been really good to me, like pitching in to help after that first break-in.”
“Maybe they pitched in. But maybe that gave them an ideal excuse to nose around.”
The comment startled her. “They’re nosy for sure. Gossipy. But I can’t imagine a reason to be suspicious of them.”
Cord fell silent. She watched his expression, watched his body language, and thought he might as well have been stabbing her in the heart.
Before making love, before becoming so close, he might have reasons to keep serious things from her. Cord was private by nature. So was she. But at this point, he surely had to know she’d trusted him with her heart. With her life, when it came down to it. Yet every instinct megaphoned that apparently, that trust wasn’t shared, because he was locking her out of something.
She tried a short joke, a laugh. “What? You think the police see Penelope or Jan as suspects in your brother’s murder?”
His response was immediate. “I think the cops see everyone as a potential suspect right now.”
She tried another short laugh, this one downright fake. “Next thing, you’ll be telling me they think I’m a suspect.”
There was just a flash of dark in his eyes. He immediately said, quietly, strongly, “There’s no way you’re a suspect, cookie.”
But she knew from that flash in his eyes, from his sudden stiffness, from the way he jerked around for his drink-that she was. She actually was a suspect. And Cord knew of the police’s suspicions.
She didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask anything else, couldn’t, not then. Cord’s exhaustion caught up with him, which was probably the reason he’d slipped with those comments to begin with. He crashed early. So did she.
Yet, on the morning drive back to D.C., Cord kept trying to make conversation. She answered him. She smiled.
Yet her heart sank lower with every mile. The glow from the time with Cord-his lovemaking, his caring, the shelter of feeling unquestionably loved-was dissipating like fog in the wind. She didn’t doubt he wanted to protect her. She didn’t doubt that he cared, or that their lovemaking had touched him.
But something was broken. And she was afraid it was her.
A watery sun peaked over the horizon as they reached Foggy Bottom. He dropped her off, rather than both of them wasting time finding a place to park. She said the obvious things, that she’d see him in a few hours after she got all her things together.
But the instant she entered her apartment and called for Caviar, she sank in a chair, feeling weak as dandelion fluff. The tomcat immediately prowled into the room, meowing furiously as he leaped on her lap, and butted his head under her chin.
“Okay, okay,” she murmured. “I know you’re mad I was gone. But Cord was here every day, giving you fresh food and water. You know I’d never abandon you, you doofus.”
But the cat seemed beside himself, kneading and purring and nuzzling. Sophie closed her eyes, burying her face in the cat’s soft fur, wishing the thick, sad lump in her throat would go away. She knew she had some unreasonable fears. She knew it was irrationally hard for her to believe that anyone could last in her life.
But Cord’s behavior-his suddenly changing from a lover to a man keeping secrets from her-hurt like a raw wound. When the killer was found, he’d be gone. What had held them together was the danger, the connection to Jon. But he’d always had one foot out the door.
Trusting someone was always a choice, always a risk.
Apparently it was a risk he wasn’t willing to take with her.
“Come on, Cav, we can’t sit here and let ourselves wallow like this.” She forced herself out of the chair. Whatever happened between her and Cord, her immediate plans were the same. She had all her records, and translating dictionaries and work to put together. Clothes and toiletries. For darn sure, the litter box needed cleaning out, and the milk in her fridge poured down the drain.
None of it should have taken more than a few minutes, if Caviar hadn’t tried to trip her every step of the way. If he wasn’t winding around her legs, he was dropping cat toys at her feet-or stealing anything that wasn’t tied down, such as her toothbrush, which he actually took out of her carry-on satchel and started batting around.
“Cav, quit it,” she finally said, impatiently. Naturally, when she was knee-deep in kitty litter-new and old-the cat chose that instant to drop a new toy in her path. “How am I ever going to get you in a cage to take to Cord’s, when I have no…Hey, what on earth do you have there?”
She caught the glimpse of something small and black, rectangular in shape, knew in a blink it was a flash drive. “How did you get that, you little demon? Give it!”
Naturally, the cat took off with it, delighted when Sophie gave chase. She couldn’t imagine how the cat had found the thing. All her computer supplies and records were safely in files. In life, she might be a wee bit on the untidy side, but she’d never been careless with her work.
Naturally, the cat chose to burrow under the bed, making it all the harder for Sophie to retrieve it. She had to lie flat and stretch her arm out full length-which the cat thought was even more play. Finally, though, her fingers closed on the cat’s treasure. Having lost the game, the cat ambled off with dignity, to wash himself in the sunlight, as if he’d never cared at all…leaving Sophie to stare at the booty.
She used flash drives. Everyone did. She used several kinds. Everyone probably did that, too. But she definitely didn’t recognize this brand. Confused, she carted the drive to her desk computer, booted up, popped it in.
Within seconds, she recognized that it wasn’t her flash drive. It was Jon’s.
The drive contained a half-dozen files-all women’s first names-but Sophie only recognized one. Jan. And when she saw it, she hesitated, then clicked on the file.
The first image made her wince.
She didn’t finish looking at all the images.
Couldn’t.
For a while she couldn’t seem to move, just sat there, trying to make sense of this new development. Jan had freely admitted sleeping with Jon, but until Cord’s comments yesterday, Sophie had no idea Jan was a suspect. The file, of course, supplied a potential reason. Then she considered the break-ins, the times Jan had been in her apartment, whether those events could be put together in some way she’d never thought of before. And still she sat there-but not for long.
Less than ten minutes later, she knocked next door. Cord answered immediately, although his sleeves were rolled up, as if he’d been working hot and hard in Jon’s flat. “You’re already ready to drive back? I figured getting everything together would take you longer.”
“It will,” she agreed. “And I need to make a short trek out for some stuff. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if we didn’t leave for another couple hours.”
“No sweat at all. From mail to phone calls to computer records, I can hunker down here as long as you need. Just rap when you’re ready to go.” He leaned down as if to kiss her, saw her eyes, stopped.
Maybe there was a short, sharp glint of hurt in his eyes, but there was certainly no surprise. He said slowly, “On the drive back to my place, I think…we need to air out a whole bunch of things.”
“Yeah, we do,” she agreed, and turned around.
When she hiked outside, it was a leaf-shuffling morning, crisp and sunny. The bistro was only a short two blocks away. Right off, she could see a few hardy souls had chosen the cement tables outside, but the line inside for fresh blueberry bagels stretched almost to the door.
Most of the neighborhood group was already there. Hillary, dressed in hospital scrubs, had clearly taken the ownership of a table, judging from the heap of jackets and purses behind her. Sophie recognized at least a half- dozen faces in the line, including Jan and Penelope. They both spotted her as she was walking in.
“Sophie!” They shrieked hellos as if they hadn’t seen her in weeks, and immediately demanded to hear the latest news about Jon’s case. Jan wore a fabulous Australian shawl over a riding skirt and boots, looking artsy and elegant, as always. Penelope, for once, looked as if she were a tad hungover. At her worst, she was still gorgeous, but mascara smudges darkened her eyes and her hair was clipped up in an unbrushed knot.
Sophie wanted to slap herself. It was so like every other Sunday, the same whispers and laughter, the same talk about people, the same smells and tastes, the same scraping of chairs as they crowded around a table. No one looked different. No one behaved differently. If it weren’t for the flash drive in her pocket, Sophie would never have
