“What about tonight?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“Do you think whoever strung that barbed wire is going to come back?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he turned tail like a scared ferret when he could have confronted me. I think he’s playing it safe. And if I’m wrong about that, I’ll hear the alarm.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Then I guess I’ll go to bed.”
“I’ll stay up for a while.” He stopped in the doorway and turned back to her. “Think about what might link the killings together.”
“I have.”
“And what might link you with the victims,” he added.
She winced. “Thanks.”
“We have to be realistic.” He paused. “Do you ever use bedtime to give yourself a problem to solve?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a useful technique. For example, I might focus on something I’m wondering about and tell myself I’m going to process it while I sleep.”
“That works?”
“Sometimes. Maybe you could try it.”
“Give me an example.”
He looked like she’d put him on the spot, but he finally said, “A few months ago we were trying to help Shane’s wife figure out who had kidnapped her brother. Well, she wasn’t his wife then.”
“I didn’t know he was married.”
“He and Jack both are,” Max said then switched back to the subject at hand. “Anyway, we were working on the situation with the brother, and I’d think about it when I got in bed—running down lists of bad guys in the area.”
“Did the technique help?”
He laughed. “Unfortunately, no. I didn’t have enough information at the time. But you might have better luck with class members. I mean, you remember them. And being at that meeting brought back more memories, right?”
“Yes.” She cleared her suddenly clogged throat. “Maybe I’ll try.”
“Something you haven’t thought about before.”
He left the bathroom and headed for the stairs. She started to turn away, then changed her mind, realizing she might as well get ready for bed. She wanted to go to sleep and forget the murders, and the plan he’d suggested made her nerves jangle. She firmed her lips. If she tried it and failed, maybe he’d stop pressing her for high school memories.
Again she turned on the water and couldn’t help picturing the scene a few moments ago when she’d washed off Max’s wounds.
A lot of guys she’d met were babies about being hurt. Apparently Max was too macho to let her know if he was hurting.
Trying to get him out of her mind, she reached for her toothbrush, but as she brushed her teeth, her mind continued to wander. When she’d come down here with the idea of finding out who had killed Angela, she’d felt unsettled, and she’d even thought of herself as a target. But there had been no proof. From what had happened with the intruder tonight, it seemed she’d been wrong. And now she was reevaluating the whole plan. What if she just gave the investigation up and went back to New York? And then what? Get back into the rat race she’d vowed to escape?
Was she planning to run away so somebody else could get killed instead?
That thought made her grimace. Really, what guarantee did she have that someone who sneaked around her family farm wouldn’t come up to New York and stalk her there? Maybe it would depend on how focused they were on her.
She went back to her bedroom, closed the door, and changed from the clothes she’d been wearing into shorts and a T-shirt. Not what she usually slept in, but she didn’t want to be wearing a nightgown when there was a strange man in the house.
No, not a strange man. The man she had hired to track down Angela’s killer. And her best bet to stay safe was to stay here and stick close to Max Lyon, who had already demonstrated his worth in a couple of tight spots. But staying close to Max presented its own problems. She could admit to herself that she was attracted to him, but she was very sure that it wasn’t smart to act on that impulse—for a whole lot of reasons.
Chapter 8
Max walked down the steps, listening to the stair treads and then the floorboards creak. The house was old and showing the usual wear, but it was solidly built, not like the cheap apartments where he’d grown up, where you could hear the people above and below you talking and flushing the toilet.
The toilet upstairs flushed, and he shook his head. Well, that wasn’t so different. But this had been a one-family home, not an apartment where you were supposed to have some privacy.
He crossed the darkened living room and pulled the shade aside, looking out at the farmyard. Everything was still and quiet. But he hadn’t expected to see movement. If someone came close enough for a visual sighting, he’d hear the alarm again first.