“Small cut on my arm. Bruised ribs.” She still didn’t know how or when the cut had happened. It wasn’t deep, but the second she saw it, it started burning. “Completely confused.”

Liam lifted his hand as if to touch the side of her face but then dropped it again without making contact. “I bet.”

The detective made a humming sound. “Interesting.”

An awkward silence followed the comment. The usual easy back-and-forth Gabby enjoyed with Liam had vanished. She had no idea how to get it back, but she yearned for a return to normal . . . or what they had long accepted as normal between them.

“So . . .” He cleared his throat. “Someone broke in?”

Tense, stifled conversation. Gabby hated it but joined in. “It looks that way.”

“She didn’t set the alarm,” the detective said.

The woman liked to start trouble. Gabby really didn’t need more.

Liam frowned. “Gab, why?”

“It’s been a hectic few weeks with Baines and the stuff after and . . .” Good Lord. What did she say next?

Liam nodded and took a step back from the bed. “Right.”

She ached for closeness. For forgiveness she didn’t deserve. “I . . . just . . .”

He patted her knee then let his hand drop again. “The important thing is you’re okay.”

No one said anything.

Gabby tried to think of a word bigger than awkward. That’s what this was. Messy and broken, filled with half sentences and the kind of made-up affection she usually aimed at the unlikeable mothers of some of Kennedy’s friends. Fake, fake, fake.

The detective let out a sound that came close to a laugh. “Don’t let me stop you two from having a deep conversation.”

“Shouldn’t you be at her house or investigating?” Liam asked.

Some of the amused nosiness left the detective’s face. “Other than the attack in the hallway, the rest of the house is intact. Mrs. Fielding will need to have a look around and tell us if anything is missing, but jewelry, money, laptop, televisions look to be all there.”

“Maybe you caught them right as they broke in,” Liam said to Gabby, as if trying to make sense of what happened.

“Attacker. Singular, as far as we can tell, and she can remember.” The detective shook her head. “And no sign of a break-in.”

“I locked the door.” Gabby knew she did.

Liam winced. “Are you sure?”

“Yes . . . maybe?” During the divorce she had trouble concentrating and would check and recheck stuff like that. Did she lock the door? Did she leave the stove on? Did she close the refrigerator door? She lost all trust in her ability to do mundane things. Her therapist back then had suggested specific routines for her to use every time she did those tasks and eventually those let her break free from the obsessive cycle of doubt. At least as to that issue.

More awkward silences. “Liam, I’m . . .”