“I’m okay,” Orla told him, doing what she could to reassure him despite the fact that inside, she was shaking.

  Sean placed his arm around her shoulders and was gently guiding her back into the lobby.

  “No,” he told her, curbing his temper. “You are not. You are definitely not okay. Don’t you realize what could have happened to you? You told me that you were going to go wait out in the lobby, not take a stroll out in the middle of traffic,” he reminded her. “You could have been killed.”

  Orla had never reacted well to being lectured. “I wasn’t taking a stroll out in the middle of traffic, I was crossing the street, going to the other side.”

  “In New York, that can amount to one and the same thing,” he informed her angrily. “Someone killed your father. For all you know, they could be after you too.”

  If that had been her sister behind the wheel, then this had just escalated up another notch—if not more. Her stomach felt as if it was tightened.

  Orla realized she was shaking, which both embarrassed and angered her—but it didn’t negate the fact that he was right.

  She looked at the detective. “I think you’re right,” she told Sean quietly. “I’m probably going to need my own protective detail around me.”

  * * *

  They had entered the lobby and taken the elevator, then he carefully escorted her back to her father’s apartment.

  At this point more than over half of the area had been worked over as a crime scene and cleared. That was the area that they wound up keeping to.

  “This is highly unusual,” the man said to Sean. “We don’t usually let in anyone onto the premise piecemeal, not until it has all been processed and cleared.”

  Sean nodded. “Well, this is rather an unusual set of circumstances,” he told the other man. “Don’t worry, I’ll take full responsibility for the situation.”

  Flores nodded thoughtfully. “Well, considering that you’re Captain Reeves’s fair-haired boy, I suppose it’s all right. Just try not to make a habit of it,” he cautioned.

  Sean glanced over toward Orla, who, despite everything, was barely holding it all together. “I doubt very much if Ms. Roberts has any intention of trying to make a habit out of this sort of thing.” With that, he made his way over toward her and directed her away from the others. “I’m going to be taking you home with me when I finish working this area.”

  “No, you’re not,” she responded without hesitation.

  “From what I gathered, you don’t have anyone that you’re close to,” he reminded her, “So yes, I am. I’m not taking a chance that whoever did this to your father might have the same thing in mind for you. You practically just got run over. Who’s to say he or she is going to just give up at one try? They just might be the stubborn type.”

  “So now you’re in the business of paranoia?” Orla asked him. He suspected she was trying to mask her vulnerability.

  “I’m in the business of keeping people alive so they can see another sunrise,” he informed her tersely. “The paranoia’s just an added perk.”

  Her eyes met his and a hint of a smile rose to her lips. “A detective with a sense of humor. I guess that’s a twofer,” she quipped.

  Sean’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say, but I’ll just chalk it up to the shock talking,” he said with a shrug.

  She let out a long, shaky breath, then seemed to come to a decision. “All right, what can I do?” Orla wanted to know.

  “Stay out of the way,” he told her.

  “To help,” she clarified, clenching her teeth.

  “Stay out of the way,” he repeated.

  “I know how to investigate. To put evidence together,” Orla added.

  “This was your father’s murder,” he emphasized. “I sincerely doubt if you know how to keep that separate—or to keep it from bringing you to your knees. If you really want to help, you just have to let me do my job.”

  Her eyes were shooting sparks at him. “You know, you really aren’t an easy man to get along with.”

  He knew she was redirecting her anger at him in order to cope with what was going on inside of her. Sean decided that was fine with him. He didn’t mind being a go-between in this situation. It was all part of the service that he offered in this sort of case.

  “Never said I was,” he told her.

  Orla shrugged. “Well,” she said philosophically, “at least you don’t lie.”

  He smiled broadly at her, doing his best to distract her. “No, I do not. Now, if you’re really bent on helping me...”

  “Yes?” He could swear she almost sounded eager to him.

  “Look around the apartment, see if anything is missing or was taken.”

  “That’s a small enough request,” she replied, scanning the area.

  He nodded his acknowledgment of her assessment. “Yes, but sometimes it turns out to be the little things that wind up solving a case.”

  “Do you have an answer for everything?” Orla asked.

  That was when his smile turned genuine on her. “I try, Ms. Roberts, I surely do try.”

  “Considering everything we’ve been through in the last hour or so, with you saving my life not being the least of it, I think that you have earned the right to refer to me as Orla—unless you find the name utterly off-putting,” she told him. “At which point, you’re free to use ‘hey you’ if you prefer.”

  He looked at her, somewhat puzzled. “You don’t like your name?” The thought had never occurred to him one way or the other. He just thought of it as being rather unique.

  “No, not really,” she confessed.

  He nodded. “Well, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  Chapter 10

  Although he certainly did not look it, in some ways, Sean Colton was the old-fashioned type. Rather than dictate notes into his cell phone, he found that he had a better chance of remembering the details if he wrote them down the old-fashioned way—by hand. Liam, Cormac and Eva all made fun of him for that, but Sean refused to change.

