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Willow darted indoors before he could change his mind. The inside of the house was neat and clean but sparsely decorated. It reminded Willow of how her brother Lucas decorated his home. Everything was functional, with leather and earth-tone fabrics. He kept no pillows on the sofa or throws draped artfully over the back of a chair. She noted the paperback book lying facedown and open on a table beside a chair and came to a complete stop. It was the same paranormal romance she’d read last week, the new release in a popular series.
Noah Tannehill reads romance novels?
Maybe he had a wife, after all. Or at least a girlfriend.He surely has a girlfriend. All Roman gods do.
Ted Bundy had girlfriends.
“The bathroom is the first door on the left,” he said, gesturing toward a hallway.
Willow offered up a smile and made her way to the indicated door. The bathroom reflected more of what she’d seen—practical and plain. Feeling a tad bit guilty despite her Mama Bear intentions, she snooped in the cabinet. Basic cleaning supplies and toilet paper. No tampons or makeup. No bloody knives or whips or chains.
She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes did look a little wild, her mouth pinched.Willow Eldridge, get a grip.
She exited the bathroom to find Noah Tannehill with one hip propped on a bar stool, drumming his fingers against the granite countertop. His expression, already dark, had turned thunderous. “Just what is it you suspect me of doing to your kid, lady?”
Willow opened her mouth to automatically deny the accusation but then hesitated. Had she been that obvious, or did he have a guilty conscience? Psychopaths didn’t have a conscience.
But she’d probably been pretty obvious, too.
She decided to play it down the middle. “Willow. My name is Willow Eldridge, and I sincerely want to thank you for calling to tell me where my son was. I also wanted to meet you in person. Drew wandering off the way he did this afternoon scared me to death, and when I’m scared, my mind can go to some very dark places. He’s only eight and—”
“I didn’t touch your kid,” he snapped.
“Oh, no no no. Not that sort of dark. I never went there.” Although come to think of it, she probably should have gone there instead of where she went. “But when Drew told me you’d been setting toys on fire, my brain went to torturing animals and Ted Bundy.”
He gaped at her. “You decided I’m a serial killer?”
She shrugged. “You are terribly handsome. Is your name Theodore, by chance?”
“Noah.” He chuffed a laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m a mother.” Willow gave a dismissive wave. “Crazy comes with the territory.”
“And I wasn’t setting a toy on fire, either.” Now his voice held a note of defensiveness. “I demonstrated a firefighting training tool!”
“He said it was a dollhouse.”
“That’s what they’re called.”
“Why?”
“Because they look like a dollhouse. I make them in my workshop.”
“I meant why did you do the demonstration?”
“I had to do something to keep him occupied until you got here. The kid is curious.”
“So you thought it would be a good idea for him to play with fire?”
“Ifoundhim playing with fire.”
“What!”
He explained about Drew and the lighter and how his shop was filled with wood, sawdust, and other flammable materials. Again, Willow’s knees went weak. She stumbled toward his sofa, asking, “Mind if I sit down?”
“Could I stop you?” he grumbled.
“If your shop is such a flammable place, why do you leave lighters lying around?”
