In the Blink of an Eye

Fine. Man talk. With her skin still tingling where Mac had held her, she could use some time to herself in the kitchen to regroup. She only hoped Mac was up to an interrogation. She couldn’t tell what the sudden change in his behavior meant. Was this a cover? Or was the Mac she’d known from the old days in the neighborhood finally showing himself?

Julia searched the cabinets, locating a tray and three matching mugs while the coffee brewed. With Sergeant Niederhaus’s booming voice, she couldn’t help but hear snatches of conversation from the living room.

“We believe Ringlein may have been involved in something illegal. Did you suspect anything? Is that why you were there that night?”

“Jeff may not have been the most skilled technician, but he was loyal.” Mac’s voice reflected a calm detachment that had been absent from her encounters with him. “I can’t see him being a part of what you’re suggesting.”

Julia tuned out the conversation and looked about for a snack to serve with the coffee. It might be a way to sneak some food into Mac’s stomach and rebuild his strength.

“Did he say anything to you that would indicate he was suicidal?” That sensitive-as-nails question came from Niederhaus.

“He wasn’t suicidal. He was in trouble. He mentioned that someone had threatened his wife.”

“Who?”

Julia put grocery shopping high on her list, right behind cleaning. The only suitable food she found to serve with the coffee was a box of stale doughnuts. The stereotype of serving doughnuts to cops didn’t bother her as much as the crusty shells that had hardened around the sugary confections.

Caught between the choices of serving old doughnuts or making sandwiches, Julia stuck her head into the living room, intending to ask Mac which he preferred. But she pressed her lips together and said nothing. Like the coffee, her temper brewed at what she saw.

Mac had perched on the edge of the recliner while Sergeant Niederhaus pressed him for information from his spot on the couch. Eli Masterson, it seemed, had little interest in the interview. He circled the room on silent feet, his head tilted at an intent angle to lift and study photographs, and thumb his way through the books and CDs behind Mac.

How dare he take advantage of Mac’s handicap by sneaking around like that! Julia cleared her throat and garnered the attention of all three men. But her focus was on Eli. “Don’t you need to have a search warrant?”

“Excuse me?”

Julia’s take-charge voice kicked in. “Can I help you find something?”

He shrugged his shoulders like he’d done nothing wrong. “I was looking for the restroom.”

Behind the bookshelf? Though she didn’t believe his quick response, she pointed him in the right direction. “Down the hall. On your left.”

She watched him to be sure he reached his destination, then glanced back at Mac. Had he even realized Detective Masterson was snooping around the living room?

Just who was under investigation here, anyway?

Joe Niederhaus rolled to his feet, leaving Mac staring at the place where he’d been sitting. “Your deposition claimed Ringlein set fire to the lab himself. Do you think he was trying to eliminate you?”

Mac tipped his head to the sound of Niederhaus’s voice, then stood when he realized his inquisitor had done the same. “What are you getting at?”

The toilet flushed in the back of the house, and Niederhaus shrugged, seeming to lose interest in his questions all of a sudden. He smiled for the first time. “Don’t get in a sweat. Whenever an officer dies, it’s I.A.’s job to check it out. Rule out any criminal activity.”

“You should check into his wife’s safety.”

Eli returned to the living room, his quiet voice approaching Mac from behind. “You believe that claim?”

Startled by the second officer’s approach, Mac turned himself sideways, shifting on the balls of his feet as if he felt penned in by the two men. “It was one of the last things he said.”

“What was the last thing he said?” Niederhaus’s question sounded like a taunt. Judging by the defensive angle of Mac’s shoulders, he heard it the same way, too.

Julia knew little about police investigations, even less about male posturing. But she was an ace when it came to protecting her patients.

She joined Mac in the center of the room, changing the unsettling topic of conversation and giving Mac an ally to face off against the two investigators. She put on her best innocent expression and smiled like a diplomat. “I know it’s early in the day, but I thought I’d see if you wanted sandwiches with your coffee?”

Niederhaus looked at Julia as if really seeing her for the first time. He made a noise that was half laugh, half grunt, and shook his head. “We need to be going.”

A few defensive instincts of her own made Julia turn to keep Detective Masterson in her sights. “It wouldn’t take me a minute,” she offered.

“Thanks, anyway.” Eli crossed the room to join Niederhaus at the door. Side by side in the small living room, the two men formed an opposing front.

But they wore badges. That made them the good guys, right? So why did she feel the need to take a step back toward Mac?

Her shoulder blade bumped against his chest, and she shivered at the unexpected contact. But she didn’t get a chance to move away. Mac’s searching hand tapped first on her arm, then slid up to rest atop her shoulder. His long fingers splayed across her collarbone and down to the V-neckline of her sweater.

Masterson’s gaze zeroed in on the spot. Then he looked at Mac’s face and spoke as if Mac could see him. “Sorry you got hurt. I’m sure this will turn out to be a routine investigation. We appreciate your cooperation.”

“Yeah.” What part of Eli’s words was Niederhaus agreeing with? “Sorry you got hurt, too.”

With a nod of their heads, the two detectives left, closing the door softly behind them. Julia curled her arms around her middle, wondering if her imagination had gotten the better of her. Had she read something into their visit that wasn’t there because she was already such an emotional wreck? She’d discovered she was a pro at misreading men and their intentions.

That’s when her skin started to burn beneath Mac’s hand.

Though the pressure of his hand never increased, what had seemed like an intimate stamp of possession, of protection, at the very least, now weighed down upon her like a confining manacle.

Maybe Mac sensed the change in her from wary to self-conscious. Maybe the involuntary shiver that shook her was enough to repel his touch.

He lifted his hand. The throaty whisper at her ear startled her, yet rooted her in place. “Easy, Jules. Your heart’s racing like a comet. Something wrong?”

She couldn’t help but think of that night, half a lifetime ago, when he whispered to her so gently. The voice was deeper now, more hoarse than it had been back then. But the effect was still the same. The unadorned words comforted her battered soul, and her mind raced with hopeless possibilities.

But she was no foolish teenager anymore. She was smart enough to recognize compassion for what it was. She was smart enough to walk away.

She walked all the way to the front door, where she locked the dead bolt and reattached the chain. “I’m okay,” she reassured him, trying to reassure herself. “I spooked myself somehow. Probably fatigue. It’s been a long couple of weeks for me.”

She turned around to see Mac’s questioning look. A crease formed in the scar tissue beside his eyes as he squinted to focus on something he could not see.

“You are a rotten liar.”

She longed to put a complimentary twist on his words, but could only come up with sarcasm. “Gee, thanks.”

“They spooked me, too.” He stepped out, stumbled through the obstacle course, with a clear destination in mind. Julia went to help him, but he clamped down on her arms when he felt her touch, and gave her a little shake. “Tell me exactly what Masterson was doing.”

The sharp clip in his raspy voice was a welcome relief to the tender touch of a moment ago. She could handle Officer Taylor, crime-scene investigator, a lot more easily than Mac, the hero, who triggered those silly, sentimental feelings from her youth.

“Nosing around. He seemed interested in the stuff on your bookshelves.”

“I have crap on my bookshelves.” He cast her aside with a sense of urgency, an intellectual ferocity that wasn’t directed at her. He headed toward the corner of the room, rammed his hip into the desk and cursed. Julia hurried to his side as he fumbled around the desktop, rearranging the existing mess by creating another.

“Mac, what is it?” This frantic burst of energy worried her more than her suspicions surrounding Niederhaus and Masterson. She captured both of his hands in hers to stop his search. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”