He paused, regarding her intently. He read things, this man. This detective. Saw things other people did not. What was in his past that might be responsible for that particular sensitivity?
No, she didn’t want to know.
“I experience the same things in my job,” he said. “I know. It can make you feel alone. To have seen the proof of the worst of human nature. It can feel like a heavy burden. What you saw today, it will stick with you. You should expect that.”
She felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders. His words made her feel better. He made her feel better. Calmer. She couldn’t help the ghost of a smile that tilted her lips. “I’m supposed to be the psychologist here.”
He smiled, that sweet one he’d given her as he’d held her in bed. “Yeah, but you’re still human.”
“Can I ask you a question about the . . . the murder?”
He nodded.
“Why would someone do that? I mean to his eyes?”
Reed glanced away, looking thoughtful. “It means something to him.” He looked back at her. “I don’t know what, not yet. But it’s specific.”
The door opened, causing them both to startle slightly. Doris peeked in. She glanced at Reed, a blush pinkening her cheeks. Liza resisted a smile. The old lady had a crush. She was painfully sure Reed Davies was used to that reaction. “Were you able to find the right file?”
Reed held it up. “Yes, I’ve got what I need.”
“Good,” Doris said, a frown bringing out more creases in her forehead than were already there. “I suppose you have some difficult calls to make.”
“Yes,” Reed said. He looked at Liza. “Thank you for your help.”
Doris ducked out of the room and Reed took his wallet from his back pocket, removing a card. He moved toward Liza, holding it out to her. She took the edge of it, but before he let go, he asked quietly, “Were you always going to leave without saying goodbye? Was that the plan?”
Their gazes held for a moment before Liza looked down at the business card with his name, title, and phone number, both office and cell, in simple black type. She met his eyes again. “Yes.”
His expression changed only minimally, but a reluctant acceptance entered his gaze. He nodded once. “If you think of anything else that might help, you have my number.” And with that, he turned and left the room.
Liza leaned back on the cabinet behind her. She had a sudden, unexpected urge to cry. And Liza never cried. Not anymore.
CHAPTER SIX
Liza closed her apartment door behind her, exhaling as she engaged the locks and then kicked off her heels.
It felt like a million years since she’d left that morning, her travel mug of coffee in her hand, the only thing on her mind, the appointments she had scheduled.
She’d made it through the rest of her day, gone through the motions, met with her patients, said goodbye to her co-workers, and driven home. But somehow, she still felt shaky inside, even though her body and hands had stopped trembling hours ago. She remembered that form of shaky. She’d lived with it for years. The feeling that something bad was coming. That something bad was always coming. She’d moved beyond that, at least the constant of it, but in one fell swoop, it was back, and though the feeling might be temporary—she would regain her equilibrium, wouldn’t she?—the memories were not.
She stood in her entranceway, the quiet consuming her, the shakiness a drone of anxiety inside her chest. Here there were no distractions, no schedules, or patients to reassure. Perhaps she should have stayed at work. But no . . . each time she walked near the hallway where she’d found Mr. Sadowski, she pictured him again, and she’d needed to put distance between herself and that particular spot. At least temporarily. Tomorrow she’d be okay.
“Buck up, Buttercup.”
She smiled. “Hey, sis,” she said, her sister’s voice just what she’d needed to break her from her spinning thoughts. She stepped forward.
“What are you thinking so hard about that your body’s as useless as mine?” Her eyes were shut but she heard the teasing note in Mady’s voice, could picture the twinkle in her blue eyes.
Liza managed a smile. “There’s nothing useless about you. You’re perfect.” She walked to the couch and sank down on it, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling. She heard the low whir of her sister’s