She lifted her own hand and laid her fingers over mine with a little squeeze of gratitude. With the other, she picked up the mug and brought it to her lips. Her eyes widened. “You actually know how I take my coffee?”
“I pay attention. Besides, it’s hard to forget when you use half as much sugar as coffee.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You like coffee syrup,” I accused, liking that the teasing put a little spark back in her eyes.
“And you apparently drink motor oil.”
Caroline lifted a finger. “I do not make motor oil. However, you have him on battery acid status. Who wants breakfast?”
“I think I could eat something soft. Maybe eggs or oatmeal or something?”
“Coming right up.” Caroline rose from the table and picked up a bag from the end of the counter. “Here, take these and see if anything will work for you. I know you don’t want to sit around in PJs just now.”
Madden frowned at the bag but took it and the coffee back upstairs. I watched her go, a heat in my chest that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the fact that she’d been so close to dying and was walking away from me now on her own two feet.
Caroline had just hauled a carton of eggs out of the fridge when the doorbell rang.
I froze, my body going cold and ready in the same breath. “Stay here.”
“Rios, I’m sure it’s just?—”
“Here,” I insisted.
I moved to the front door without making noise. Checked the side window first. A man stood on the porch.
Grant Willoughby. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He wore civilian clothes and a faint shadow under his eyes. He held some kind of expanding folder, and his stance was tense. That couldn’t bode well.
I opened the door a crack. “Willoughby.”
“Carrera. Is Madden still here?”
“Is there something new about the fire?” I demanded.
“No. Not yet.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To help.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me. “Grant?”
Grant’s eyes shifted past me, and his professionalism slipped. His face softened with something that looked a lot like concern. “Madden.” The way he said her name carried history.
I didn’t like it, but I opened the door fully.
Grant stepped inside like he knew he shouldn’t be here and had decided to do it anyway. His eyes roamed over her. Thank God she’d gotten dressed in some of the donated clothes—capri pants and a T-shirt. I watched him fight the mask back in place as she came to stand beside me.
“What are you doing here?”
Grant’s hand tightened on the folder. “I shouldn’t be.”
She only angled her head in question.
“Carson’s been blocking you,” Grant continued, voice tight now. “And if it was just you being you, I wouldn’t—” He cut himself off, jaw working. “I watched what happened last night. When Carrera gave his statement, I watched the way you looked when you understood that someone had locked you in.”
Madden’s throat bobbed. Her eyes flicked to me and back.
