True Colors (Elder Races #3.5)(9)

She nodded. “Ask me anything you need to, Detective.”

“Hey.” He ducked his head, trying to catch her gaze, and she let him. He gave her a quick, coaxing smile. “Please call me Gideon.”

A small sliver of warmth worked its way into her constricted heart. She managed a small, brief smile back. “And I’m Alice.”

“Alice, I’m not going to make any secret about this—I’m very glad to meet you, but I’m sorry it had to be under such terrible circumstances. I’m sorry about the loss of your friend,” Gideon said, holding her gaze with his own pale blue eyes. They had seemed so icy not that long ago. Now they were filled with grave compassion. A dark understanding lay at the back of the expression. Alice thought, he knows what it’s like to lose people close to him.

“Friends,” she whispered.

“Friends,” he amended. “I wish you hadn’t had to see Haley that way. I would have protected you from that if I could have.”

Somehow he said the exact right things. His simple words acknowledged his awareness that something lay between them, but the condolences placed the emphasis on what they needed to focus on at the moment. It steadied her as nothing else could have done. “Thank you,” she said, sitting straighter in her chair.

“I want you to tell me everything that’s happened to you over the last couple of days,” Gideon said. “Take your time, and don’t worry about whether you think it’s important or not. I’ll decide if it is.”

“Everything?” She regarded him in puzzlement. “You’re not going to ask me questions?”

“You mean like in a TV show, where the cops get what they need to know in three or four minutes of directed dialogue?” Warmth touched her cheeks and she lifted one shoulder sheepishly. He gave her a faint smile. “I’ll ask questions later. Right now, I don’t want to lead you or impose my agenda or opinions on you. There’s always the possibility that you know more than you think you do, and things that I can’t know to ask about yet.”

“Okay.” She sipped her tea to take a moment and collect her thoughts. Not half an hour ago she had been a terrified, all but incoherent wreck. Now she was certainly grieving, but she felt calmer, supported, no longer alone and vulnerable in the dark.

She felt safe.

She thought back a few days ago to how different life had been when she had gone blithely to work without a clue what horrors the week would hold. “I’m a teacher,” she said. “I work at a private elementary school, Broadway Elementary. Haley worked at the same school. The principal, Alex Schaffer, is a friend of ours. At lunchtime he came to tell us that a mutual friend of ours, Peter Brunswick, was dead.”

At first the words came slow and halting. Then they sped up and came fast and hard. Gideon remained a silent listener, his steady gaze and strong, sure presence a lifeline she could hold on to when she hit the rough bits.

She cried. She didn’t want to but she couldn’t help it. When she reached the point where she had looked on Haley’s poor, violated body for the first time, she took off her glasses and covered her eyes with one hand as tears streaked down her face.

Gideon’s chair scraped the floor. He came around the table, knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms. It felt like it had the first time, a sense of not just being hugged but enfolded.

Neither one of them remarked on the fact that, as a police officer questioning a potential witness, many people would say his actions were inappropriate. He had crossed that line already outside the precinct.

Alice gave herself a gift—she let herself do what she needed to. She wrapped her arms around him, tucked her face into his sturdy neck, and sobbed her heart out.

He rubbed her back and held her with immaculate patience, only loosening his hold when she had calmed and made as if to straighten. He asked in a quiet voice, “Better?”

She nodded and touched the back of his hand in thanks. Then she collected her glasses and stood to splash her face off at the kitchen sink. The cool water felt good against her over-hot, puffy skin. She patted her face dry on a towel and slipped her glasses back on her nose. As the world came back into focus, she noticed the clock built into her stove read 9:05 pm.

She looked at Gideon who had risen to his feet. Every time she laid eyes on him, the sheer size of him came as shock. Neither of them had had any chance to get supper that evening. He hadn’t even started to ask her questions, so he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. She didn’t think she could handle food, but large male Wyr, especially those with his kind of intense physicality, needed to eat.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He froze. She could tell he was trying to decide what would be the right thing to say and, unbelievably on such a horrible night, her lips curved into a real smile.

“Of course you’re hungry,” she said. “I’ll fix something to eat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Gideon told her.

“I know, but I want to,” she replied. “I like to cook when I’m stressed.” His eyebrows rose. She chuckled a little. “I guess that might sound strange, but cooking calms me down. I find it comforting.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he said cautiously. “I could eat something.”

Given the care with which he was treating her, no doubt that meant he was famished, so whatever she made would have to be hearty. She was glad she had gone to the store to stock up on supplies when she heard the forecast for the winter storm.