“Maybe you can tell me, then.” The deep, smooth voice of Detective Harper Rose startled him. “I’m a detective with the NYPD investigating this case. Is Ms. Johnson awake? Can she answer any questions?”
The doctor stared at Rose. “This is an eighty-four-year-old woman with a knife wound.”
“I’m aware, Doctor,” Rose responded, not backing down in the least. “And I’m trying to catch the person who did that to her. So I’m going to ask you again if I can speak to her for a few minutes.”
The doctor blinked. “She should be awake soon. Lucky for her, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. The knife didn’t penetrate enough to damage vital organs, so we stitched her up, butbecause of her age, we’re concerned. Don’t stay long. I’ll make sure the nurses keep an eye on her.”
“Not a problem.”
The doctor walked out, and Rose cast a glance his way, said nothing, and left.
“Jesus, what a jerk.” Colson sighed, and realizing there was nothing left for him to do, decided to leave. He could come visit Millie tomorrow.
Once home, he took another shower, feeling dirty after sitting in a police car, at the precinct, and at the hospital. Checking his phone, he saw three missed calls from Hogan.
“What the hell, Colson? Are you all right? Where are you?”
Weary, he lay on the couch, facing Willow Street and Millie’s house. “I’m home. They said talking to you made them realize I was telling the truth, but that I’m still not ruled out as a suspect. It’s crazy. I didn’t try and hurt her. I couldn’t.”
“Of course not. That’s what I told that detective. I trust you with my kids, for God’s sake.”
“Thanks. I’m just going to sit in my house from now on. It’s safer in here.”
“That’s not the answer,” Hogan protested.
“It is for me,” he muttered, and watched out the window as a delivery truck pulled up. Something bothered him, and he needed to think. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Hogan warned.
He remembered Millie saying she’d had a delivery earlier in the day—“a nice young man” she’d called him. The neighborhood watch had reported that because of the increase in home invasions lately, they were installing cameras up and down the area. Colson dug out the card Martinez gave him andcalled. He wasn’t there, but Colson gave a detailed message to the person who answered.
He ate a peanut butter sandwich and decided to type his handwritten chapter, but gave up halfway through. It was eerily close to what happened to Millie, and Colson couldn’t bring himself to finish. He called the hospital but was told they couldn’t give him any information.
“Dammit.”
How could it be only afternoon? It felt as though he’d lived a year this day alone. To keep from thinking about Millie or that annoying detective, he flipped on the television to some nature show. He’d always found them fascinating, but even that didn’t hold his interest, and he awoke with a start to his doorbell ringing. The sky outside had dimmed to blue-violet, and he rubbed his eyes as he peered at the video screen to see Detective Rose on his doorstep.
His stomach tumbled with a mix of fear and, for whatever reason, anticipation. He opened the door. As irritated as the man made him, Colson couldn’t help admiring his gorgeous face.
“Detective. Is Millie okay?”
“She’s in the hospital, so I doubt she’s okay.” He crossed his arms, so nonchalant that Colson’s ire rose. He should’ve known better than to think the detective was human.
“You know, I could do without the wiseass comments. I’ve been accused of attempted murder. I’ve had kind of a rough day.”
“Well, I’m here to make your night a whole lot better.” A wicked grin curved his lips, and Colson stared at him as his mouth dried, his heart accelerated, and a curl of desire tugged in his belly. Yeah, he was a jerk and a sarcastic son of a bitchwho thought Colson could stab an old lady, but damn…he was gorgeous.
“Wh-what’re you talking about?” He licked his lips.
“I had a chance to speak to Millie.” Rose paused as several people walked past. “Can we take this inside? Unless you want your neighbors to hear.”
“Yeah, sure.” Colson stepped aside. Rose passed by him, and instead of waiting, walked right into his living room.
“Nice house.” His measured, assessing gaze swept over the room, then returned to him. “How’d you end up in Brooklyn from Greenwich, Connecticut?”
“You looked me up?” He shouldn’t be surprised, but it still felt like an invasion of privacy.
Unrepentant, Rose shrugged. “SOP—that’s standard operating—”
