Her father was sitting up in his bed in maroon pajamas, reading. An oxygen tank sat beside the bed, clear tubing conducting the air into his nostrils. He didn’t even look over at his daughter, but merely grunted his acknowledgment.

“Did you take your meds?”

He made a sound in his throat that might have meant anything.

“If you didn’t, I have an FBI agent here with me, and he’ll make you take them.”

Even that got no response from the old man. Anne shut the door and rolled her eyes. “The love is overwhelming, isn’t it?”

She said it with such dry sarcasm, Vince thought she must have long ago stopped caring whether her father felt anything for her.

“Does he have a problem with speech?” Vince asked as they started back down the hall.

“No,” she said. “He’s an ass.”

“Oh.”

And yet, she had given up finishing her education and going into her chosen field to come home and take care of him. When her mother died. It wasn’t difficult to piece the story together from what she had said at dinner the night before and what he had just seen for himself. She must have come home because her mother had asked her to. The fact that she had, despite her feelings for the old man, spoke volumes to the kind of woman Anne Navarre was.

“Do you think I’m a terrible daughter?” she asked.

“No. Actually, I was just thinking you’re pretty remarkable.”

She wasn’t comfortable with that and dodged his gaze. “Damn, I forgot to ask him if he’d seen any homicidal maniacs in the house.”

“That’s my job, anyway,” Vince said.

She showed him through the rest of the house, hesitating a little when they came to her bedroom.

“Afraid to go in there with me?” he teased as they stood outside the door.

“No! Of course not,” she protested.

He liked watching her when she got rattled. She made him think of an annoyed little cat, ready to get her back up and hiss at him.

He leaned down a little too close to her ear and murmured, “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

Brows low, she huffed an impatient sigh and pushed the door open.

The room was neat and tidy, feminine but not frilly. Vince wanted to take time and absorb the surroundings, knowing what he found here would speak volumes about her, but she wasn’t having it. She backed out of the room before he could say anything and started down the stairs.

“Looks like the place is all clear, ma’am,” he said, following her.