desire struck him.
The time and place was inappropriate for such a feeling but even more shocking was that he felt it at all. Maybe his sorrow at losing Lainie had somehow manufactured some crazy feelings for her sister.
The last thing he wanted was to feel desire for any woman. At least Melody was relatively safe. She’d be out of town before he knew it, back to her own life in Chicago.
He took the glass she held out to him. “Where are you from, Hank?” she asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around town before I moved to Chicago.”
“Actually, I’m originally from Cotter Creek. Lainie and I were in the same grade from kindergarten to seventh grade. Then my parents moved to Texas. My mom moved back after my dad died.”
“I think I remember your family. What brought you back here?” she asked.
“I’m a single parent. I have an eight-year-old daughter, Maddie. About four months ago I decided to make a change. Since Mom lives here now, it seemed a logical place to land. Mom has one of the town houses on the second floor.” He broke off, realizing he’d given her far more information than she’d asked for or probably wanted.
“The night Lainie was murdered, you didn’t hear anything?” The intensity of her eyes was heartbreaking.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t. I’m an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy, and even though our places share a common wall, the units are fairly soundproof. I wish I had heard something,” he said as a wealth of emotion surged up. His hands made tight fists at his sides. “I would have gone inside and stopped it all from happening.”
She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm, her fingers hot, as if she were suffering from a fever. “Don’t blame yourself.” She instantly dropped her hand and took a step backward, her forehead wrinkling with a frown.
“I can’t imagine life without her. She was such a big part of my life.” She released a small laugh. “Even when I was in Chicago, Lainie managed to fill my life. She’d call at least once a day. Sometimes it was first thing in the morning and other times in the middle of the night.”
She shook her head ruefully, a hollowness taking up residency in her eyes. “The night of her murder, she called and I didn’t pick up the phone.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I was tired and I just didn’t want to deal with any drama, so I let my machine take the call.”
He set his glass on the counter, searching his mind for the right thing to say. She hadn’t shed a tear during the funeral service but, when her lower lip began to tremble uncontrollably and her blue eyes washed with impending tears, he realized she was now about to lose it.
Hank shifted from one foot to the other, unsure what to do as she seemed to crumble within herself. He didn’t know whether he reached for her or she reached for him, but she was suddenly in his arms, sobbing against his chest.
Hank froze for a moment, but as she continued to cry, he wound his arms around her slender back and held her close.
It didn’t matter that they were virtually strangers. At the moment they were merely two people mourning a loss. As he held her, he tried not to notice how well she fit into his arms, how the top of her head fit neatly beneath his chin and the press of her breasts was warm and inviting.
What a time for his hormones to kick back to life after being dormant for so long. He wasn’t sure what it was about Melody Thompson, but from the moment he’d seen her a spark had gone off inside him—a spark he hadn’t felt in years and one he wasn’t eager to welcome back.
She cried for only a minute or two longer, then stepped back from him. “I’m sorry.” She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “I normally don’t fall apart like that.”
“Please, don’t apologize,” he replied. She grabbed a paper napkin from the table and finished wiping her tears. He stood by awkwardly and waited for her to pull herself together. He picked up his drink from the counter, even though he wasn’t thirsty.
“What are your plans now?” he asked.
She tossed the napkin in a nearby trash can, then shrugged. “I have to decide what needs to be done with Lainie’s things, then get the town house on the market.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,” he offered.
She smiled then, the first smile he’d seen from her, and pleasure washed over him at the beauty of her expression. “Thanks.” The smile fell away and she held his gaze intently. “The most important thing I want to do is find out who killed my sister, and I’m not leaving town until I have an answer.”
Melody grabbed her coffee cup and took another sip. Maybe after two or three cups she’d start feeling alive. She sat at the kitchen table listing everything that needed to be done.
She had three lists started. One detailed what needed to be done to get the place ready for resale. The second had notes she’d made about what to do with Lainie’s personal items and the last one simply had the word Investigation across the top.
It was just after eight and the morning sun was pouring in through the window, warming her back as she worked. She’d been up far too late the night before, searching Lainie’s bedroom for a diary, a notepad, anything that might yield a clue as to whom she’d had a date with on the night of her death.
She’d found nothing. If anything had once been there, then the sheriff and his men had probably removed it when they’d searched the place as a crime scene.
It had been after two when she’d finally fallen into bed, exhausted both mentally and physically. She took another sip of her coffee and stared down at the sheet of paper headed Investigation.
There had been no sign of forced entry. That meant that Lainie knew her attacker, that she’d either opened the door to him or he’d had a key.
Hank Tyler had a key. He’d used it to come in and clean up the blood. And any incriminating evidence he feared might remain? She found it hard to believe that the handsome man who had held her while she wept after the funeral was also a cold-blooded killer.
However, she also knew that to trust anyone right now would be foolish. Just because Hank Tyler was easy on the eyes and seemed to have compassion didn’t mean that he wasn’t a viable suspect.
There hadn’t been anything missing. Whoever had come in hadn’t been bent on robbing the place. That meant he’d entered with the specific purpose of harming Lainie.
She picked up her cup once again but, before she could bring it to her lips, she froze. Had she just heard a door open? Her heartbeat quickened, and she thought she heard a furtive movement in the living room.
Had the killer come back?
Sliding out of her seat at the table, she fought the icy chill of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. As quietly as possible, she moved to the drawer that she knew held the knives and grabbed one in her hand.
If she was wrong and nobody was in the condo, then she would chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But if somebody
