“We can keep you safe here. We just need to ride this out a little longer than anticipated.”
“What about the men who killed your agents?” Gemma asked.
“The bureau has every available agent searching for them.”
“Searching? That tells me you have no idea where they are, do you?”
He didn’t answer her, but merely nodded.
“This just sucks,” she said, repeating her thoughts of earlier.
Whatever appetite she’d woken with was gone now, killed by the knowledge that her life had been turned upside down and wasn’t about to be righted any time soon.
She wanted to fly out the front door, grab a cab and run back to her condo. She’d shut and lock the doors and spend her solitary days working, pushing the horror of the past twenty-four hours from her mind.
She wanted to immerse herself in work until her eyes bled and her head begged for relief.
She wanted to punch something—anything—hard enough to free her mind of the fear and anger soaking through it.
She wanted to do all that and more, but what she wound up doing was storming from the kitchen, back up to her tiny, safe bedroom, and plopping down, face-up, on the bed that wasn’t her own.
* * *
“She’s been up there all day,” Jon said hours later.
Ky looked up to the clock on the wall above the couch.
They were in the den, the room they’d fashioned as a command center, each at a desk, their laptops opened in front of them, files scattered atop the desks. For most of the day they’d been reviewing documents, arrest forms, witness statements, phone records, anything and everything that might give them a lead on how Ritandi had known where to find Calafano. So far nothing had popped for either of them, and Ky was getting more frustrated by the moment.
Live video feed of the outside of the house streamed on six different screens, each focused on a separate area of the perimeter, the back yard included.
“Didn’t come down for lunch,” Jon added, looking up at the ceiling. “And she didn’t have any breakfast before you told her about Faldo. She’s got to be hungry, don’t you think, and lonely, up there all by herself.”
Ky glanced over at him. “You sound like my mother, worried if someone skips a meal they’re going to die from starvation.”
Jon grinned.
“She’s upset about the situation,” Ky said, simply, leaning back in his chair. “Being stuck here, unable to do what she wants to do. Go where she wants to go. And I don’t imagine she wants to be around either of us since we’re part of the reason she’s here.”
“Don’t you think one of us should check on her, though? Make sure she’s okay? See if she needs anything?”
Ky regarded his partner through slitted eyes. “When did you become such a mother hen?”
“I’m not.” Jon’s grin turned wry. “I’m just saying one of us should make sure she’s okay.”
Ky shook his head. “Okay, YiaYia.” He rose from the chair and stretched his arms over his head. “My eyes are starting to cross from looking at all this anyway. I’ll go check on her.”
“Ask if she wants something to eat,” Jon instructed.
Ky turned from the doorway. “I’m getting the distinct impression you’re not as worried about her stomach being filled as you are about your own.”
His partner’s face split into what Ky’s oldest brother, Chrystos, mockingly called a shit-eating grin.
“Well, it is almost time for dinner. And we do have our deal, remember? You cook. I clean. It works.”
Ky threw him a speaking glance and then started up the stairs.
The door to Gemma’s room was closed over, but not shut. Ky tapped gently on the doorframe. When he got no response, he pushed it open just a bit so he could look in.
The bed was made but empty, the sheets rumpled as if she’d lain on top of them; the bedside light off. The sound of water running had him glancing at the accompanying closed bathroom door. A thin line of light beamed from under it.
His gaze was drawn to the desk and chair situated under the open window. Shaking his head he realized he needed to have a conversation with her about sitting in front of it since she didn’t seem to realize she was making herself a target.
Atop the desk her laptop was open, a slideshow moving across it, littered with photographs. Like metal to a magnet, it pulled him closer, the images scrolling by calling to him.
He’d known she was an exceptional photographer just from viewing the untouched photos she’d captured of his crime scene. But what he hadn’t realized was what a magnificent eye for detail and color she possessed.
Every single picture that slid by was better than the one before. Black-and-white images of city buildings, buildings he recognized and had even been in, never realizing how beautiful their architecture truly was; colored images of sunrise at South Ferry station, gazing out over the harbor; the Statue of Liberty at sunset, Lady Liberty looking as if she were going to jump down and walk away from her pedestal.
His breath caught in the back of his throat when the next series of photographs scrolled through. They had to be family portraits because each woman bore some resemblance to the one before. When a shot of a beaming Kandy Laine holding an infant popped up, her husband next to her, his arm thrown possessively across them, Ky knew the photos were of Gemma’s own family. But not one picture in the collection was of her. Gemma Laine was the face behind the camera, never, apparently, in front of it.
“What are you doing?”
Surprise banged through him first. He’d been so engrossed with the slide show he hadn’t heard the water shut off or the bathroom door open.
When he turned and found her standing next to the bed, her arms, as usual, crossed in front of her, primal awareness replaced the surprise in an instant.
Her mussed hair, wrinkled shirt, and the sheet mark indenting the left side of her cheek told him until quite recently she’d been on the bed, probably sound asleep. The mistrust in her eyes as she gazed across the room told him she was still wary of him. The fact she’d caught him in her room, uninvited and examining her computer screen, told him he deserved her watchful glare.
“I knocked,” he said. “You didn’t answer. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She uncrossed her arms and walked over to the desk. The scent of fresh-picked cherries floated with her and her hairline was damp as if she’d just washed her face.
“Did you think by going through my computer you’d discover if I was?” She slammed the laptop closed and leveled another piercing stare at him.
Ky dug deep for calm. He’d never had such trouble reining in his annoyance before. But ever since he’d met Gemma Laine, her attitude piqued his irritation to levels he was usually able to ignore. He waited a beat until he was sure he could at least speak in a civil tone, and then said, “I wasn’t going through your computer. I’d never invade your privacy like that. I was simply watching the slide show, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.”
Before she could shoot a snarky comeback at him, he added, “Your photographs are amazing. I can see for myself why you’re so successful.”
His words shocked her into silence. Her shoulders relaxed under her sleep-wrinkled blouse and she dropped her hands to her