  While making notes, Sean was careful to continue keeping an eye on the murdered real estate mogul’s offspring, never once forgetting that Orla had very nearly become a victim of a hit and run. Though cars often sped in the city, he never believed that this could have been an accident. He could still feel the icy chill that had zipped down his spine when he saw the vehicle weaving almost directly at Orla.

  To that end, Sean kept an eye on her, making sure that the other police personnel did the very same.

  When he saw Orla stifling a yawn, he decided that was it for tonight. He didn’t feel that he had to do everything himself. Sean gladly accepted input from others. He’d always believed that teamwork was the answer to solving crimes.

  He glanced at his watch. It was late. Sean couldn’t believe just how much time had passed.

  “I’m calling it a night,” Sean told the man who was working next to him. He assumed that if any of his siblings had made any headway finding out what had happened to Humphrey, he would have been notified.

  He looked toward the last remaining crime scene investigator working the area. “I figure we can pick this up in the morning,” he told Julio.

  The older man nodded. “I was just about to suggest doing the same thing myself.” He laughed to himself. “After a while, I find that my brain just stops processing things and all the facts start to merge into one overwhelming giant detail.”

  Sean nodded. “That’s when I usually find that it’s time to take a giant step back.”

  Flores laughed. “Amen to that.”

  Sean was beginning to feel punchy. “I’ll touch base with you in the morning,” he promised.

  Flores stifled a yawn. “Just make sure it’s not too early,” he requested. “My batteries really need to recharge. I’m not like you, Detective. I need to close my eyes for more than just five minutes.”

  Sean’s mouth curved. “You’re exaggerating, Julio.”

  Flores gave him a rather penetrating look. “Not by much, Detective. Go,” he said, waving in Orla’s direction. The latter was sitting on a sofa, looking as if she was fading. “Take your lady home. She’s been through a hell of a lot today,” he empathized.

  * * *

  Overhearing the crime scene investigator, Orla drew her shoulders back. “I am not his ‘lady,’” she protested, wanting to set the record straight. That was just what she needed, to have the people the detective worked with thinking they were a pair, or worse, that she was attracted to him. He probably had a jealous girlfriend—or maybe even a wife. “We just happened to walk in together.”

  Flores retreated. “That might be the case, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have been through a great deal,” the man told her kindly. “Or that you really look tired.”

  That changed nothing. Orla didn’t want either man thinking that she needed to be taken care of. The very idea that she did would go a long way toward destroying her own self-image—not to mention his image of her if it was even vaguely positive.

  Orla pressed her lips together. She definitely regretted, in a moment of weakness, admitting to him that she needed protection.

  Damn her sister, anyway!

  The more she thought about it, the more positive she was that the driver of the black vehicle that had tried to run her down had been Aimee. Even though she hadn’t seen the driver, she would have bet anything on it. Granted, she didn’t recognize the vehicle, but Aimee could have easily stolen it.

  It was definitely not unlike her sister, she thought.

  Orla blew out an exhausted breath. Lord, she was weary all the way down to her toes. From what she could see, there was no end in sight.

  She felt an arm around her shoulders and looked up, startled. “C’mon, we’re going home,” Sean told her.

  “Whose home?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I think you’ll be safest if you stay in my place, at least for tonight. Although,” he amended in the next breath, “probably for longer would make more sense.”

  She took umbrage at that. “I’m not a stray puppy that you picked up and need to take care of.”

  “No,” he agreed calmly. “A stray puppy would undoubtedly be far more grateful.”

  Orla began to argue with the assumption he’d just made. But then, right in the middle, she stopped and laughed.

  “I guess maybe you’re right,” she conceded.

  “Does that mean that you’re not about to continue giving me an argument about coming home with me?” he asked.

  Orla nodded. “I’ll come,” she told him. “As long as you keep in mind that I am a martial arts instructor and not a damsel in distress.”

  His eyes met hers. Sean looked as if he was struggling to keep a grin off his face. He inclined his head. “I consider myself forewarned,” he told her.

  Ordinarily, she would have locked horns with him over what she perceived as his flippant attitude. But instinctively, she sensed that he didn’t mean anything by it. If anything, the detective was going out of his way—far out of his way—to humor her at the very least. For whatever reason, she couldn’t work herself up to get annoyed with the man. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t even have the energy for that.

  It was as if she was trying to outrun her thoughts. If she stopped long enough to allow her thoughts to catch up to her, to embed themselves deeply in her head, she would wind up falling apart. And if that happened, she was afraid she just wouldn’t be able to pull herself together.

  Another thought took her prisoner.

  Her father was dead.

  They were never going to be able to talk, to resolve any of the conflicts that were still left outstanding in their lives. But she had really wanted to try.

