to the holster strapped to his belt. Had she ever seen Niall Watson wearing a gun before? His badge, yes. But she’d never seen the erudite professional looking armed and dangerous the way he did tonight. Had he just come from a crime scene? “You wore a tuxedo to work?” Wait. Not his blood. That meant... A stone of dread plummeted into Lucy’s stomach. Was that Diana’s blood? “Oh, God.” Before he could say anything, she spun around and shoved open the door to her apartment. “Diana?” Niall Watson was a doctor. But he wasn’t hurt. That meant someone else was. “Diana? Are you here?”
She called out again for some sign that the young woman she’d been searching the city for all day and night had somehow shown up here.
The vise clamped over her wrist again and pulled her back to the door. “Miss McKane.”
“Let go of me.” She yanked her arm free and charged toward the mess on the couch. “Diana?” She paused a moment to sift through the pile of unraveling yarn and interrupted projects before snatching up the overturned basket and inspecting the insides. Lucy always kept a twenty or two hidden beneath her work. The only other person who knew where she stockpiled for a rainy day was Diana. “She was here. She took the cash,” she whispered, her sense of dread growing exponentially.
“So it was a robbery?”
She startled at the deep voice beside her. “What? No. I would gladly give her the money.”
“Give who the money?”
“Diana?” Lucy tossed the basket onto the couch and took off for the light in the kitchen.
But she hadn’t taken two steps before Niall Watson’s arm cinched around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. “Miss McKane. There’s nothing for you to see here. I need you to come with me.”
She gasped at the unexpected contact with a muscled torso and the surprising warmth that seemed to surround her instantly and seep through the layers of coat and clothing she wore. “Nothing? I have to...” For a split second, her fingers tightened their grip around the arm at her waist, needing his strength. She’d had a bad feeling all day. Diana Kozlow hadn’t shown up for a long-overdue lunch and gab session. And then that phone call...
If the answer was here—even one she didn’t want to be true—Lucy had to see for herself. With a renewed sense of urgency, she pushed the doctor’s arm and body heat away and turned. “You need to stop grabbing me, Doctor. I appreciate your concern, but I have to—”
She shoved at his chest, but he released her waist only to seize her by the shoulders. He squeezed enough to give her a little shake and hunched his face down to hers. “Lucy. If you would please listen.”
Lucy? Her struggles stilled as she assessed the stern expression stamped on his chiseled features. When had her taciturn neighbor ever addressed her as anything but a polite Miss McKane? That couldn’t be good. The tight grip on her upper arms and the piercing intensity of those blue eyes looking straight at her weren’t any kind of reassurance, either. She curled her fingers into the wrinkled cotton of his shirt and nodded, preparing herself for the news she didn’t want to hear. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Did you see a young woman here? Is she...” Lucy swallowed hard. “Is she okay?”
He eased his grip and straightened, raking one hand through his short muss of espresso-colored hair as he inhaled a deep breath. But he kept the other hand on her arm as if he suspected she might bolt again. “If you would come with me.” He pulled her back into the hallway and closed the door to her condo behind them. “I need to ask you some questions.”
Now he wanted to talk? After all those friendly overtures she’d made to her seriously hunky and completely-oblivious-to-a-lady-dropping-a-hint neighbor, tonight of all nights was when he wanted to have a private conversation with her? Somehow she doubted that he’d finally clued in on the crush she had on him. Preparing herself for a worst-case scenario, Lucy planted her feet before blithely following him into his condo. “Just tell me. Did you find a dead body in there? You told me you were a medical examiner during one of our elevator rides together when I first moved in. That’s when I told you I was a social worker—that I’ve seen some pretty awful things, too. But my bodies weren’t dead like yours. Just damaged in one way or another.” Her mouth was rambling ahead of her brain. “I’m sorry. But you can tell me. Is this a crime scene? Is that why I can’t go in there?” She touched the blood on his sleeve again. Although it was dry, its presence was disturbing. “Is this Diana’s? Don’t feel you have to spare my feelings. I’ve been sick out of my mind with worry all day. I just need a straight answer about what’s happened. I can deal with anything—I’m good at that—as long as I know what I’m facing.”
“You can deal with anything?” He angled his head to the side and his eyes narrowed, as if her plaintive assertion baffled him. Then he shook his head. “There is no dead body,” he answered starkly. “I don’t know who Diana is. This blood is my grandfather’s. He was shot yesterday afternoon at my sister’s wedding.”
“Shot? Oh, my God.” Lucy’s fingers danced over the ticklish hair of his forearm, wanting to act on her instinct to touch, to comfort, to fix the hurts of the world. “Is he okay? I mean, clearly he isn’t. Getting shot is really bad. I’m sorry. Is he going to be all right?” His brusque answers explained the remnants of the James Bond getup, as well as the stains on what had once been a neatly ironed shirt. But what any of that had to do with the break-in or her or possibly Diana, she hadn’t a clue. Lucy curled her fingers around the strap of her shoulder bag and retreated a step. “You don’t need to worry about my problems. You should be with your family.”
“Miss McKane.” They were back to that now, hmm? “I’m sorry if the blood upset you—I haven’t had time to change since coming home from the hospital.” He scraped his palm over the dark stubble dotting his chin and jaw before sliding his fingers over his hair and literally scratching his head. “I can see I haven’t explained myself very well. Your sympathy is appreciated but misplaced. My grandfather’s condition is serious, but please, before you go off on another tangent, would you come inside? I do have a problem that concerns you specifically.” He glanced toward the end of the hallway. “And I don’t think we should have that conversation here.”
She remembered the retired couple down the hall and nodded. “The Logans. I suppose it would be rude to wake them at this hour.”
A man with a wounded grandfather, a gun and a badge, and an inexplicable sense of urgency could take precedence for a few minutes over her suspicions and the futile desperation that might even be unfounded. Lucy hadn’t seen Diana Kozlow in months. Perhaps she’d read too much into the telephone message at the office this morning. She was probably chasing ghosts, thinking that Diana had really needed her. Roger Campbell hadn’t needed her for anything more than sex and a punching board. The only reason her own mother had needed her was to ensure her own meal ticket. How many times did she have to repeat that codependent mistake?
Inhaling a deep breath, Lucy pulled off her left glove and cap and stuffed them into her pockets, too, as Niall opened the door for her to precede him. “So what concerns me specifically besides a busted front door...” She tried to smooth her staticky curls behind her ears. “Oh, hello.”
At this late hour, she was surprised to see another man—a stockier version of Niall Watson, with a peppering of silver in his short dark hair—rising stiffly from a recliner as she stepped into the living room.
She extended her hand because she was that kind of friendly. “I’m Lucy McKane from across the hall. Sorry to visit so late, but Dr. Watson invited me...” The older man angled his body to face her, and she saw the blanket with tiny green
