door where a knock had just sounded. Peering through the peephole, she let out a silent breath of relief even while her heart gave a small jolt. Reed.
Why did she always have that reaction to him?
He was gorgeous, and she allowed herself to watch him unawares, struck by his male beauty the same way she’d been that first night. Only, then, she hadn’t known that he wasn’t merely easy on the eyes, he saw things, looked beneath the surface of people in a way few others did. If she had known that about him, she would have turned the other way when he approached the bar.
At the thought of their potential non-meeting, a zing of panic passed between her ribs and she did her best to dismiss it. It wasn’t right. She couldn’t let herself feel that way.
Liza shifted on her feet, careful not to make a sound, and his eyes shot up to the peephole, his head tilting as if he’d felt her presence somehow. Why did he look so intense, even through the blurry circle that was barely big enough to allow her to see him with one eye? Of course he looks intense, she thought, considering the case he’s working. They’d found another body just that morning. The news media was in a frenzy over it. A small shudder went down her spine when she thought back to seeing the picture on the television earlier of the man who looked almost identical to the way she’d discovered Steven Sadowski.
He raised his hand to knock again and she stepped back, unlocking the door and opening it so he could enter. “Hi.” Her eyes washed over his tight expression, now recognizing the worry that was also in his eyes. She frowned. “Are you okay?”
He dropped his arm and then raised it again, running a hand through his hair and leaving it sort of messy, sticking up on one side. She smiled internally and ignored the desire to smooth it back down, to feel it under her hand. She smoothed her palm over her thigh as if that might wipe away the need to reach out and touch him. “I looked up your brother.”
Liza closed the door, turning back to face him again. A trill of nervousness skittered over the nape of her neck. “And?”
“He’s out, Liza. He got released three days ago. I wanted to come by in person and tell you.”
Liza swallowed. “Oh,” she said and the word emerged as little more than breath. “Are . . . are you sure?” She walked toward the armoire that held the mini fridge on legs that were suddenly shaky.
Reed followed. “Yes. I won’t be able to find out more until I get a call back from his parole officer.”
She opened the fridge and removed a bottle of liquor, holding it up to Reed with a raise of her brows. He shook his head. “No thanks.”
Liza opened the bottle and poured the liquid into a glass from the shelf over the fridge, grimacing as she forced herself to swallow it. She’d have preferred a glass of wine, but at the moment, she wasn’t going to be picky. Certain occasions demanded a cocktail, like the ones where you learned the brother who’d tried to savagely murder you was a free man. “You think it was him? You think he broke into my apartment?”
“I don’t have an answer for that. I . . . there weren’t any recent pictures online. Liza . . . you thought it was your father, but is it possible that your brother looks like him now? It’s been fifteen years.”
Liza stared at him. It’s been fifteen years. He knew. He’d looked up the story. Her stomach sank. Shame spiraled within her, a tornado of pain. She leaned against the armoire behind her and shut her eyes for a moment.
“You looked up the news articles on the case.”
He hesitated for only a moment, his eyes moving over her face. “Yes.”
“Why?” The word was a broken croak.
“I thought it would be helpful to understand the nature of the crime your brother committed. It’s my job, Liza.”
She knew that. She couldn’t be angry at him for it. But she also couldn’t deny the anguish she felt. Her eyes held his for a moment. “Is that the only reason? You wanted to know about Julian?”
“No,” he admitted. “It’s also because . . . I want to know you, Liza. I want to understand . . .” His words faded away as though