The youngest officer appeared unconvinced. He blinked and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher up his nose. “Maybe we should have someone look at it, just in case.”
“No need,” Micha insisted. “I had much worse injuries over in Afghanistan. I’m good.”
“Oh, you’re a veteran. Well, then I guess you’d know.” Reluctantly, the cop nodded.
Micha glanced over at Carly, half expecting her to protest, but she didn’t. Her gaze had once again gone hazy and unfocused and she appeared lost in her own thoughts. He ached to go to her and hold her, to chase away the shadows in her expression. She didn’t deserve this, no one did, but especially not Carly. How anyone could target such a beautiful, gentle soul was beyond him.
Which made the idea of him being the target here instead of her much more plausible. Which meant he needed to seriously try to figure out a short list of his enemies. But he honestly couldn’t think of anyone who hated him enough to want him dead.
Once the police had gone, Carly stirred. “I need to clean up this mess,” she said. “I don’t want Bridget cutting her feet.” Moving slowly and stiffly, she retrieved a broom and a dustpan from her laundry room.
Micha took the broom from her as she walked by him. She didn’t resist at all, and he considered asking her to sit back down and leave the cleanup to him but figured keeping her busy might help more.
“Let me clear this out,” he said, using the broom handle to bust out the remaining pieces of glass from the window frame. Then he swept and she held the dustpan. Working as a team, she dumped the shards into the kitchen trash can. Once they’d finished the floor, she got out her vacuum and went over the entire area to make sure she hadn’t missed any. She turned it off and methodically rewound the cord. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance of Bridget cutting her feet,” she said, repeating herself, her voice devoid of inflection.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
She looked up, focusing on him, and grimaced. “You know what? I’m not. Not really. I’m trying really hard to get there, though.”
Taking the vacuum from her, Micha urged her to sit, either in the armchair or at the kitchen table. The fact that she nodded and shuffled off to do as he’d asked alarmed him. He’d speak to Jones and see if they could get her to agree to get checked out at the hospital.
Quickly, he used the hose to do the couch. He knew for certain more than a few glass shards had made it there. Then he went to check on Carly. Jones still hadn’t returned from his outside phone call. He’d been gone so long that Micha began to wonder if the younger man had left.
Micha debated going in search of Jones, but Carly mattered more. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, staring straight ahead, both hands wrapped around her water glass. She glanced up when he entered, her lips parted. “Hey,” she said, greeting him softly.
His chest squeezed. “Hey,” he responded in kind, going to her and carefully wrapping his arms around her from behind. “It’s going to be all right,” he promised, breathing in the slightly floral scent of her hair.
“Is it?” she asked, leaning back into him. “I just don’t understand how someone can do such horrible things. Or why.”
“Agreed.” He lightly kissed her cheek, allowing himself to linger. “We have to believe that sooner or later whoever is doing this will make a mistake and be caught.”
“Carly?” Jones’s voice as he came through the back door into the kitchen, still on his phone. He glanced curiously from one to the other. “Carly, Heath wants to talk to you.”
Carly barely managed to stifle a groan. Micha released her and Jones handed her the phone. She took a deep breath, pressed the speaker button and placed the phone on the table in front of her.
“Heath, the last thing I need right now is a lecture,” Carly said, apparently having decided to go on attack first. “It’s been a crazy few days. I’m exhausted and terrified. And none of this is my fault.” She took a deep breath.
“I get all of that,” Heath responded, his voice surprisingly gentle. “None of this is your fault, it is crazy and I can imagine how awful you must feel. But I’m your older brother. It’s my job to be worried about you. I’m glad Jones was there.”
“And Micha,” she pointed out, her gaze sliding over to him. While he felt kind of awkward, listening in to the conversation, Carly clearly wanted him to hear. “By the way, I’ve got you on speaker.”
After a second or two of completely awkward silence, Heath cleared his throat. “Why?”
“Because I’m tired,” Carly replied. “And I know you have good intentions, but in this situation, there’s absolutely nothing you can do to help.”
“I can call Chicago PD and demand more patrols.”
“Micha’s already done that,” Carly shot back.
“What about the FBI? I have contacts there since I’ve been dealing with the agents who are investigating the possible serial killings.” Before Carly could respond, Heath sighed. “Let me guess. Micha’s already done that.”
Micha decided to speak up. “Hey, Heath. How’s it going?”
Instead of responding in kind, Heath went quiet again. “Micha, I need to know something. How much of all this is happening due to you hanging around my sister?”
“I don’t know.” All Micha could do was give Heath the truth. “We still haven’t figured out if I’m the target or if it’s Carly.”
“Maybe you two should consider splitting up for safety’s sake.” The hard edge to Heath’s voice told Micha that he meant business. But the notion—even thinking about going away and not seeing Carly for a protracted period of time—felt like a knife in the gut. Plus, who would protect her
