Cole trailed behind them as she walked O’Dell to the front door. “He probably wore gloves when he wrote it, but if we’re lucky, maybe he got sloppy and left a print on the masking tape. Did you dust the door?”
“I will when I get back. I thought it was more important to get this to you.”
She nodded. “I’ll call and let them know you’re coming. See you in a few hours.”
When the prowl car had pulled out and Margo had spoken to the PSP, she hung up the phone and walked back to Cole. She was dressed in her sweats and pink T-shirt again, and that pulse in her throat was still moving along at a steady clip. Her hair hung long and silky around her shoulders.
“Now,” she said wearily. “What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”
He guessed that depended on her definition of stalking. He preferred to think of it as watching over her. “No, I was sitting on the porch when O’Dell flew up the road and pulled into your driveway. Obviously, there’d been some trouble.”
He tried to ignore the ball of fear in his stomach. “That was pretty bold of our friend, taping that note to the door. You need to take a few precautions. Is there a chance Sarah could move in with you for a while?”
She looked at him as though he’d suddenly grown two heads. “I’m not going to ask Sarah to move in. I’m a police officer and I carry a gun. Guns trump scarves. I don’t need a babysitter, Cole.”
“All right, but at least admit you’re scared. Don’t pretend with me.”
His statement seemed to release a rash of goose bumps, and Margo chafed her hands over her arms. “Okay, I’m a little unnerved. I wouldn’t be human if I weren’t. But I’m not going to run around like Henny Penny screaming that the sky is falling. Besides,” she went on, “there’s a chance that note could be a prank. From the level of news coverage we’ve been getting, half the state knows what’s going on here.”
She locked her pretty green gaze on his. “But if the note was from the killer, he might’ve given us a partial print or enough DNA evidence for an arrest. In fact,” she said, her voice gaining conviction, “if I press the issue he might get ticked off enough to write again. We both know that an angry criminal is a careless criminal.”
Frustrated, Cole released a blast of air. “Are you listening to yourself? Putting yourself at risk to prove you can do the job just as well as a man—”
“I’m not doing that!”
“Aren’t you? It sure looks that way to me.”
They glared through a dozen ticks of the living room’s wall clock, both of them refusing to look away. Then something unfathomable happened. The room seemed to shrink, and the air in it seemed to thin, taking Cole to the point of light-headedness. Memories he’d been trying to keep at bay filled his mind and heart. And if his cop’s instincts were working even a little, he saw those same memories cloud Margo’s eyes.
Lifting his hand, he moved a long auburn strand that had become caught in her eyelashes…tucked it aside. Then his voice dropped so low he barely recognized it. “I know I don’t always choose my words wisely. But we meant something to each other once, Margo. Even though we messed it up, that still counts with me. I’m afraid for you. Can’t you see that?”
“Yes,” she returned in a whisper that just about put him away. “Yes, I can.”
“Then you’re not mad?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not mad.”
And they were lost.
The kiss was warm and soft and bittersweet, and so full of memories and yearning for what might’ve been that it broke Margo’s heart. Once they’d had a love so special, her every prayer had included her thanks to God for bringing them together. Back then there had been no sadness in their kisses, only love, and laughter and a boundless faith in their future. But as the kiss went on, a smidgen of hope filtered through the hopelessness, and Margo’s rock-bottom spirits began to lift a little. Maybe it wasn’t too late for them. Maybe he was ready to forgive—
Cole broke the kiss and retreated to the opposite corner of her tiny living room, his expression a mixture of self-derision and apology. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I guess we’re both a little unhinged tonight.”
Margo fought for balance, fought to hide her disappointment, grappled for her dignity. It took her a full moment to speak. The warm sensation of his lips on hers was fading now, replaced by cool air and regret.
“It’s just the case,” she replied quietly. “Apparently, old habits do die hard.” She took them back to the conversation that had precipitated that kiss. “Thank you for caring, though. I won’t hire a nanny, but I will be cautious.”
Cole’s somber reply made her feel even worse. “I’ve always cared, Margo.”
Maybe he had, she thought. He just hadn’t cared enough. If he had, he would’ve believed her when she’d told him she loved him.
“Well,” he said, casting about before turning toward the door. “I’d better get back and let you get some sleep. Are your doors and windows locked?”
She nodded. All except the inside and screen doors, and they soon would be. How quickly they’d leaped from tenderness to all-business again.
“He won’t bother me tonight. He wants me to think about the note for a while, otherwise it defeats the purpose of sending it. What I don’t understand is, why did he write it? Do I make him nervous? Do I have information I’m not aware of?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Cole stepped out on the porch, where a squadron of moths bumped and fluttered against her porch light. “I won’t go to the station in the morning. I know you’ll need time to let everyone know I’m coming aboard. But I’d appreciate sitting down with you soon, so you can fill me in.”
She eased against the door frame. “We’ll do it tomorrow.” But there was something she needed to get straight with him. Steve O’Dell had accepted the fact that an ex-officer with more experience than he had would be helping out. But he wasn’t happy. “Cole, I need to say something, and I hope you won’t misunderstand.”
“Go ahead.”
“I know how important this is to you. But I also know how you act when you get up a full head of steam. Especially when you know you’re right. Promise me that you’ll remember you’re only consulting. I don’t want you trampling some very competent officers on your way to an arrest.”
From the expression on his face, he knew she was referring to his clash with John Wilcox.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll deal only with you, and you’ll call the shots.” Sending her an overly polite smile, he turned to leave. “It’ll be your way or the highway.”
It was a clichéd, overused quip, but it was also a subtle nod to their past. At least he hadn’t added, You know. The way it’s always been.
Margo said good-night and closed the door. So much for her hope that they could let sleeping dogs lie.
The dogs were up and they were barking up a storm.
By 5:00 a.m., after four hours of tossing and turning and hearing every chirping bird in the neighborhood greet the dawn, Margo showered and drove to the station. Steve O’Dell was just climbing into the prowl car, preparing to make his final rounds before his shift ended.
“You’re here early,” he said through the open car door.
“I know. I couldn’t sleep.” Margo ascended the three concrete steps to the door