Whispers at Midnight (45 page)

“Who?” Mike said, sounding interested.

“The girls will explain.” Matt grinned mockingly at Erin, lifted a hand in farewell, and went to work.

And spent the whole day trying to get the theme song to a stupid old sitcom out of his head. The one that coupled love and marriage—and horse and carriage…

32

T
HE NEXT WEEK
passed quickly. Not wanting to make a fool of herself in front of the whole house again, Carly had started doubling up on the sleeping pills so at least she’d be spared the embarrassment of screaming nightmares, and that seemed to work. Sandra got out of the hospital and moved into Matt’s room with Carly, sleeping on a rollaway bed lent by a neighbor. Matt seemed to feel that the attack on Sandra fell under the heading of collateral damage. In other words, the attacker would not be coming after her again. But, as Sandra put it, there was no way in hell she was staying in that spooky old house by herself after what had happened. Anyway, Matt was still treating the house as a crime scene, which basically meant that it was off-limits to everyone except law enforcement types. Thus Sandra and Carly became roommates, literally this time. This was a good thing, Carly assured herself, as it meant that (a) sleeping with Matt was no longer an option and so she didn’t have to worry about whether or not it was a good idea; (b) she and Sandra got to bond like a fly and flypaper; and (c) she was never alone. Never, ever, ever, unless she was in the bathroom with the door locked.

As grateful as she was for having been placed in protective custody, as Matt officially described it, as sorry as she would have been to find herself on her own in this situation, Carly was starting to feel like
the whole
save me, save me, I’m afraid for my life
ride she’d been on since the monster had invaded her house was getting old. One could only be terrified for so long, and then life had to start getting back to normal or a person would go nuts, she discovered. To begin with, the lack of privacy was getting really irksome. She had little doubt that it was fraying everyone else’s nerves as well; the whole group, herself included, was starting to get a little frazzled. Matt’s sisters were great, she liked them a lot, but having two strange women living in their house with them when they had jobs and boyfriends and Erin’s imminent wedding to prepare for had to be a strain. Add to that the facts that one of the deputies was in the house whenever Carly was, Sandra’s cooking drew the others whenever they weren’t actively on duty elsewhere, and Hugo and Annie played chase the kitty at least once a day and the place was a circus pretty much around the clock. The good news was, it was impossible to feel terrified, or even a little scared, in the midst of such chaotic surroundings; the bad new was, it was crazy-making.

Matt himself was not really an integral part of the tumult. He showed up basically to sleep, passing out on the couch around midnight most nights and leaving again around six in the morning. He was, Mike Toler confided on one of his house shifts, working like a dog. They all were. They had a backload of cases up the yahoo, the usual laundry list of crimes was still being committed even as files on the old ones were piling up in their in baskets, and Matt was spending every minute he could spare running down leads about the identity of the man who had attacked Carly and Sandra. Without notable success so far, as Antonio confided with a grimace when it was his turn to Carly-sit. One of their most promising clues was the handkerchief the perp had dropped. It had been soaked with chloroform—which accounted for the sweetish smell Carly had noticed—and it had three initials embroidered on it. A monogram, almost certainly. The problem was that the handkerchief was so old and worn and the embroidery was so stylized that the tiny letters could be BLH or RIH or RLH or BIH. It was even possible that the last H was not an H at all but an A. They were trying to run down the manufacturer to see if they could get a handle on the script; they were also
having a computer analysis done to see if the initials couldn’t be made clearer. In any case, none of the letter combinations they’d come up with so far meant anything to Carly or anyone else. Without that clue, they pretty much had the suspect list narrowed down to about one-fourth the male population of Georgia, plus or minus a few random stalkers from Carly’s married years who might have decided to head south.

None of which, as far as getting all of them off the circus train and back to something resembling normal life, sounded particularly promising.

