door opened into the kitchen. It was a galley-style kitchen with counters on either side. Kate didn’t pause as she made her way through, turning the corner at the archway into a large, welcoming living room. There was an overstuffed couch and a comfortable looking recliner situated in front of a plasma television on the wall. There were no adornments, no pictures on the walls, no flowers in fancy vases, none of the personal touches that I would have expected of Kate. There was no clutter at all, just the furniture, like a showroom in a retail store.

Kate continued through the room and up a narrow hall. I should have stayed in the living room, but I followed.

“That’s your room,” she said, gesturing to the first door on my right. “And the bathroom, obviously,” she said as she pointed to a door further up the hall on the left. Then she pushed through the door at the end of the hall, sighing as she went to the king-sized bed and threw herself onto it.

I stood in the doorway, taking in the heavy furniture, another television on the wall, and the tall windows that were darkened by black drapes. Again there were no adornments in this room. A couple of books on the bedside table. A few clothes scattered over the back of a very uncomfortable looking chair in the corner. The only personal touch seemed to be the generic treadmill in the corner.

But then there was one picture in this room. On the bedside table, nearly hidden by the books. It was a photograph I immediately recognized because I was the one who took it. It was a picture of her and Joshua with their arms around each other that I took a couple of weekends before graduation, before that night. They were laughing, staring into each other’s eyes with a sense of affection that you could only find in certain siblings. In twins.

Looking at that photo was like having someone reach in and tear a piece of my soul away.

“I’m safe in my own bedroom,” she said. “I think you can leave me alone now.”

It was almost a physical effort to pull my eyes from that picture. When I finally focused on her, I saw her glance back and look at the photo, too.

She sat up, her hand moving to her head as she did.

“I might have to put up with you following me around. I might even have to put up with living with you for a few days. But I don’t have to put up with you invading my personal space.” That glare was back, that look that held all the hatred I knew she felt for me. “Please leave the room.”

“Just so you know, if you try to sneak out the window, I will be alerted by the motion detectors our team set up. So I suggest you don’t try it.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

I studied her face for a second, some part of me unable to simply walk away. There was something about looking at her that was like coming home. Like I’d finally come full circle in my life. Logically, I knew nothing had changed. I knew she would never forgive me for what she thought I failed to do the night her brother received the injuries that killed him. I knew that, even though the boys who actually delivered the blows were serving their time in jail, she believed I’d gotten away with something. But being here with her, standing in her home, offered me some sort of hope that I had been afraid to seek.

Her eyes narrowed and she waved her fingers. “Go away.”