No one else had understood why she did the things she did. It wasn’t in any textbook. But Reyes knew because he’d lived it as well.
That explained so much about him—how he exuded confidence and swagger, pulling women in. Probably sleeping his way through the county. But also why he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about finding her mother. And why he was so loyal to Chief Watkins, who had saved his life by giving him a second chance at being a cop.
A young woman was at the front desk.
“Can I speak to Roger?” Nic asked her.
She smiled politely. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“No.” Nic was insistent. “It’s important.”
The woman picked up the house phone. “Hold on,” she whispered. Then, into the receiver, “Our guest asked to see you…”
Then a nod and a smile as she hung it up.
“He’s in his apartment,” she said. “It’s the second door down the hallway.”
She pointed to the hallway that began just beneath the stairs.
The door was already open when she got there, Booth greeting her with a burst of surprise, and an “Oh my!”
“What?” Nic asked.
He motioned toward her face, her hair. “It’s cold out. Your hair is wet.”
“I didn’t bring a hair dryer,” Nic said.
Booth looked confused. “There’s one under the sink.”
“I didn’t know. Can I come in?”
Booth hesitated, glancing behind him as though checking to see if his home was worthy of visitors.
“Do you have company?” Nic asked. “I can come back.”
Booth looked nervously at the floor. His cheeks turned red, and when she studied them they also seemed chapped from a recent shave.
Shaved. Neatly dressed. Smelling of cologne. All just to sit in his apartment or work at the diner. He really seemed to have no idea about what this place was like, Hastings.
“No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that.”
He stepped aside. “Come in. Please…”
His apartment was no bigger than her room upstairs. A bed, a small sitting area. A bathroom. The only addition was a wall of kitchen appliances near the window that faced the odd patio out back.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked.
“Do you have coffee?”
“Instant?”
“Sure,” Nic said, taking a seat at the table.
Booth put a kettle on a small gas stove. He prepared two cups on the counter—one with instant coffee grinds, and the other with a loose tea strainer.
“Hangover?” he asked.
Nic felt her heart jump. Had he seen them last night? Nic and Reyes, walking up the creaky stairs to her room? Reyes hadn’t stayed—but Booth may not know that. He would have heard them talking as they walked the stairs. He would have heard two sets of feet. And then silence, perhaps, if Reyes descended more discreetly.
