“But she might recognize him from somewhere else.”
“True.” Morris was right. At least the photo would be better than the in-person experience they’d all been subjected to.
“What are you waiting for?” Morris asked.
“She wanted me to pack her a bag.”
“Forensics won’t be done until tomorrow. And they don’t want us to remove anything from her room.”
“She’s going to need a few things, Morris. It’s not like she keeps a bag packed in her car.”
“Got it covered.” Luke held his phone for Gil to see the text thread. He scanned it. Faith and Tessa would get enough for Ivy to get through the night. If forensics released her room, they’d come over in the morning and get clothes. If that wasn’t possible, they’d take her shopping.
They wrapped up everything with Morris, and Gil headed to the car. His legs felt like he’d strapped fifty-pound weights to each ankle. He didn’t want to be the one to give her the bad news. He walked to the driver’s side and climbed in.
She turned to him, and he reached for her hand. “I will tell you everything, but can you wait until we get to my house?”
In the light from the overhead lights in the car, he watched with no small amount of fascination as she studied him. He didn’t know what she was looking for or what she found, but she nodded.
“Let’s get you home.”
28
GIL DIDN’T TALK to her on the drive to his house. He held her hand, his thumb sweeping across the back of hers in a soothing circle. He’d climbed into his car without the bag she requested and without giving her any information.
And she was okay with that.
No. That wasn’t quite right. She wasn’t okay with what was happening. What she was okay with was the way Gil was treating her. He was asking, not assuming. And he’d given her no reason not to trust him. If he wanted to wait until they were at his house to explain, then she’d trust him.
He pulled into his garage, parked, and escorted her inside. He disabled his security system, cleared the house, then reset the security system before he returned to where she waited in the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator, stared into its depths for a moment, then pulled back and cocked his head at her. “How do you feel about sandwiches?”
She slid onto a stool. “As a rule, I’m pro-sandwich as long as there’s no mustard involved. Or lettuce.”
Gil faked being distraught at her declaration, and while he made her sandwich, he hassled her about her refusal to try any ofthe six—yes, six—varieties of mustard he had on hand. Twenty minutes later, she’d had a sandwich, a few chips, and a slice of pie.
What she didn’t have was a clue about what was going on.
She told Gil about the pitch. They laughed about the guys who had tried to get Tessa and Ivy to go out with them tonight and speculated about the situation with Tessa and Zane while Gil cleaned up the kitchen. He tossed a towel over the handle of the dishwasher, leaned a hip against the counter, and studied her for a long moment. “Are you ready?”
She knew what he was asking. “Yes.”
He told her, and while she had no previous experience with discovering murdered men in her bedroom, she was pretty sure he didn’t sugarcoat anything. When he was done, he leaned across the counter and reached for her hands, taking extra care to avoid the splints on her right hand. “Talk to me, Buttercup.”
“Someone was killed in my bedroom today. I don’t know what to do with that.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I don’t know anyone who could kill someone like that.”
Gil pinched his lips together, and he didn’t have to say a word for her to know what he was thinking.
“Ab did not kill him!”
“I didn’t say he did.”
“You think he did.”