On Thursday, Carly made up her mind that the situation could not go on as it was indefinitely and decided to talk to Matt about it. On Friday, she was still waiting to talk to Matt about it. On Saturday, she was
still
waiting, and none too happily either. Short of getting up at two
A.M.
and creeping downstairs to shake him awake on the couch, it didn’t look like anything in the nature of private conversation was going to happen between them anytime soon. All things considered, she had no real objection to rousing Matt in the middle of the night for this really very important chat, but the chances of her actually getting downstairs without Sandra waking and wanting to know where she was going, or having a conversation with Matt without being interrupted by one or another of his sisters coming home with her boyfriend, or all four of the other women in the house gathering together at the top of the stairs to listen to every blessed word that was said, seemed slim. Still, Carly was hoping that Saturday night, when the girls went out and Antonio took Sandra to dinner as, he said, his way of saying a little
thank you
for all the truly outstanding meals she had fixed for them, might provide her with an opportunity.

No such luck. Matt did not come home all day. By eight
P.M.,
Carly was stuck on the couch with Hugo shedding on her lap, Annie dreaming at her feet and a uniformed Mike Toler in full guard-dog mode beside her, watching reruns as first Sandra left with Antonio, then Lissa left with Andy, then Dani left with Craig. Erin came down last to wait for Collin, who was picking her up but was late, as Carly had learned was usual for him.

Pacing the living room impatiently, Erin finally stopped, hands on
hips, to survey Carly and Mike sitting side by side on the couch. Carly followed her gaze to Mike, who was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown marring his face as he stared fixedly at the TV. His entire attitude told Carly that he had approximately the same degree of enthusiasm for spending the evening with her as she did with him.

“You two look gloomy.” Cute in a short denim halter dress and heels, Erin shook her head at them. Sometimes her mannerisms were so much like Matt’s that Carly just wanted to close her eyes and block them out. “Where the heck is Matt? Carly, you ought to chase him down and make him take you out somewhere. And as for you,” Erin’s gaze met Mike’s, “don’t you know any pretty girls? I mean, any who aren’t already taken?”

“I’m working,” Mike said. His tone bordered on curt, and he kept his eyes glued to the TV. Erin frowned at him. Carly observed this little byplay with a flicker of interest, then tried to erase all indication of guilty knowledge from her face as Erin then looked at her with lifted brows, clearly waiting for a response.

“Matt’s working too,” Carly said. “Not that he would take me out if he wasn’t. I keep telling you, Matt’s not my boyfriend. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Erin and Mike both gave her skeptical looks.

“Anyway, he’s busy,” Carly said defensively.

“He’s staying away from you on purpose,” Erin said. “Lissa and Dani and I teased him the other day about being in love with you. I think we scared him.”

“Matt’s not in love with me,” Carly said flatly. She thought about it for a second, then looked up at Erin, who, she had come to realize, knew her big brother pretty darn well. “Is he?”

Erin shrugged. “Actually, it’s kind of hard to tell with Matt. We think he is. He’s different around you. Protective. Bossy, of course, but in a sweet kind of way. And he slept with you up in his bedroom with us in the house.
That’s
never happened before.”

“Uh, I don’t think I should be hearing this,” Mike said, shifting uneasily. Both women ignored him.

Carly was still focused on Erin. “I had a nightmare. Nothing happened.”

“But see, that’s significant right there. How many women do you think he’s slept with and nothing happened? The problem is, he’s got this thing about commitment. If he really thought he was falling in love, he’d run for the hills.”

“Just because he runs for the hills doesn’t mean he thinks he’s falling in love,” Carly said tartly. “It’s just something he does. I call it a kiss-and-run.”

Erin laughed. “Did you tell him that?”

Carly nodded.

“Was that before or after he kissed you in his office?”

A smile curved Carly’s mouth. “Right about that same time, I think.”

