“I need to talk to you.”

“All right.” She glanced back, mug in hand. Slowly turned all the way around as she saw what her obsession with her own appearance had blocked out.

The worry, the concern in the way his eyes scanned her face.

He didn’t know about the call, did he? She hadn’t told anyone about the call yet.

Then her brain cleared enough to remind her it wasn’t always about her.

“God, did something happen? Gram, Julia?”

“No, no they’re fine. It’s nothing like that. It’s Charles Scarpetti. The lawyer,” he added when she only stared. “Your mother’s lawyer from back then.”

“I know who he is. He plays a legal expert on TV now. I know he wrote a book about some of his high-profile cases, and my kidnapping was one of them. I didn’t read it. Why would I?”

“He’s dead. They—the pool guy—found his body floating in his pool a couple of hours ago. It’s going to hit the news if it hasn’t already. I didn’t want you to hear about it that way.”

“All right.” She set the mug down, then rubbed her hand over the bracelet she wore. Darlie’s hematite for anxiety. “All right. He drowned?”

“The LAPD’s investigating. Red has some connections there, and he got word. He—you should know he’s still looking out for you.”

“All right. Sorry.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “I don’t know what I feel. Are you saying he might’ve been killed?”

“I can only tell you what Red told me. His contact in L.A. says it smells—that’s a quote. I just didn’t want you to switch on the news and get hit with it.”

“Because they’ll bring up the kidnapping.” Nodding, she picked up the mug again, went to the coffee maker. “And we’ll start a round of poor, brave Caitlyn. Charlotte will do some interviews, weep Hollywood tears over the daughter lost to her. We’ll have some speculation why I quit the business—or the on-screen aspect of it. And since the guy I made the mistake of getting involved with last freaking year is already using the breakup, months ago, to pump up some publicity, we’ll toss that in.”

Muttering curses in French, she paced a moment.

“Are those bad words in French?”

“What? Oh, yes. More impact.”

After setting the black coffee on the counter, she opted for water. Her brain was definitely awake now, no more coffee needed.

“Okay. A man’s dead, and I don’t know how to feel about that. He was doing a job—that’s all it was to him. Why should it have been anything else? It wasn’t personal, I know that. In any case, she went to prison.”

Since she didn’t want the water either, she set the bottle down. “Did he have a family, I wonder? Children, grandchildren?”

“I don’t know. The only thing Red got was he lived alone.”

“Do you want a bagel? I was going to have a bagel.”

“Cate.”

“Sorry, I don’t know how to feel. Somebody I never even met is dead, and you came over here to tell me because you know I’d have trouble with it. You know because you were part of it, the saving part of it. Like Scarpetti was part of it. And Sparks and my mother and Denby.”

It struck her, drained the color from her face. “Denby. He was killed weeks ago, murdered in prison. Now the lawyer.”

He’d been careful not to really touch her since she’d come back. And could admit the careful equaled self-defense mechanism. But he knew when touch was needed, for a person, for an animal.

He put his hands on her shoulders first, a kind of steadying gesture. “They’ll probably go there, the press, maybe the cops. But Denby was in prison, Scarpetti in L.A. Both of them, considering career paths, had to have a list of enemies—different varieties.”

“Professional criminal, defense attorney.”

“I get they both connect to you, but—”

“To you, too.” Struck by that, she gripped his wrists. “To you, your family. Have you thought of that?”

“We’re fine. Our names don’t sell papers or TV spots. Yours does, and I’m sorry about that. It blows.”

“It blows,” she repeated.

Responding to simple kindness, she moved into him, laid her head on his shoulder. When his arms came around her, the stress simply spilled out of her.

“It blows,” she said again. “But I know how to handle it. Didn’t always, but I know how to handle it. Oh crap.” She sighed, stayed as she was because he smelled comfortingly of horses and man. “My grandparents. They were in L.A. yesterday, a party. They’re due home this afternoon. I need to warn them. My father, too.”

“I bet they know how to handle it.”

“Yes, they do.” Briefly, she tightened her grip, then released and stepped back. “We’ll have family here starting tomorrow. Not everyone at once this year—too many scheduling conflicts—but most off and on until New Year’s. That’ll help.”

He couldn’t quite resist brushing tousled hair away from her face. “United front.”

“We are that.”

“Yeah, mine’s the same.”

“I want to stop by sometime tomorrow, drop off some gifts.”

“Baking day,” he warned her.

“Is it? Lucky me. You haven’t had your coffee. Let me make you a fresh cup.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got to—”

“Get back,” she finished. “I bet you’ve already put in a half day’s work—what most would consider a half day’s work. I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“That’s the life.”

“And you took time out of that to come here, get me over the first bump. I’m grateful. There are a handful of people outside of family I trust absolutely. You and your family take up most of the handful.”

“You’ve got to get out more.” He smiled when he said it. “I’ll see you tomorrow if you get by.”

“Baking day? Count on it.”

As he walked back up the path, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do when she said stuff like that about trust. She needed a friend, not some guy who wanted to get her naked. Even some guy, like for instance himself, who was willing to take his time, give her time, ease it all in by stages.

Maybe he wished he didn’t have so many clear pictures of her in his head. The little girl trying to hide in the dark, the long-legged teenager holding red flowers, the woman in an apron ridiculously excited about making butter, the woman on horseback, laughing as she stretched a trot to a gallop.

Now add the sexily rumpled one opening the door to hard news.

Smarter, he thought when he reached his truck, to put those pictures away, at least for now.

She thought of him as a friend, and a woman didn’t want a friend making moves on her. In the long list of ways to screw up a friendship, that had to be number one.

Thinking of friends, he decided he’d text two of his oldest, see if they wanted to hang out later, have a couple beers, play some video games. Might be tougher for Leo, since he had a wife, and a baby on the way.

But then again, he imagined Hailey might enjoy a night of quiet, which Leo rarely was.