didn’t want to make a bunch of noise in the kitchen while you were sleeping.”
“You wouldn’t have bothered me.”
“I wasn’t worried about bothering you. I was worried about waking you. Sophia is a deep sleeper. You don’t seem to sleep much at all. At least you don’t on any of the nights when I pull shift.” He cracked several eggs in a bowl and beat them.
It was true. She hadn’t been sleeping much since returning to St. Louis, but she hadn’t realized that Hunter had noticed. As a matter of fact, she’d had the distinct impression that he didn’t pay much attention to anything she and Sophia did. Unless he thought they were going to break a rule. Like the week before Christmas, when he’d cautioned her a half a dozen times, telling her to make sure she didn’t give in to temptation and go shopping for gifts.
She hadn’t actually been tempted. Celebrating Christmas without Joe had seemed too sad, too lonely. She’d been happy to give Hunter some money and a short list of gifts for Sophia.
As far as Christmases went, the last one was the worst she’d ever had.
Next year’s would be better, though.
She’d promised herself that.
“You’re deep in thought,” Hunter said as he poured the eggs into a hot pan and dropped cheese on top of them.
“I’m just tired. Like you said, I haven’t been sleeping much since I came back to St. Louis.”
“Nervous about the trial?”
“Among other things.”
“It’s good that you have a healthy sense of caution but try not to worry too much. It’s not good for you.” He folded the eggs into a fluffy omelet and took a plate from the cupboard. “Are you having nightmares, too? Is that what woke you tonight?”
“Yes,” she admitted. Nine nights out of ten, she woke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding with fear. She hoped that would change once Joe’s murderers were in jail. Knowing both men were off the street for good would go a long way in giving her peace of mind.
“That’s not surprising. You’ve been through some tough times. It’s going to take a while to get over it,” he said as he slid the omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of her. “Not that that makes the nightmares easier to deal with. Go ahead and eat while I make mine. Then I’ll show you the photo of the doll.”
“Okay.” She stabbed at the omelet, surprised by Hunter’s words. That was the most he’d ever said to her. At least, the most that he’d said that didn’t have something to do with the case and her safety.
She hadn’t thought he had it in him to care much about anything. Maybe she’d been wrong.
She took a bite of egg. No salt or pepper. No onions or green peppers, but it tasted good, and she really was hungry.
Hunter sat down across from her, a pile of scrambled eggs on his plate. He’d taken a lot more time with her food than with his own.
“Good?” he asked.
“Very. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. I’m just doing my job.”
“Your job is to protect me. Not feed me.”
He eyed her for a moment, his brow furrowed. “My job is to keep you healthy and safe until the trial. ‘Healthy’ means that you eat regular meals so that you don’t fade away to nothing.”
“I don’t think you can call this a regular meal. It’s not breakfast, lunch or dinner,” she pointed out.
“It’s food, and you need it. You didn’t eat breakfast or dinner yesterday.”
“Did you have cameras set up in the safe house?” She sounded as horrified as she felt.
“No,” he said. “I checked in a couple of times yesterday, remember? One bowl in the sink after breakfast. Two plates at lunch. Sophia’s little pink plate in the sink after dinner.”
“I snacked. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Sure it is. Like I said, I have to—”
“Keep me healthy and safe until the trial. I know,” she sighed. “Let’s change the subject, okay?”
He raised one dark brow. “Why?”
“Because I’d rather talk about the doll.” And because thinking about Hunter noticing all the things about her that he’d noticed made her uncomfortable. Even if he had just noticed because it was his job.
His dark eyes speared into hers, and, for a moment, she thought that he was going to press for more.
Finally, he stood. “I printed out a photograph. I’ll get it.”
She didn’t follow him from the room. She needed a couple of minutes to gather her thoughts. She wanted to see the photo, but she didn’t. If it was Sophia’s doll, the men who’d murdered Joe had picked it up. She didn’t remember seeing it in either of their hands, but then, she’d only caught a glimpse of John Fiske. He’d already been heading out the back door as she’d walked into the kitchen. He’d glanced over his shoulder to say something to his partner and had seen her.
Annie had been within seconds of dying that day. If the gun Luke Saunders had been carrying hadn’t malfunctioned, she’d be dead. If Sophia had been home, she’d have been dead, too.
She shuddered, washing Hunter’s empty plate and her own. Anything to keep the memories at bay. They were a heavy burden. One she didn’t think she’d ever be able to lay down. She’d wanted so badly to save Joe. She’d pressed dishcloths to the wound in his chest, trying to sop up the blood. She’d held his hand and touched his cheek and told him he was going to be all right. She hadn’t believed it. He hadn’t, either.
Don’t let anything happen to the baby.
His last words to her, and she’d promised that she wouldn’t.
“Please, Lord, help me keep that promise. For him and for me,” she whispered as she dried the plates and put them away.
The apartment floor creaked, and she knew Hunter was returning. She settled back into a chair, the eggs sitting like lead in the pit of her stomach.
Hunter took the seat across from her, sliding a folder across the table. “Are you sure you want to do this tonight?”
“It’s morning, and I’m sure.”
She might be sure, but her hands were trembling. Hunter noticed that and her pallor. She was ashen, her eyes bright blue in her pale face.
Any other time, any other witness, and Hunter would have been impatient for her to do what needed to be done. He was impatient. He needed her to look at the picture. If the doll had been taken from the Delacorte house, it would be a lot easier to connect the guy who’d used it to intimidate Annie to Saunders and Fiske. One more nail in the guys’ coffins.
Once