  Her mother could only find fault with everything she did. Orla got the distinct impression that her mother was prouder of Aimee. Even when Aimee had been convicted and sent to prison, her mother seemed to think that that was Orla’s fault.

  Orla had been able to commiserate with her father over all the grief that Aimee had caused both of them.

  Orla felt a sadness wash over her. That wouldn’t happen anymore.

  I’ll get her, Dad, Orla silently promised again. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll get her.

  “You’ve gotten awfully quiet,” Sean noticed as he escorted her out of her father’s building. “I didn’t actually manage to intimidate you, did I?” he asked her with a laugh.

  The question surprised her. Orla began to give him an accusing look until she realized that he was trying to kid her out of her silence. That was when she told him, “I was just thinking about my father.”

  “I am very sorry about that. I know what it’s like to lose a father. To lose both parents, actually,” he said. “Even when you know it’s coming—which we did because Dad had cancer. You can’t really be prepared for the toll it winds up taking on you.”

  Reaching his destination, Sean drove into his building’s underground garage and pulled into a numbered parking spot. Coming to a stop, he applied the handbrake. “I am so very sorry for what you’re going through,” he told her again.

  She shrugged, doing her best to keep a tight rein on her emotions. She knew that if she loosened her hold even slightly, she would dissolve into a huge puddle of tears and this time, she might not be able to recover. That did not go with her super-tough image.

  So she waved away Sean’s apology, staring past his head. “It’s not your fault my sister finally got her wish and did away with our father. Had you gotten here just a little earlier, you might think you’d have been able to prevent her from doing away with my father—but she might have succeeded in killing you both.”

  * * *

  Sean really doubted that could have been a possibility. He was extremely good at his job, but there was no point in telling Orla that. It would be like rubbing salt into her already painful wound.

  What sort of a hateful child killed their own parent? he couldn’t help wondering.

  Orla’s twin was obviously filled with hate.

  “We’re here,” Sean told his passenger needlessly after she made no attempt to move or get out of his car.

  Orla let out a long breath, nodding her head. “So I see,” she responded.

  She really looked tired, he thought. But maybe it would help her to focus on something normal. “We can still swing by your place and pick up something for you to wear tomorrow if you’d like.”

  Her expression hardened. “I’d rather not stop by my place right now. This will do fine.” She held out her arms to display the outfit she had on.

  “I can call my sister and ask her to go by your place to pick up something if you’d prefer that,” he offered.

  “What I would prefer right now would be to drop the subject,” she told him stiffly.

  Sean inclined his head. He could see that she was struggling not to cry. “Consider it dropped,” he murmured.

  Getting out of his vehicle, he walked around to the other side. Opening the passenger door, he put his hand out to her.

  It seemed as if Orla deliberately ignored his extended hand as she got out of the car on her own. Walking toward the exit, she approached the elevator. “What floor?” she wanted to know.

  He half expected her to sprint up the stairs instead of getting on the elevator once he told her what floor he was on.

  Sean could see that the distraught woman had just had a spurt of extra energy and was in the process of wondering whether she should risk attempting to burn it up. But he knew she would quickly wind up regretting it at this stage.

  She was fading fast, he could easily see that.

  “I’m on the third floor.” He led the way to the elevator and pressed the button for it.

  Once it arrived, he waited for Orla to get on. When she did, he pressed the number three. It arrived on his floor almost immediately.

  Sean led the way down the hallway. There were an equal number of apartments distributed on both sides.

  “Not what you were expecting?” he guessed, judging by the expression on her face just after he unlocked his apartment door and pushed it open.

  “My father is—was—” she corrected herself “—a real estate mogul. I wouldn’t have expected your lifestyle to match his. Very few people’s lifestyles ever did,” she added. “My father liked to dazzle people and to impress them with how well he was doing in his life.

  “At this point, my father had no real need for the money, but the accolades, well, that was a whole different story,” she told him.

  He gestured around his apartment. “This is undoubtedly nothing like what you’re used to, but make yourself at home,” he said, honestly doubting that she could.

  Chapter 11

  Orla slowly looked around. The detective’s apartment appeared to be rather small, especially compared to her own, but given that it was a man’s home—a busy man at that, it looked rather tidy.

  She slanted a glance in his direction. “Cozy,” she pronounced.

  Sean smiled. “That’s one word for it,” he responded. With that, he told her, “You can have the bedroom, I’ll take the sofa.”

  Orla didn’t think that was very fair. She was a staunch believer in equality. “I’m not about to displace you,” she protested. “From what I’ve managed to gather, you’ve put in as full a day as I have.

  “Besides,” she continued, still looking around, “I never sleep all that well in a new bed for the first few days, not until I get used to the accommodations. By then, I’ll either be back in my own place, or...” She shrugged, her voice drifting off.

  Sean locked the front door, flipping both locks into place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”