Hank shifted from one foot to the other, unsure what to do as she seemed to crumble within herself. He didn’t know whether he reached for her or she reached for him, but she was suddenly in his arms, sobbing against his chest.
Hank froze for a moment, but as she continued to cry, he wound his arms around her slender back and held her close.
It didn’t matter that they were virtually strangers. At the moment they were merely two people mourning a loss. As he held her, he tried not to notice how well she fit into his arms, how the top of her head fit neatly beneath his chin and the press of her breasts was warm and inviting.
What a time for his hormones to kick back to life after being dormant for so long. He wasn’t sure what it was about Melody Thompson, but from the moment he’d seen her a spark had gone off inside him—a spark he hadn’t felt in years and one he wasn’t eager to welcome back.
She cried for only a minute or two longer, then stepped back from him. “I’m sorry.” She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “I normally don’t fall apart like that.”
“Please, don’t apologize,” he replied. She grabbed a paper napkin from the table and finished wiping her tears. He stood by awkwardly and waited for her to pull herself together. He picked up his drink from the counter, even though he wasn’t thirsty.
“What are your plans now?” he asked.
She tossed the napkin in a nearby trash can, then shrugged. “I have to decide what needs to be done with Lainie’s things, then get the town house on the market.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,” he offered.
She smiled then, the first smile he’d seen from her, and pleasure washed over him at the beauty of her expression. “Thanks.” The smile fell away and she held his gaze intently. “The most important thing I want to do is find out who killed my sister, and I’m not leaving town until I have an answer.”
Melody grabbed her coffee cup and took another sip. Maybe after two or three cups she’d start feeling alive. She sat at the kitchen table listing everything that needed to be done.
She had three lists started. One detailed what needed to be done to get the place ready for resale. The second had notes she’d made about what to do with Lainie’s personal items and the last one simply had the word Investigation across the top.
It was just after eight and the morning sun was pouring in through the window, warming her back as she worked. She’d been up far too late the night before, searching Lainie’s bedroom for a diary, a notepad, anything that might yield a clue as to whom she’d had a date with on the night of her death.
She’d found nothing. If anything had once been there, then the sheriff and his men had probably removed it when they’d searched the place as a crime scene.
It had been after two when she’d finally fallen into bed, exhausted both mentally and physically. She took another sip of her coffee and stared down at the sheet of paper headed Investigation.
There had been no sign of forced entry. That meant that Lainie knew her attacker, that she’d either opened the door to him or he’d had a key.
Hank Tyler had a key. He’d used it to come in and clean up the blood. And any incriminating evidence he feared might remain? She found it hard to believe that the handsome man who had held her while she wept after the funeral was also a cold-blooded killer.
However, she also knew that to trust anyone right now would be foolish. Just because Hank Tyler was easy on the eyes and seemed to have compassion didn’t mean that he wasn’t a viable suspect.
There hadn’t been anything missing. Whoever had come in hadn’t been bent on robbing the place. That meant he’d entered with the specific purpose of harming Lainie.
She picked up her cup once again but, before she could bring it to her lips, she froze. Had she just heard a door open? Her heartbeat quickened, and she thought she heard a furtive movement in the living room.
Had the killer come back?
Sliding out of her seat at the table, she fought the icy chill of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. As quietly as possible, she moved to the drawer that she knew held the knives and grabbed one in her hand.
If she was wrong and nobody was in the condo, then she would chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But if somebody were in the next room, she wouldn’t go in unarmed.
Gripping the knife tightly in her fist, she eased out of the kitchen and into the living room to see a dark-haired, blue-eyed little girl sitting on the sofa.
She swallowed a gasp of surprise and dropped the hand that held the knife to her side. “You must be Maddie,” she said, remembering that Hank had mentioned his daughter.
The little girl nodded, eyeing Melody as if measuring her worth. “My real name is Madeline Renee Tyler. My friends call me Maddie, but I think you should call me Madeline ‘cause I don’t know if we’re going to be friends or not.” She paused a moment. “You aren’t as pretty as Lainie.”
Melody nodded and surreptitiously placed the knife on one of the end tables. “Lainie was beautiful.”
Maddie frowned, her gaze not leaving Melody. “I loved Lainie, but I’m not sure I’m even gonna like you.”
An unexpected burst of laughter welled up inside Melody at the little girl’s brutal honesty. She managed to swallow it. “I’m not at all sure I’ll like you, either.”
“You have to like me.” Maddie lifted her chin a notch. “It’s not polite for grown-ups to dislike little girls.”
Again laughter bubbled to Melody’s lips. “Maybe when we get to know each other a little better we’ll discover that we like each other very much.”
Maddie looked at her dubiously. “Do you like chocolate?”
“I love chocolate.” Melody sat on the opposite end of the sofa.
“Well then, that’s a start,” Maddie replied in a voice very grown-up for her age.
“Does your father know you’re here?” Melody asked.
“He was in the shower and I was supposed to be watching cartoons, but I decided I wanted to come and meet you. He won’t miss me. Lainie used to let me drink soda in the morning.” She cast Melody a glance that indicated that this might just be a tiny fib.
“Really? That’s strange. Lainie always liked a tall glass of orange juice first thing in the morning,” Melody replied. Maddie offered her a sly grin, as if she knew she’d been caught. “Maybe we should call your father and let him know you’re here?”
“He’ll know as soon as he sees that I’m gone. Whenever I disappear he always knows I’m here or at Grandma’s. Besides, I’m mad at him.”
Before Melody could ask why the little girl was mad at her daddy, she heard a rapid knock on the door.
Melody got up and opened the door to see Hank. “Hi, is my…” He gazed over her shoulder and spied his daughter. “I’m so sorry,” he said to Melody.
“It’s all right. Come on in, we were just getting to know each other.”
Hank swept past Melody, bringing with him the scent of minty soap and shaving cream. Clad in a pair of navy slacks and a crisp white shirt, he looked in control and amazingly handsome, but definitely irritated with his daughter.
“Give