Lucan heard the desperation in her rising tone. She took a deep breath, firm round breasts rising beneath her sweater as she pushed at her hair absently.
“I watched the patrol car drive past from the master-bedroom window. I guess I stood there for several minutes after they went past.” Her gaze defied him to criticize.
“You’re tired, Kyra.”
“Of course I’m tired! But I didn’t imagine that shadow at the end of the hall. I think Kip is in the house. I saw what I saw!”
Lucan heaved a tired sigh. “I’m not saying you didn’t.” He rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. Her call had pulled him from sleep and he was feeling as rough as his stubble. He’d tugged on the nearest clothes at hand and rushed over.
“I’m not crazy,” she repeated.
He closed eyes gritty from lack of sleep and opened them again. “I don’t think you’re crazy. Let’s go have another look around.”
“Then you believe me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He started up the stairs and paused. “Did you check all the doors and windows?”
“Before I went upstairs.”
“But not since you thought you saw someone?”
“You think someone came in after I went upstairs?”
“I just want to get the sequence straight. Finding an open door or window might mean exactly that. Let’s take a look.”
“I suppose Kip could have a key to the house.”
Lucan nodded. “There are a lot of latch-key kids around.”
She trailed him as he checked the doors and windows in each room. Everything was locked tight and the plywood over the kitchen window was undisturbed. The kitchen was clean enough to meet his mother’s approval.
“You really have been busy.”
Wearily, she shrugged. “I did what I could.”
She followed him to the stairs. “I keep wondering if Milt did this out of spite. Casey said his temper is terrible when he’s drunk. Maybe she came home and found him trashing the house. I keep thinking he killed her, maybe all of them. Maybe Kip is the only one who got away.”
Her voice broke. He took her arm, turning her to face him. Tears filled her eyes and she looked down, blinking hard. Her coping mechanisms were starting to fail as lack of sleep battered her tired brain.
“You need to rest, Kyra. There’s no evidence to support anyone being killed here.”
“Then where is she? Maybe she came in and he strangled her or forced her away at gunpoint.”
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t do this. You aren’t helping Casey or the children by going to pieces.”
Anger, hurt and fear swam in her eyes. She closed them and took a shuddery breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so emotional.”
He let go of her and stepped back, watching her draw on her fragile reserves. “I know. Let’s go up and have another look around.”
Kyra turned and began ascending the stairs.
“Does Casey’s ex own a gun?”
She considered before answering and when she did her voice was stronger, less emotional.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think Casey would have mentioned it if he did, but I barely knew the man.”
“What about Casey?”
She stopped near the top of the steps. “What do you mean?”
“Does she own a gun?”
Kyra started to answer and stopped. There was dejection in the sudden slump of her shoulders.
“I don’t know.”
The words were a whisper. Lucan nodded. “Could she be using drugs?”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “You keep harping on that! I haven’t changed my answer. I can’t see Casey involved in drugs or condoning their use in any way shape or form. She loves her kids. She would never do that!”
No need to point out she didn’t seem to know her sister all that well. “But her new husband might?”
She continued up the stairs without answering. Experience told Lucan a drug connection was most likely the scenario behind this sort of destruction. That didn’t make it so, and he was keeping an open mind, but Kyra needed to accept the possibility.
He grimaced. Actually, she was handling everything far better than he would in her place. The woman needed some sleep. They both did.
Her cleaning efforts had stopped downstairs, he noticed after walking through each room once again. Nothing up here had changed. Lucan took the children’s step stool from the bathroom and used it to pull down the trap door in the hall ceiling. Narrow steps unfolded leading up to the attic.
“I didn’t even notice that.”
Kyra’s expression was dismayed.
“We did,” he told her gently, “but let’s look again.”
“A little boy wouldn’t be able to reach the pull-down even with the stool.”
“No,” he agreed and began to climb. “A child wouldn’t.”
Two bare bulbs overhead cast shadows over the space under the eaves. Lucan stood in the only spot he could, the center, under the sloped roof. Kyra poked her head through the opening and stopped as soon as she saw that the attic was empty. There was nowhere up here for even one child to hide, let alone three of them.
When he turned around, Kyra had disappeared. He found her in the master bedroom. Her head was bowed, her forehead pressed against the glass window. Her posture was one of utter dejection. It tore at him.
As he drew closer he saw the silver tears running silently down her cheeks. He started to back out and give her some privacy but stopped.
Casey Fillmont and her children were Kyra’s only close relatives according to the slim dossier he’d compiled on her so far. Their parents had died several years ago. While there were uncles and distant cousins, Kyra had told him they only had each other.
Lucan’s own family was tightly knit. He’d be devastated if something ever happened to one of his brothers or their families. Ronan, Neil and Flynn weren’t just his brothers, they were his best friends. He loved their wives like sisters and adored his nieces and nephews.
The members of his family were always there for each other. Hadn’t Whitney gone out of her way the other day to deliver his mom’s lasagna so Lucan could come home to something warm to eat after work? They were always doing things like that. Kyra was alone and frightened. She had no one but him at the moment.
He crossed to where she stood and put his hand on her shoulder in silent support. She turned, wiping furiously at her face.
“No,” he told her. “It’s okay to cry. Come here.”
Lucan drew her into his arms, half surprised when she let him cradle her against his chest. He hadn’t bothered to zip his jacket, so it hung open giving her access to his worn flannel shirt. After a few minutes he guided them to the torn-up bed and sat with his back against the headboard. Over her half-hearted protests, he continued to hold her as the tears turned to wrenching sobs.
She’d be embarrassed later, but they’d deal. This was what her body needed at the moment. He liked the light lemony scent of her hair and stroked the silky strands back from her face. It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t pull back even when the sobs lessened to shudders that rippled through her.
“Relax,”