God, he liked her sense of humor. "You're good."
She snorted. "That compliment came about seven months too late."
"I meant at distracting me."
"Apparently not nearly good enough." She sagged to sit on the arm of the sofa. "Why are you so gung-ho on my not being alone?"
"With everything that happened with Owens, I'm concerned your balcony railing giving way might not have been an accident." He planted his boots deep in the plush carpet, the need to see her safe burning even stronger than the need to see her naked.
* * *
God, she hated being afraid of her own shadow.
But Carson's words kept rolling around in her head the next day as she parked her small truck in her parents' driveway. Late-afternoon sun dappled through the evergreens packing the yard surrounding the two-story white wood home.
She'd brushed aside Carson's concerns the night before, told him she would double bolt her door and think about what he'd said. She'd bristled out of pride and a need for independence.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
About halfway through her PowerBar at lunch, she'd come to the conclusion that safety was too important. She wouldn't be one of those airheads in a horror movie who went walking in the dark woods at night even when half her friends had already been whacked by some psycho with a gas-powered garden tool.
So here she was with her truck and a suitcase full of clothes. She didn't need a reality check. She already knew. Bad crap was happening. Gary was very dead and she'd darn near died falling off her balcony. Even if it was an accident, she would have been more alert to her surroundings before this mess. Until she could get her life settled again, she needed to be extra careful.
Her mother was worried anyway and in need of extra help with her difficult pregnancy. Why not take her up on the standing offer to stay in the garage apartment?
She could still come and go as she pleased, but would have her brother nearby. Sure sometimes he'd been a wormy little pest who once dumped all her makeup into the sewer. But now that he'd shot up to six foot four inches, he made a fairly decent crime deterrent.
And she sure had plenty of time on her hands to help her mom repaint the new nursery.
Her principal had suggested she take a weeklong vacation. Suggested being a loose way of putting it. She suspected a parent or two had complained after getting wind of what happened the night Gary died. Whatever had happened.
Gossip could be hell. As much as she wanted to dig her heels in, she could see the principal's resolve. Pissing off her boss now wouldn't be wise.
Her whole life was crashing down around her. She needed control over something. At least she could still tutor her at-risk high schoolers or she would go nuts.
She threw open her truck door, stepped out and reached into the back to heft up her suitcase. Carson was right. She was lucky to have a family support system. Her parents had worked hard to build this for their kids and finally for themselves, too. She wouldn't settle for anything less when it came to building her own life.
And suddenly she couldn't help but wonder what sort of childhood had Carson had. He'd mentioned a sister and a love of tapioca, but nothing else.
Before she could tap on the screen, the front door swung open. Her tiny mother stepped into view with an unmistakable belly and a headful of dark curls lightly streaked with silver. "Nikki!" She swung the door wider, her gaze skating to the suitcase on the plank porch. "I'm so glad you decided to take me up on the offer of some pampering."
"The garage apartment—no pampering, though, please. I was hoping I could help paint the nursery." She reached to pat her mother's stomach and stifled thoughts of having kids of her own. Now definitely wasn't the time. "How's my little sister?"
"She's doing—" Her mother paused, eyes narrowing. "Wait. How did you know it's a girl? Did your father spill the beans in spite of our decision to wait to tell everyone when he gets home?"
Nikki pulled her hand back and hefted her suitcase. "Lucky guess. I figured I had a fifty-fifty shot of getting it right and tripping you up."
"Brat." She swatted her arm with her gardening magazine. "Your father always did spoil you."
"And you need some spoiling today, too. Now how about put your feet up and I'll come down to check on you once I stow my gear over the garage?"
Nikki backed down the steps and over to the outside stairs leading to the garage apartment her father had modified. If her dad was here now, no doubt J. T. Price would worry about everything with Owens. He was concerned enough with what few details he'd been told.
Her father was overprotective, always had been. She'd actually felt sorry for the poor skinny high school boys who made it to her front porch only to be confronted by her six-foot-four-inch weight lifter father. He didn't scowl. But he didn't smile at those fellas, either.
What a sucky welcome home he would have if she didn't get this mess straightened out. While she wasn't some woman in desperate need of daddy's approval, she also wasn't overly thrilled at the prospect of worrying or disappointing him, either.
One day at a time. She would have to trust the OSI and Special Agent Reis to do their job.