She set the carton and glass down on the counter. “I thought they closed the case.”
“Not exactly. The case is still open. They don’t have any leads, but my dad agreed that a fresh set of eyes might help.” He turned and opened the cabinet containing the mugs with his left hand. “Plus, my father makes a mean omelet.”
“I remember.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Honey, if you remembered his eggs you’d be racing to change out of your penguins and polar bears. My father’s a damn good policeman. But his omelets are out of this world. Go change. Shower if you want. I’ll make myself at home on your couch and wait.”
“Do you expect to find something in the file?” she asked. “Do you think your dad missed something?”
“I doubt it.” He turned back to the counter and filled his mug. “But it’s a place to start. Plus, I’d like to get cleaned up. Maybe while you chat with my dad.”
He wouldn’t leave her alone. Not even for a shower . . .
And he wanted to find the man. When everyone else said to move on, focus on healing . . .
“You’re going to try to find him,” she said. “The guy from the park.”
He nodded.
He’d promised before. And she’d chalked the claims up to alpha-male bravado. But if he’d asked to see the files . . .
She crossed the room and stopped in front of him, close enough to wrap her arms around him. But she didn’t touch him. She rose up on her tiptoes until her mouth was level with his ear. Then she leaned as close as she dared.
“Thank you.” She pressed her lips to his bearded cheek. Nothing else touched. One hand on his chest and she might be tempted to show off her red panties again.
Before her lips could savor the feel of his soft beard against her lips, she drew back and met his intense gaze. “And you’re welcome to my shower,” she added.
“While you’re in it?”
She laughed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Probably not.” He raised his mug to his lips. “But I’ve spent the last few months hiding from the world in my apartment. Bad ideas are my specialty these days.”
She stepped back as if the mounting tension had physical barriers. If she crossed over the line, she wouldn’t be safe. She paused by the door. If she went too far . . .
“You’ll wait here while I shower?”
He nodded. “You can close your eyes when you wash your hair. Trust me, I’ll keep you safe.”
She turned and headed down the hall for her bedroom. Out of all the men in the world, why did the one who believed her have to be the same man who’d break her heart when he left again?
Chapter Seven
DOMINIC GLANCED AT the police file that was riding shotgun in his rental. He’d crashed at his childhood home while Lily tended bar. After his nap, he’d slipped out of his dad’s farmhouse with the file tucked under his arm. Then he’d picked her up at the bar and returned to his post outside her house. If he took another look now, he might find something he’d missed when he’d scanned the pages this morning over his dad’s omelets. Plus, he’d been distracted earlier. Lily’s hope had practically filled the fourth place at the kitchen table.
She’s counting on me to find something. To put her mind at ease and help her move on. I can’t let her down.
He picked up the folder and scanned the pages. But even as he read over the words again, he knew the clue he needed wasn’t there. He closed the file and tossed it aside. His dad might be right. This guy could be in another state by now or in Portland, waiting to slash his next victim. Or locked up in a psych ward.
But he trusted Lily’s gut feeling. She’d been the one on the ground, the person under attack. And yeah, he’d been there before. He knew that sometimes instinct trumped logic. Plus, this was Lily. She wouldn’t lie for attention. She wouldn’t make this up.
And he’d promised her that he’d find the guy. If that proved impossible, hell, he’d be stuck here in Forever searching for a damn ghost.
He turned his right hand over, flexing the damaged muscles and nerves. Stay here . . . It felt as if he was abandoning any hope of finding his way back to the life he’d had with the army. The finality of that thought—that he was broken beyond repair—sank down like a lead weight pinning him to the seat of the car.
His hand would never work right again. He’d known that when he’d walked out of physical therapy that last time. He wasn’t hoping for a miracle.
What’s next?
The question echoed in his mind. It had been there for months, but he still didn’t have a clue.