Simon was silent for a moment, his gaze hard on Hank. And here again was another undercurrent she wasn’t sure she understood. Though she guessed the man was not used to being interrupted.
Simon narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps it would be better if Vic spoke to her. Until you get some real rest, you can’t shift.”
She felt Hank stiffen by her side, then he spoke through clenched teeth. “I would appreciate Vic’s backup.”
“But you’re not leaving her.” A statement, not a question.
“No.”
Simon shook his head. “You haven’t bonded, Hank. Not yet at least.”
Hank didn’t answer. He simply stood there with his arm wrapped around her and his entire body bristling with defiance. And in the silence, Cecilia managed to insert her question.
“Someone is going to explain this bonding thing, right?”
Hank nodded. “That will be my job. Soon.”
She sighed. She feared she wasn’t going to like that conversation at all. “Can I get a shower first? And maybe another omelet?”
To which Mother burst out with a cackling laugh. “I like a practical girl.” Then she waved at Simon and the others. “Go on. Let him get this girl a shower and let me get some rest. I’ll let you know when Sammy wakes.”
Simon frowned. “Miguel isn’t here yet and the wolves—”
“Are going to fix my window. That’s them pulling up now. And they’ll help me clean, too. I practically raised those boys when their mother ran off. I’m going to be just fine.”
Cecilia hadn’t even realized that another two trucks had pulled up. Construction trucks and four men were already piling out. That was enough for Simon who nodded at his men. They started carrying out the body while Alyssa shut down her tablet and began gathering her things. Everyone was moving except Detective Kennedy who seemed to shift awkwardly from one foot to another, his gaze on Hank.
It wasn’t long before Hank noticed. The man probably saw everything, but he didn’t ask. He just waited until the cop finally spoke.
“So you mentioned a mantra or something. That helped you sleep.”
Two statements, but good God, did they expose a significant problem. No one looked as exhausted as this guy did and then asked about sleep aids. Not unless he was haunted by something big. And now that the detective stood closer, Cecilia could see the red in his eyes and the way his expression kept sagging before he propped it up again with an extra-brilliant smile.
“It’s not a magic spell,” Hank said gently. “It’s just a way to focus the mind—”
“To quiet it for sleep, right?”
Hank shrugged. “Eventually. Yes.”
“I’ll take it.”
Cecilia turned to look at Hank. What exactly was this magic mantra for people too haunted by something to sleep? But instead of answering, Hank turned and rummaged around in a messenger bag. A moment later, he pulled out a plain tan notebook, the kind used by artists to sketch in. He held it out to the detective who took it with a frown.
“What am I—”
“The greatest meditation is a mind that lets go.”
It was actually comical seeing the cop’s expression. He just held the notebook and stared at Hank like the man had spoken Greek.
“Say it after me,” Hank pressed. “The greatest meditation is a mind that lets go.”
The man echoed the words, though his expression had already shifted to tolerance. As if he had realized that Hank had no magic words. Meanwhile, Hank was nodding.
“Great. Now write that down. Once for every page in that notebook.”
“Write—”
“But each page has to look different. Do it in calligraphy or in paintbrush.”