“See, that’s great. That’s what he needs. Somebody who stands up to him. Matt’s the best brother on earth, I mean he’s practically sacrificed his whole life to take care of us, but he tends to be a little, uh, masterful. Plus he’s never had to work to get a girl in his life. He just has to stand there and breathe, and girls swarm all over him. Mm, I don’t mean you.”

“I swarmed just like everybody else,” Carly confessed. “Starting about twenty years ago.”

Erin grinned and shrugged. “Well, there you go, then. See what I mean? But in your case, it doesn’t seem to be such a bad thing. I mean, it seems to have worked. He’s different with you than he is with anyone else he’s been involved with, truly. With you, it’s not just all about sex.”

“I
really
don’t think I should be hearing this,” Mike said. Neither Carly nor Erin so much as glanced at him.

“That’s because I’m his only girl
friend,
” Carly said dismally. “Two words. Not girlfriend. Girl slash friend.”

Erin grimaced. “Did he actually tell you that?”

“Oh, yeah.”

A horn tooted from the driveway.

“Oh, that’ll be Collin, I’ve got to go.” Erin started moving toward
the door. Then she glanced back at Carly. “So do something to shake him up a little. I take it you’ve tried the sex thing…”

“I don’t want to know,” Mike said.

Carly nodded at Erin.

“Hmm. Well, I can see that for Matt that might be nothing new. How about the no-sex thing? Believe me, for him,
that
would be new.”

“There’s a thought,” Carly said.

“Sheesh.” Mike put his hands over his ears. “If Matt knew you all were talking like this in front of me, he’d kill you. If he knew I was just sitting here listening, he’d kill me.”

The horn honked again, a double toot that bespoke impatience.

“Oh, hush,” Erin said to the horn. Then, to Mike, she added: “Unless you tell him, he won’t ever know, will he?” She looked at Carly again. “You know we’re all leaving soon, Lissa and Dani and me? We really don’t like the idea of Matt being left all alone. We’ve talked, and we all think you’re perfect for him. So we’re prepared to help any way we can.”

“That’s nice, but I don’t think—” Carly began.

The car horn blared.

“Oh, I’m
coming,
” Erin threw over her shoulder, as though Collin could actually hear her. Then she turned back to Carly. “Let me think about this. There’s bound to be something—”

The horn blared and kept blaring, as though Collin was holding his hand down on it now.

“Got to go,” Erin said, giving up and moving quickly toward the door. “We’ll talk later.”

Then with a waggle of her fingers, she left.

The horn stopped blaring as she stepped outside. Both Carly and Mike were left staring at the closed door. They were still seated side by side on the couch, alone again except for the snoozing animals and the blaring TV.

Just another one of her patented hot Saturday nights, Carly thought.

“You tell me why she puts up with that guy,” Mike said a moment later. Carly looked at him. She had suspected that he was interested in Erin all along, and now here was confirmation.

“She’s marrying him next weekend,” Carly said by way of a reminder.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Does she know how you feel about her?”

He shrugged. In man-speak, Carly decided, that meant a qualified “yes.”

“How does she feel about you?”

He cast her a disgruntled look. “She wants to be friends.”

Did that sound familiar or what? The “friends” thing must run in the family.

“I have an idea,” Carly said slowly. “We’re stuck with each other until about midnight or so, right?”

“Actually, my shift ends at eleven.” Mike cast her a sideways look. “Not that I feel like I’m stuck with you or anything.”

“You’re stuck with me,” she said firmly. Mike didn’t argue.

Carly thought for a moment. Going out at night was probably a big no-no as far as her personal safety was concerned—at least, she hadn’t been outside after dark since the attack—but then, she would have an armed deputy with her. How safe was that? And as she had noted before, said deputy was a good-looking man, if one liked the type. Her own particular preference tended to be for tall, well-built, way too handsome men with crow-black hair, coffee-brown eyes and a maddening my-way-or-the-highway style, but then, there was no accounting for tastes, and under the circumstances a shorter, stockier, perfectly attractive hazel-eyed redhead would do.