Murphy was back in less than a minute, her expression as stormy as her mood. “Good try,” she snapped, toeing Moonshine back into the hall before slamming the bedroom door closed hard enough to threaten splintering the painted white wood.
“Now what?” he asked wearily.
“The phone's out. As if you couldn't guess.” With a jerk of her chin, she nodded accusingly toward the window, beyond which a thick sheet of snow continued to fall from the moonlit sky, tossed by gusts of bitter cold, northeast wind.
Garrett's gaze flashed with irritation. “Don't tell me, let me guess. Next you're going to accuse me of cutting the phone wires.”
“Don't be an idiot. I know you didn't. I managed to get a call out while you were busy shattering a certain sliding glass door. The police will be here shortly.”
Her triumphant grin evaporated as quickly as came. Was it her imagination, or did his expression flash with hope? It wasn't the sort of reaction she expected from a thief; weren't they supposed to mix with police like oil and vinegar?
Unless, a tiny, subconscious voice said, this man was the police, as he'd claimed…and as Murphy still didn't entirely believe. There was no denying the cold edge of skepticism that assailed her. At DCYF, she met and worked with her share of cops. It was part of the job. None of the officers she'd encountered were anything like Garrett Thayer. Her attention dipped, sweeping over his lips…
Enough of those thoughts!
Murphy shook her head. Where was she? Oh, yes, she had plenty of experience with police, knew the general make-up. Hate though she did to admit it, Garrett did fit the bill. He was shrewd, with a good eye and swift, analytical mind; traits most of the cops she knew shared. Not that that meant anything decisive, but it did undermine her confidence. Maybe he wasn't the thief she'd pegged him to be…?
Rolling her lips inward, she stifled a groan. Her thoughts were more tumultuous than the storm kicking up outside. The question remained that if Garrett wasn't a thief, if he was a cop, then where'd he get the money and jewelry? Why was that scruffy old duffel bag all he'd been carrying when he'd broken into the house? And why—?
Murphy latched onto the question that lodged in her mind. “Why did you break into this house? Why not knock on the front door the way anyone else in your situation would have?”
“I did.”
She frowned. “No, you didn't. I would have heard if you.”
“Murphy, I knocked. Actually, I pounded and yelled. No one answered. I tried the front door, it was locked. So I went around back, but that was locked, too. I saw you come in, but I didn't know if you were in the shower and didn't hear me, if you were deaf, if you'd hurt yourself somehow…hell, sweetheart, I was in a lot of pain and not thinking all that straight. I was also"—he held the index finger and thumb of his left hand a hair's breadth apart—"this close to passing out. Believe me, shattering the glass on that door was a last resort.”
On one hand, Murphy McKenna could count the number of times in her life that she'd blushed. Right now she felt a hot stain of color in her cheeks, and realized that in the future, she would need to use two.
It was entirely possible Garrett had pounded and yelled. She wouldn't have heard him. She'd had the stereo and—out of habit—her headphones on. The loud screech of music would have drowned out any noise he made.
If he noticed her discomfort, he gave no sign. For that, she was grateful.
“At least you got a call through to the police. That's good.” Garrett's brow pinched with a frowned. “I think. I've sort of lost track of time. How long has it been since you called them?”
“Two hours.”
He whistled though his teeth. In the corridor, she heard Moonshine pad down the hall and scratch at the door. She ignored the cat's indignant yowl. She was too busy trying to figure out why, again, Garrett Thayer looked so relieved to hear that the police were on their way.
He sniffled and wiped his eyes, which were still red and watery, with his fists. His gaze shifted to Murphy, the window at the foot of the bed, then back to Murphy. “There's no one here but you and me, right?”
She frowned, thinking that an odd question. Still, she nodded. “Except for Moonshine, we're alone.”
“That's a cat. It doesn't count.”
“‘It' is a ‘he',” she reminded him curtly, “and you'd better not let him hear you talk that way or he'll go out of his way to sneak in here and jump on your chest again. Don't you know cats are always attracted to the people who like them the least?”
“No, I didn't. I've never had a cat. Or a dog. Or any pet, for that matter. I wouldn't know anything about them.”
“Oh,” she murmured, her mind flashing an image of a pre-teen brother and sister she'd recently worked with at DCYF. Both had been abused and withdrawn. Most times, music served as a common ground between her and the children who paraded in a constant stream through her office. It hadn't been what she'd needed to reach those two. A trip Roger William's Zoo had been. The incident confirmed what Murphy had always suspected; every child deserved a pet. A living creature to love, and to love them back unconditionally.
But, of course, not an allergic child…as she was abruptly reminded by Garrett's twin sneezes.
There was a box of child-sized tissues on the nightstand. Murphy handed the box to Garrett. He accepted it with a disdainful glance, then a reluctant snicker.
“Are the aspirin helping?” she asked, not knowing what else to say. What kind of conversation did one usually have with a man who could be either a criminal or a cop, depending?
“Yup. Working like a charm.”