Maybe it’s just one of those random things,” she said. “Or a case of mistaken identity or something.”
“Maybe so.” The officer put away her pen and paper. “We’ll do our best to find the person responsible. In the meantime, be careful.”
The officer left and Graham rejoined her. “Let’s go back to your place,” he said.
She nodded. All she wanted was a hot bath and a cup of tea, and maybe a movie to distract her from all the horrors of today—first Bobby’s death, then someone trying to kill her. It was too much.
When they reached her Jeep, Graham held out his hand. “I’ll drive.”
She started to argue—to tell him he was bossy and point out it was her car. “What about your Cruiser?” she asked.
“I can get it later.”
Weariness won over stubbornness and she handed over the keys without another word.
Neither of them spoke on the drive to her house. She was still too numb for words, and he appeared lost in his own thoughts. But he swore as he pulled the Jeep to a stop in her driveway. She sat up straighter, heart pounding. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t leave your front door standing open when we left, did you?” he asked.
She stared at the entrance to her house, registering that the door was open. Then she was out of the car before she even realized what she was doing, running up the steps. “Janey!” she shouted. “Oh, Janey!”
* * *
JANEY THE CAT turned out to be fine, though she was clearly upset. They found her hiding under Emma’s bed—a king-size affair with a puffy floral comforter and at least a dozen pillows. It looked feminine and soft and sexy—and it annoyed Graham that he could think these things while in the midst of a serious investigation.
“Is anything missing?” he asked as he followed Emma through the house, which looked undisturbed.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I was so worried about Janey I didn’t even look.” She cradled the cat to her chest and he felt a stab of envy. Yeah, he had it bad for this woman. Focus, he reminded himself.
“Then let’s look together.”
They checked the spare bedroom, living room and dining room. Everything was neat and orderly, nothing out of place. When they got to the kitchen she stopped. “My papers,” she said.
“What papers?”
She pointed to the kitchen table, where a half-empty wineglass and a pen sat. “I was going over the notes I took today—at the press conference and at the crash site. They’re gone.”
She set down the cat and hurried back into the living room and through a door to what turned out to be her office. “My laptop is gone,” she said. She opened the accordion doors leading to a walk-in closet. “My files are gone, too.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them.” She pointed to the floor of the closet. “There was a rolling cart here, with two file drawers. It’s gone.”
“What was in the files?”
“Notes about articles I’ve written. Transcripts of interviews. Some photos.”
“Everything?”
“The last couple of years’ material. Anything older than that is in storage.”
“You’ll need to report this to the police,” he said. “Then you can’t stay here.”
There he went, being bossy again. “Excuse me, but this is my home and I’ll stay here if I want,” she said.
“It’s not safe.” He turned away, as if that were the final declaration on the subject.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward her. “Wait just a minute. We don’t know if this is connected to the shooting or if the people who took my files mean me any harm.”
“And we don’t know that they don’t. Do you want to take that chance?”
Of course she didn’t. But she didn’t want him thinking he could step in and rearrange her whole life for her. “I’m not leaving. I’ll change the locks and I’ll be careful, but I’m not leaving. Besides, where would I go?”
He pressed his lips together, as if debating his response. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “At least stay away for tonight,” he said. “The police will want to come in and take photos, dust for prints. You can go to a hotel. While you’re gone you can have someone in to change the locks.”
He’d softened his tone—less bossy, more concerned. Her stomach knotted with indecision. She looked around and spotted Janey in the armchair where she liked to nap, busily grooming herself. “A hotel won’t let me bring my cat and I won’t leave her,” she said. “Not when she’s had such a terrifying day.”
“Then stay with me. Janey can come, too.” At her stunned look, he added, “I have a guest room. And a security system. No one will bother you.”
“Fine.” She was too tired—and yes, too scared—to argue anymore. “And thank you,” she added.
She called the police and half an hour later found herself telling her story to an officer. While she dealt with the officers, Graham stepped out and made several calls. Every time she looked up she could see him out the window, pacing back and forth across her front lawn, phone to his ear. She had the feeling if she hadn’t agreed to come with him tonight he would have insisted on staying and standing guard. She wavered between being touched by his kindness and concern, and annoyed at his overprotectiveness.
When the police told her she was free to go, she coaxed Janey into her carrier, packed an overnight bag and stowed everything in her Jeep. One of the officers had driven Graham back to the restaurant to retrieve his Cruiser, and she followed it out of town, toward the National Park to an upscale neighborhood of large lots and lovely homes.
Graham turned out to live in a cedar-sided cabin with large windows providing a view of open prairie and the distant lights of town. He helped her carry in her and Janey’s things, stopping to punch a code into an alarm panel as soon as they entered. Then he led the way into a high-ceilinged great room. “Let me show you your room,” he said.
The guest room was Spartan but adequate, with a queen-size bed, an armchair and a large bath across the hall. Without asking, he helped her set up Janey’s litter box and bed, and filled the cat’s water dish in the bathroom and brought it back. “Do you have any pets?” she asked.
“I had a cat at my last posting, but my schedule makes it tough on a pet, so I decided not to get another one after Buster died.” He ran his hand along Janey’s flank and she responded with a loud purr. “That’s a pretty girl,” he cooed, and Emma felt a flutter in her stomach, as if she were the one he was stroking.
He looked up at her. “How about if I fix us a drink?”
She
