after a little rest, she could figure out what part of the truth she could bear to tell.
The doorbell chimed, startling her. Rachel, already on her feet, headed for the hallway, muttering something about not having any reservations for today.
A low rumble of voices, the sound of footsteps in the hallway. She set down her cup and rose, something in her already steeling. It couldn’t be anything to do with her, could it?
The cop—the one who’d stopped her earlier—paused for a moment in the doorway and then came toward them.
“Chief Burkhalter wants to see Caro.” Rachel, behind him, looked perplexed. “What…”
She forced a smile. “The chief has already given me a speeding ticket today. Maybe he wants to make sure I’m going to pay up.”
Slate-gray eyes in a lean, strong-boned face studied her. “I’m not worried about that, Ms. Hampton.” He took a step toward her, and she forced herself not to move back. “Fact is, I’ve had a call inquiring about you. A call from the Santa Fe Police Department.”
TWO
Zach was aware of the sudden silence that greeted his words. The room was so still he could hear the tick of the mantel clock and the thud of the dog’s tail against the Oriental carpet.
But there was nothing peaceful about it. Tension flowed from Caroline Hampton. And, to a lesser extent, from her sister and grandmother.
It was a shame they were here, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. If he’d come to the door and asked to speak to Caroline privately, it would only have raised more questions.
The plain fact was that something was going on with this woman, and if it had to do with the law, it was his responsibility. And he knew there was something, would have known it even if not for that call from the Santa Fe PD. He could see it in those brilliant green eyes, read it in the tense lines of her body.
“I can’t imagine why you’d hear from the Santa Fe police about me. Did I leave behind an unpaid parking ticket?”
He had to admire, in a detached way, the effort it had taken her to produce that light tone.
“Not that I know of.” He was willing to pull out the tension just a little longer in the hope that she’d come out with something that wasn’t quite so guarded.
“I don’t understand.” Katherine Unger sat bolt upright in her chair, chin held high. He’d never met anyone who had the aristocratic manner down any better than she did. “Why on earth would the police be interested in Caroline?”
The words might have sounded demanding. But there was a sense of fragility underneath that made it clear he couldn’t prolong this.
“Apparently your granddaughter left Santa Fe without telling her friends where she was going. They’re worried about her.”
Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying someone reported me missing?”
“Raised an inquiry is more like it. The police department down there was willing to make a few phone calls to allay the woman’s fears.” He made a play of taking his notebook out and consulting it, although he remembered perfectly well. “Ms. Francine Carrington. I gathered hers was a name that made the police sit up and take notice.”
“Caroline, wasn’t that your employer at the gallery?” Mrs. Unger glanced from her granddaughter to him. “My granddaughter had a position at one of the finest galleries dedicated to Southwestern art in the state.”
She nodded stiffly. “Francine was my boss. And my friend.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you tell her where you were going?” Rachel looked puzzled. Obviously, that was what she’d have done under the circumstances.
“Because—” Caroline snapped the word and then seemed to draw rein on her anger. “I left a letter of resignation for her, planning to call her once I got here. I certainly didn’t expect her to be so worried that she’d call the police.”
So she’d left what was apparently a good, successful life at a moment’s notice. In his experience, people didn’t do that without a powerful reason.
“Apparently she told the officer she spoke with that you’d been despondent over the recent death of your husband. She—”
A sharp, indrawn breath from Mrs. Unger, a murmured exclamation from Rachel. And an expression of unadulterated fury from Caroline. Apparently he’d spilled a secret.
“Husband?” Mrs. Unger caught her breath. “Caro, what is he talking about? Does he have you confused with someone else?”
Shooting him a look that would drop a charging bull, Caroline crossed the room and knelt next to her grandmother’s chair.
“I’m sorry, Grams. Sorry I didn’t tell you. Tony and I planned to make a trip east this spring, and we were going to surprise you. But he—” She stopped, her voice choking, and then cleared her throat and went on. “He was killed in an accident a few weeks ago.”
It was his turn to clear his throat. “I apologize. I thought you knew all about it, or I wouldn’t have blurted it out that way.”
Caroline stood, her hand clasped in her grandmother’s. She had herself under control now, and again he found himself admiring the effort it took her. “I intended to tell my family when I got here, but I haven’t had the chance.”
“I understand.” But he didn’t, and he suspected Mrs. Unger didn’t, either.
“I’m sorry that I worried Mrs. Carrington. I’ll give her a call and let her know I’m all right.”
There was more to it than that. He sensed it, and he’d learned a long time ago to trust that instinct where people were concerned. Caroline Hampton was hiding something.
She’d left Santa Fe in such a rush that she hadn’t even talked to the people closest to her. That wasn’t a trip. It was flight.
“I’ll be in touch with the department in Santa Fe, then. Let them know you’re fine and with your family.”
She nodded, eyes wary. “Thank you.”
And that was just what worried him, he realized as he headed out the door. Her family.
Mrs. Unger had welcomed her granddaughter with open arms, as was only natural. But from everything he’d heard, she didn’t know a lot about the life Caroline had been living in recent years.
It was entirely possible that Caroline Hampton had brought trouble home with her. Someone ought to keep an unbiased eye on her, and it looked as if that someone was him.
Caroline woke up all at once, with none of the usual easy transition from dreams to morning. Maybe because it wasn’t morning. She stared at the ceiling in the pitch-black, clutching the edge of the Amish quilt that covered the queen-size bed in the loft of the apartment, and willed her heart to stop pounding.
She’d been doing this for so many weeks that it had almost begun to seem normal—waking suddenly,
