Page 185 of Hidden Nature

“I hate seeing you upset thisaway. You’re hardly eating your Big Mac. You come on now, settle yourself. My woman needs to eat.”

“Something about her.” To placate him, she ate another bite. “We’re going to look into her. She gets herself shot, we’ll find out where and how. I got the when and how off her ER records. We need to find out more.”

“We’ll do that, babe, but don’t you worry. She’s not even really a cop, right?”

“That’s the worry, doll. That’s just the worry. People go missing, cops ask questions, sure. And nothing to do with us because we’re careful, and doing what we’re meant to do, what we’ve beencalledto do. So why’s she poking around? There’s a reason, doll. I feel it.”

“Nothing for her to find out, is there? But we’ll ease your worries.” He patted her hand. “Then we’ll keep doing what we’re meant to do.”

Though she didn’t learn much, Sloan wrote it all out, added names to her wall. Doctors and nurses who’d dealt with the two missing.

And she’d do the same with the other hospitals. Be thorough.

Then she put it aside to make her final decision on new windows, siding, colors, the front porch, the design and position of the mudroom addition.

And damn it, the carport Nash had put in her head.

She calculated the cost. Winced.

Then reminded herself she’d be making an investment, and get the contractor’s rate on the materials. Add in some free labor because even if she wanted to say no, her father wouldn’t take it. He’d pitch in.

One more essential factor on the pro side of things? This was home, and home deserved the best she could give it.

After a consultation with her father, she bit the bullet and had him place the order.

“Done,” she told herself. “And I won’t be sorry.”

Then picked up her phone when it signaled a text. From Nash.

Busy?

Not anymore.

Come over. I’ve got pulled pork, potato rolls. Your mom sent it.

Mom’s pulled pork sands? Give me ten.

Since she’d intended to settle in wearing her sweats, she went into the bedroom, changed into jeans and a sweater. Because spring crept closer, she grabbed a vest instead of a coat, and set out.

Stopping, she turned, imagined the house with the warm blue siding, the creamy white trim, the wood porch and rails.

Add the jut of the mudroom off the side beside the open carport, and she’d have something that would make her smile whenever she drove home from work.

She decided to walk, and found herself pleased with that decision when she spotted more crocus spreading against what was slowly becoming patchy snow.

And the spears of daffodils poked through.

Swans glided over the lake, and a heron flew above them. A pretty picture over that reflection of the hills, caught in the shimmering light as it neared sunset.

When she rang the bell, a window rose on the second floor.

“It’s open,” Nash called out. “We’re up here.”

We, she decided when she walked in, didn’t include Tic, as he didn’t race down to greet the visitor.

Nash met her at the top of the stairs, still wearing his tool belt and Mets cap.

“Still working?”

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