“Brody.” The sound of her voice smoothed his rough edges. It also highlighted the horrors he’d witnessed in the last few hours. “I assume you had an awful night.”

“Good assumption. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. Where are you?” she asked.

“Outside.”

She paused. “Well, come in.”

The front door opened as he climbed the steps. She was in full lawyer mode. Tailored gray slacks and a charcoal blouse draped her slim body. A single strand of pearls encircled her neck. Her hair was polished rather than tousled. When was the last time he’d seen her wearing makeup? She was stunning, but seemed less touchable, less approachable, in her corporate attorney persona. He suppressed the urge to ruffle her hair.

“Do you want some coffee?” She led the way back to the kitchen. A mug of coffee cooled on the counter. Next to it, a plate held a slice of toast.

Brody followed her. “Sure.”

“Are you hungry?” She pushed the plate of toast toward him then poured a mug from the thermal carafe.

“Not really.” He wandered to the window and watched the treetops sway in the morning breeze. A squirrel raced across the grass and ran up the trunk of the big oak in the backyard.

Hannah’s arms slid around his waist, and her body pressed against his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

She rested her head on the back of his shoulder. In her heels she was only a couple of inches shorter than him.

“He’d been living in her house, sitting on her sofa, watching her TV, without even cleaning her bloodstains off the walls.” Brody turned around. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that. You don’t need those images in your head.”

Her eyes sharpened. “Don’t ever think you can’t be honest with me.”

“Thankfully, I rarely see cases this bad.”

“Still, if you need to unload, unload.” She reached up and cupped his jaw. “I’m tough.”

“You are.” He leaned into her hand. “But I prefer to leave the violence at work.”

“I understand that, too,” she said.

“Be careful today.” He told her about the second victim’s haircut. “It’s probably a coincidence, but . . .”

“I should be safe enough at the courthouse.” She registered the information with a tight nod. “How is Chet? Relieved?”

“I think so, but his reaction wasn’t as joyous as I expected.” How would Chet have fared if his wife hadn’t died? If he’d had someone to support him in his time of need? Brody had seen marriages torn apart by tragedy, and other couples brought closer. “He was drinking last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Brody squeezed her hand.

She moved to the counter, picked up both mugs of coffee, and handed him one. When he perched on the edge of a stool, she nudged the toast toward him. “Want me to check on him on my way home?”