him in general—her guardian—but he was still bigger than her, stronger. And still a man. The fact that she welcomed his attention felt . . . good. Positive.
“There’s, uh, only one working shower in the house right now,” she said, turning when she reached the bottom of the staircase. “I’m actually re-tiling the other two. They should be done next week, but for now . . .” She waved her hand in the air. She was babbling. “Anyway, if you want to take a shower, you’re welcome to. It’s upstairs. The second door on the left.”
“I showered at home before I came over. But thank you.” He smiled, tilting his head slightly so he looked boyish and charming. Her stomach fluttered and she self-consciously brought a hand to it as though butterflies might explode through her skin in a mad flapping of tiny wings. Of course he’d showered. When he’d stepped close to her, he’d smelled so good. She took her bottom lip between her teeth and his gaze shot to her mouth. The air filled with . . . something . . . and she stepped backward up the stairs, her hand still holding those butterflies in, nerves vibrating, but not unpleasantly so.
She gave a small embarrassed laugh, which she cut off immediately. It seemed inappropriate. Why was she laughing? God, she could be so awkward sometimes. “See you in the morning,” she murmured. “Oh, I, um, told my mother I’d visit her tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Early. Seven-ish? I want to get back here and work on that re-tiling.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll go with you. Jimmy won’t be here until ten or so.”
Josie hesitated. She hardly wanted to bring this man to see where she’d come from or to meet the old crone that was her mother, but she supposed she had to get used to the fact that—temporarily—she had armed security. She still had to live her life. And when they got there, she’d ask that he wait in the car. “Okay. Goodnight, Zach.”
“Sleep well.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Josie?” Zach called softly at her door. He’d waited downstairs until seven fifteen, and when he still didn’t hear anything from above, he went upstairs to make sure she was okay.
He heard scuffling from within the room, the sounds of locks turning—was that three?—and then the door was pulled open. Josie stood there blinking, mussed from sleep, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. “God, I’m so sorry.” She looked behind her, grabbing her robe from the end of her bed. “I overslept. I never do that,” she murmured.
Zach took a step into the room, his eyes drawn by the desk against a wall, bulletin boards above it hung with . . . articles and lists, pictures . . . He scanned it all, pulled by the vision. It looked like a tiny version of an incident room, one Zach was sure they’d be putting together today or tomorrow, a place to put the evidence from both crimes in one place so it could be visualized, compared, connections made if possible. It was what detectives did.
His eyes moved quickly from one thing to another, names of adoption agencies, hospitals, individuals. His gaze snagged on a sketched picture of an infant, the lines simple, unskilled. He stood in front of it, the awareness of what this was hitting him. God, his fucking heart. Josie Stratton was still looking for her son. She’d never stopped. This was her version of command central.
“I can’t draw worth . . . anything.” He turned and she was standing behind him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her finger trailing along the baseboard of her bed. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She looked as though he’d caught her naked. In a sense, maybe he had.
“I’m sorry, I’m invading your privacy.”
She shook her head, her gaze darting to him and then away. “This probably looks . . .” She licked her lips, obviously searching for the right word, the proper description of what was in front of him. “Kind of insane.”
“It doesn’t look insane,” he said. He was actually somewhat blown away that she hadn’t stopped searching, though every professional assigned to help her had given up long ago.
. . . kid’s gotta be dead. A sick fuck like that? I can’t see him dropping the baby off on some nice old lady’s doorstep . . . Nah, he threw that kid in some garbage dump, treated him about as well as he treated his mother.