Page 47

Maybe if he laid back, closed his eyes. Just for a minute for two.

Yes, he just needed a minute…

“Crane. Hey. Archie?” Someone gripped his shoulder, said loudly, “Agent Crane.”

Archie’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, still half-asleep, flinched as a tall shadow loomed, bent over him—resolved itself into Beau.

Well, more accurately Beau’s frown. Which he was becoming all too familiar with.

“You okay?” Beau’s frown inquired.

Archie rasped, “Great.”

“We moved your stuff down the hall.”

Archie nodded, wiped his face. “Okay. Yeah.” He was still trying to work out what that meant as he pushed off the bed and onto his feet, relieved when his muscles didn’t give out and dump him back on the mattress. He blinked at the sight of the completely stripped room.

What the—?

Somehow, in the those few seconds...minutes...how the hell long had he been out? They—Beau and the kid?—had managed to pack up his belongings and carry them out of the room.

He’d never heard a thing.

If Beau hadn’t shaken him awake, he’d still be out.

It was an unpleasant reminder of just how vulnerable he was right now. The living, breathing, probably snoring definition of a soft target.

Beau was saying briskly, “You’re in the corner suite now. The windows face the street and there are no trees or trellis for access.”

Archie nodded. He heard the words, but it was taking time to sift their meaning.

“Tomorrow we’ll finish clearing McCabe House as a crime scene, and you can move back in. Assuming you’re staying. The house ought to provide more security.” Beau added somberly, “You might want to avoid the grounds.”

Archie repeated, “Assuming I’m staying?” He was a suspect in a homicide. Where the hell would he go?

Beau shrugged. “I don’t think Twinkleton is any too healthy for you right now.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Beau’s eyes narrowed and Archie realized that sounded more comprehensive than he intended. But, of course, he wasn’t leaving before John had even been buried. Nor while he was still the prime suspect. Nor while there were so many unanswered questions.

So many questions that he couldn’t even remember half of them.

Beau’s frown was back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Archie said tersely, “Terrific.”

“That’s what I thought.” Beau turned to the door. “Your room’s down here now.”

It felt like swimming through a dream as he followed Beau out of the room and down the very long—brightly lit, but absolutely silent—hallway.

For the first time, it occurred to him that the reason the inn was so very quiet, day and night, was because he was one of the only guests. Maybe the only guest on this floor.

The final door, the suite door, was propped open and his belongings—not that he had many—neatly laid out pretty much as he’d had them before.

The window blinds were closed, the drapes pulled. There was a tray with a bowl of soup on the credenza with the TV. He inwardly shuddered at the sight of it. By now he was way past the point of being able to eat. He craved sleep. Nothing more.

He said automatically, “You didn’t have to go to this trouble.”