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“You went in—”
“And I was careful not to disturb anything,” he said, exasperated. “Come on, let’s sit down. The guys will be here in a minute.”
She remembered that she had thrown the phone aside. She picked it up and handed it to him. “Nine-one-one is still on the line.”
He put it to his ear, but kept a firm grip on her while he succinctly outlined the situation and said the house was clear, then disconnected. He put both arms around Jaine—and BooBoo—and held her close.
“Where did you find BooBoo?”
“He was hiding under that shelf thing in the hallway.”
She stroked the cat’s head, so grateful he was all right that she almost cried again. Her mom would never forgive her if anything happened to BooBoo.
“Do you think it was him?” she asked Sam, her voice low.
He was silent for a moment. The sirens were much closer now, the sound growing louder and louder in the still night air. As two cars turned the corner onto their street, Sam said, “I can’t afford not to think it.”
twenty-two
Lights were coming on up and down the street, heads poking out of doors, as Sam and Jaine went to meet the patrolmen. “Detective Donovan,” said one of the patrolmen, grinning. “So you’re the half-naked man we were told not to shoot.”
Sam scowled down at Jaine. She cuddled BooBoo closer. “You’re carrying a pistol,” she explained. “I didn’t want them to shoot you by mistake.”
Sadie and George Kulavich came down their sidewalk and stood peering at the flashing lights. They were both wearing robes over their nightclothes; Mr. Kulavich wore bedroom slippers, but Mrs. Kulavich had put on rain boots. Mrs. Kulavich craned her neck, then came closer. Across the street, Jaine could see Mrs. Holland come out her front door.
Sam heaved a sigh. “I checked the house,” he said to the patrolmen. “It’s been trashed, but no one is in there. You guys take over while I go put on a shirt.”
Mrs. Kulavich had edged close enough to hear him. She beamed at him. “Don’t bother on my account,” she said.
“Sadie!” Mr. Kulavich said in rebuke.
“Oh, hush, George! I’m old, not dead!”
“I’ll remind you of that the next time I want to watch the Playboy Channel,” he growled.
Sam coughed and strode into his house, keeping his pistol held low against his leg so their bright-eyed old neighbors wouldn’t spot it and get too excited.
Jaine became aware of the speculation in the neighbors’ eyes as they studied her. She remembered that she hadn’t put on her bra, and her silk shirt probably made that fairly obvious. She didn’t look down to check, just kept BooBoo cradled to her chest.
She didn’t reach up to check her hair, either, because she knew it was a mess. The rain had wet it, then she had wallowed in bed with Sam for a couple of hours; it was probably sticking out in spikes. Given Sam’s state of undress … well. She imagined the conclusion they were jumping to was pretty damn accurate.
Thinking about the neighbors was easier than thinking about her house.
After her first horrifying glimpse of the kitchen, she didn’t know if she wanted to see the rest of the house. This, coming so soon after the trauma of Marci’s death, was almost more than she could bear, so she concentrated on other things, such as the way Mrs. Kulavich winked at her when Sam came out of the house wearing a neat oxford shirt with the tails tucked into his jeans and his badge clipped to his belt. She wondered if he had put on underwear.
“Are you official?” she asked, eyeing the badge.
“Might as well be. I’m on the scene, and we’re all on call after eleven.”
She gaped at him. “After elev—what time is it, anyway?”
“Almost midnight.”
“Poor BooBoo,” she said in horror. “Could you try to find some of his food and let me have a can, so I can feed him?”
Sam looked down at her, the expression in his dark eyes telling her he knew she was avoiding facing the reality about her house, but also saying that he understood. “Okay, I’ll find something for him.” He glanced over at Mrs. Kulavich. “Sadie, why don’t you and Eleanor take Jaine in my house and put on a pot of coffee, okay?”
“Of course, dear.”
