the sky. He was already working on his second cup of coffee, knowing that with the lack of sleep the night before, he’d need a good caffeine buzz to get him through what promised to be a long day ahead.
Nina had said very little on the drive to his place the night before. She’d also been silent as he’d led her through the house to his spare bedroom. He’d provided her with one of his T-shirts to wear to bed, and she’d immediately closed her bedroom door and hadn’t come out for the rest of the night.
He was sure she had to have been suffering from some kind of shock. It was bad enough that she had witnessed a violent murder, but to know that the murderer had then burned her house to the ground had to be terrifying.
At some point during today he’d need to take her to the discount store to pick up some clothing and toiletries. From the scene at her house the night before, he was pretty sure that nothing would be salvageable. Not only did he need to take her shopping, but he also had a new murder to investigate and a new witness to protect.
Even though his officers would have a report for him first thing this morning concerning Jolene’s death, he wanted to go to the scene and check things out himself. The murder had occurred on the corner just two houses from where Jolene had been staying since Hank’s initial arrest, and even though he trusted his officers, Flint wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw the scene for himself.
This attention to detail, checking and rechecking, was what had made him such a successful cop in Cheyenne, at least until the end of his work there.
He frowned and turned away from the window. He didn’t want to think about the case that had been his swan song in Cheyenne. Besides, he’d already screwed up here by not placing some sort of protection on Jolene the minute Hank Bittard had escaped custody.
Even with Molly being stood up by her creep of a fiancé, even with the quarantine shaking everyone up and with his grandmother catching the virus, there was no excuse for failing in his duty of protecting Jolene. Just like Cheyenne, a little voice whispered in the back of his head.
He sat at the table and instead of getting caught up in his past and the agony of thoughts that brought, he began to mentally prepare himself for a houseguest that may or may not be so temporary.
It all depended on how long it took him to get the murderer back into custody. So far Bittard had managed to be successfully and frustratingly elusive in a quarantined town.
He thought of the fire at Nina’s house. There was no question in his mind that it had been set by Jolene’s murderer.
He’d need to check out the gas station to find out if a gas can and gasoline might have been stolen. Hank could have stolen a can of gas from anywhere, but the more details Flint could find out about the man’s movements, the better his odds of finally getting him back in jail and letting Nina get back to her normal life.
The object of his thoughts suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before, a long-sleeved white blouse and a pair of black slacks, and by the paleness of her face, she hadn’t yet finished processing everything that had happened to her in the past twelve hours or so.
“Help yourself to the coffee,” he said as he pulled the blinds closed at the windows. The last thing he wanted was for anyone outside to see her movements inside the house. “Cups are in the cabinet over the coffeemaker.”
She nodded and moved to get a cup. After pouring her coffee, she carried her cup to the table and sat down across from him.
She took a drink of her coffee and then set the cup back on the table. “I feel like I’m living somebody else’s life right now.”
“I wish I could tell you that this was all just a bad dream,” he replied. Despite the paleness of her features, she looked pretty with the artificial light over the kitchen table dancing in the strands of her hair and highlighting her delicate features.
“This is such a nightmare,” she replied with a tremulous sigh. “And I still haven’t quite realized that I’m not going to wake up and find out that everything is fine.” She took another drink and then looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “If you think I’m going to hole up here and not go into the diner today, then you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I was just thinking about the logistics of this protective-custody position that you find yourself in,” he replied. “And trust me, I figured there was no way I could keep you from your work. Besides being here in my house with me, the diner is probably the only other place I think you’ll be safe. Bittard wouldn’t kill you in the diner when he’d be leaving behind dozens of more witnesses.”
He couldn’t imagine that her face could have grown more pale, but it did, and he mentally cursed himself for his bluntness. But it was important she understand the severity of her situation.
She wrapped her fingers around her cup and stared down into the warm liquid. “Do you cook?” she asked and looked back up at him.
He sat back in his chair with surprise. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, her words weren’t even close to being on the short list. “Frozen pizza, microwave meals. Cooking has never been a big priority of mine. Why?”
“Then it’s not all gloom and doom. If I’m going to stay here then you can expect a home-cooked meal every night. I’ll either whip up something here or bring home-cooked meals from the diner. It’s the least I can do.”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he replied with a smile. He was pleased to see some of the color coming back into her cheeks. “But if you cook all day long, why on earth would you want to cook for me when you’re off duty?”
She shrugged. “Cooking is what I do, it’s what I love. It makes me happy to cook for other people.”
“Then we probably need to work in a stop at the grocery store before the day is done. My refrigerator and pantry aren’t stocked with much of anything but canned soups and bologna and cheese.”
She took another sip of her coffee and eyed him over the rim of the cup. “This is going to be weird. I’m sure you aren’t used to sharing your space with anyone, and I’m definitely not used to sharing mine. I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “I want you to feel at home here for as long as you need to be here.”
She lowered her cup and flashed him a smile. “I’m sure it will only be a day or two and you’ll get Bittard in custody, and we can both go back to our own lives.”
With the warmth of her smile swirling around in the pit of his stomach, Flint almost hoped he didn’t find Bittard so soon. But it was a wayward, foolish thought. His first priority was keeping Nina safe. His second was to get the murderer back behind bars where he belonged, and so far Bittard had remained effective at remaining on the loose.
She got up to pour herself another cup of coffee and when she returned to the table, they lined up the schedule for the day. He would take her to work and then he’d go to work. He’d pick her up sometime early evening, and they’d stop to get her some clothes and things she’d need and stock up on some groceries before landing back here.
They left his house at just after seven, and he dropped her off at the diner, comforted that she assured him there were at least three people already there ahead of her and two of them were male cooks who came in at six each morning to prep
