Her Dodge Caravan was parked on the side of the garage nearest the entrance to the house. The far stall was taken up by an artist’s nest of tools and materials and hand torches, with the sculpture at the center of it.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he admitted.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry you have to be stuck in the middle of another investigation. It’s not your fault, but you have to deal with it. I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I don’t really know you, but I think you probably don’t deserve to have to go through all of this.”

She put her head down and her wild mane fell around her face. She swept it back with both hands and looked up at him.

“I don’t know anymore what I deserve,” she said. “But thank you. I know it’s not part of your job to feel bad for me.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, not sure what he could possibly do to make her life easier, but he wanted to offer—needed to offer—just to let her know she could have some support. “Is there someone I can call to come stay with you? A friend?”

But instead of helping, his offer of kindness seemed to be her undoing. She pressed her hands over her nose and mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut hard. The tears came, nevertheless. A dam had broken somewhere inside her and the pain came rushing out.

Mendez went to her just to put a hand on her shoulder and steady her—or steer her toward the stool she had been sitting on earlier. But at his touch Sara Morgan turned to him, and then she was in his arms, crying her heart out on his shoulder.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that—what was proper, what was not; what was procedure and what was human. He went with his gut and held her, and let her release the pain and the sadness. He couldn’t help but feel compassion for her. And when she looked up at him through those impossibly blue eyes magnified by tears, he couldn’t help but feel something more.

He wanted to lean down and kiss her. The invitation was on her softly parted swollen lips. Instead, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his hip pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“You should try to get some rest,” he murmured.

She nodded as the moment slipped away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed, dabbing the handkerchief against her cheeks.

“No, don’t be. Don’t be,” he said softly, resting a hand between her shoulder blades. “Come on. You’re going to bed.”

“And what are you doing?” she asked as they walked toward the door.

“I’m spending the night on your sofa.”

Chapter 38

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