Mind? He was ready to worship at her feet for this. But he didn’t say that. It was too brutally honest. Instead, he looked around the counter. “Recipe? Where?—”
“The box was in the cabinet up there.” She pointed to the corner cabinet, which was filled with stuff they hadn’t used in years: a food processor, a couple casserole dishes, and he didn’t know what. And—obviously—his mother’s recipe box.
“Make anything you want, any time you want. I’ll pay for the food. Whatever you need. Please.” Was that too much like begging?
“How long has it been since anyone’s cooked for you?” She looked at both men.
Alan shrugged. “We usually eat whatever the kids are being served.” The after-school program had snacks every afternoon. And since shifters tended to eat a lot, even before their First Change, the meals were heartier than the usual crackers and a slice of cheese. They got burgers, hot dogs, and pizza on a regular basis. For Carl and Alan, that meant that weekends were filled with leftover burgers, hot dogs, and pizza. All of which added up to homemade lasagna as the nearest thing to heaven in a very long time.
“I made salad, too,” she said, then chuckled. “But I can see that you’d rather eat the pasta.”
He was already serving himself more. At least this time he managed to wait somewhat patiently as the microwave worked. Meanwhile, Becca leaned against the refrigerator, obviously working hard to appear casual. “Did you learn anything at all?”
He could see the worry in her eyes and hated making it worse, so he tried to put a positive spin on the situation. “We’ve eliminated a lot of possibilities. That’s good progress. The entire police force is working on this. They’ll figure out the next step.”
She nodded, her gaze canting away. “Nothing new, then.”
No way to answer that directly without confirming her worst fears. So he touched her chin, pulling her gaze up to his. “We’ll find him. I swear it.”
She searched his face and he kept it as open as he knew how. Let her see his absolute determination to find Theo and punish the bastard who created the situation in the first place. Whatever he showed her must have been convincing because eventually she nodded.
“Thanks.”
Jesus. “Don’t thank me, Becca. This is what I do. It’s the Max’s job to protect everyone here, especially the young.” And it killed him that he’d failed in that. “Thank you for the food.” Now that there were calories in his stomach, he noticed that the pile of laundry was gone and that someone had tidied up their home. That sure as hell hadn’t been Alan. “Thanks for everything,” he said, gesturing at the clean home.
“I have to do something or I’ll go insane.”
“She also went to the gun range today,” Alan said, his voice excruciatingly dry. It was his lawyer way of criticizing. “I told her we’d keep her safe, but she insisted.”
That explained the scent of gunpowder. “You don’t have to be afraid here,” Carl said. Though he could hardly blame her for being worried, what with grizzly wars taking place on the front lawn.
She sighed. “Turns out a gun didn’t make me feel safer,” she said as she handed him a slice of garlic bread. “I’m a sucky shot.”
“You’re a great cook,” Carl said, and she couldn’t know how much he needed that. How he wanted a woman who wasn’t about destroying. Whose focus was on building and nurturing.
Meanwhile, Alan continued to poke. “Did you run into any trouble today?”
Carl glanced at his brother, hearing the underlying question there: Is Tonya okay? “Nothing we couldn’t handle. We’re going to start at dawn tomorrow. Start searching farther afield.”
“Everyone wants to help. Marty’s coordinating food baskets for the people at the watch points, but beyond that I don’t know what else we can do.”
Carl couldn’t think of anything either. “No more teens in their First Change?”
“No one’s old enough. It’s just Theo now.”
Right. His gaze went back to Becca’s pale skin. She was holding it together better than many mothers would, but the strain was showing. “You should get some rest,” he said to her softly.
“I…” She shrugged. “I can’t sleep.” Then she gave an awkward shrug. “I made pie. It’s not fancy, but?—”
“Pie?” he interrupted. He shoveled in the last bites of his lasagna. “Where?”
“Blueberry.” She opened the refrigerator. “I can heat it?—”
“Nope.” He took it from her hand. “I love it cold. I used to sneak it late at night after everyone had gone to bed. Always ate it cold then.”
“Told ya,” Alan quipped to Becca as he straightened off the wall. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. Dawn comes early for lawyers, too.”
Carl frowned. “Anything I need to know about?”
