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“Clara?”
She didn’t move, not even when he stood close and held the umbrella so it covered them both. When he put a hand on her shoulder, she turned slowly toward him. She looked dazed, her glazed green eyes reminiscent of the first time he’d met her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Doing?” she echoed.
“You're standing here in the torrential rain.”
“Rain?” she repeated.
“You're soaked,” he pointed out the obvious but wanted to snap her out of her haze.
“Soaked?”
“Come on, Clara,” he gave her a one-handed shake.
His shake seemed to clear away some of the cobwebs, and her eyes focused a little. “Jonathon? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Naomi was worried when you didn’t come home after the funeral.”
She returned her eyes to the headstone. “I needed some time to think,” she whispered.
“You’ve had enough time to think; you're going to catch your death of cold out here. Let me take you home.”
Clara didn’t protest as he put an arm around her shoulders and guided her back to his car. He bundled her into the passenger seat, then grabbed a blanket from his trunk and draped it around her. She sighed and sank farther into the seat, resting her head on the window when he closed the door, and by the time he slid into his seat, her eyes had closed. Her breathing evened out, and she dozed during the twenty-minute drive back to her house.
“Clara,” he roused her as he parked in her driveway
Blinking sleepily, she still looked lost but no longer appeared disoriented.
“Feeling better?”
“I feel empty.” Her lips were tinted with blue, and she was shivering, “And cold. Maybe standing in the rain wasn't the best idea,” she joked lamely.
He was encouraged by her attitude; she was struggling but hanging in there. “Come on, let’s get you inside and out of these wet clothes.”
Jonathon helped her from the car and steered her up the path and inside, where Clara just stood, staring helplessly around her house. Taking charge, he put the kettle on, led Clara into the laundry room where he stripped off her soaking clothes with clinical detachment, wrapped her in a blanket, threw her clothes into the washing machine, and then maneuvered her back into the living room. Sitting her down on the couch, he went to the kitchen and made her a steaming cup of tea and brought it back to her.
Her teary green eyes looked up at him, then dropped to stare at the golden-brown liquid in her mug. “If I'd been sexually assaulted as a child, would you still want to go out with me?”
Frowning, he sat beside her, encircling his arms around her and holding her close, both because he wanted to and because he thought it would help to warm her. “Why would you ask me that?”
She shrugged fitfully. “I don’t know. We don’t even know each other, and my past—it’s a lot to take on. And I can't pretend it’s not going to be an issue, everything is so fresh right now, it’s like reliving it. And if you'd rather not get involved in all of that, I totally understand, but it might be better for you to walk away now before feelings develop further. And . . .”
“Shh,” Jonathon took the mug of tea from her hands and set it on the coffee table. “The feelings are already there, Clara. You know that. You feel it, too. And I don’t want to walk away.” Taking a deep breath, he decided it was confession time. “There’s something you should know.”
“What?” Clara stiffened.
He scooped her up so he could cradle her on his lap. “Relax, it’s nothing for you to worry about, I'd just prefer that you keep what I'm about to tell you between us for now.”
“Why?” she looked confused.
“You’ll understand when I tell you. I have a vested interest in the Doll Killer case,” he admitted. “No, don’t tense up. I said a vested interest in the case, not you. I'm not trying to get close to you to solve this case. When I first saw you, I felt a spark of something ignite, and I didn’t know your name or anything about you.” Clara relaxed, and he continued, “But this case, it’s important to me. To my family.”
Horror and understanding lit Clara’s face. “A brother or sister?” she asked.
“Sister.”
