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She’d guessed that already, based on the musty odor she’d found in much of this wing of the house.

It was as if someone had just walked out and never come back.

They hadn’t covered furniture or made any effort to protect the valuables.

They’d abandoned clothes and household goods and antiques and a thousand leftovers from a thriving family.

She understood, of course, how that could’ve happened. What she didn’t understand was why nobody, in all the years since the murders, had come back to deal with it.

Not that it was her business.

“Find any more secrets?” His lips twitched in what she’d decided was the closest thing she’d ever get to a smile.

“Not today. How about you?”

“I’m making progress.”

“Yeah? What did you find out? Anything new, or are you putting pieces together of stuff you already knew?”

“Sorry. It’s my business.”

Of course it was. Heaven forbid anybody should tell her anything. Never mind that masked men were threatening people she loved. Never mind that somebody was trying very hard to find her.

Ford said nothing else.

“Did you need something?” she snapped.

He blinked. “I made lunch.”

“Oh.” She felt like a jerk for being rude. “Sorry. Is it lunchtime?”

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I’m hungry.”

“I guess the muffins weren’t enough.”

“They were fine. I can cook, you know.” He started down the hallway, pausing to gather the rest of the linens she’d tossed into a pile to take downstairs. Then, he opened a closet door, did something inside she couldn’t see, then dropped the blankets and sheets inside.

She’d watched from the doorway. She’d swear she’d opened that door, but “Is there a washer and dryer in there?”

“Laundry chute. You coming?”

She closed the guest room door. “I was coming to find you.”

He slowed a little so she could catch up.

“Remember I told you about my friend Lois?”

“Whitmore, widow of Arthur? She’s your mentor and used to manage Arthur’s gallery.”

“Good memory.” She didn’t hate that he’d listened so closely.

In that respect, he was much better than Lenny. Not that she should be comparing Ford to her ex-boyfriend. “She was the victim of a home invasion last night.”

He looked in Brooklynn’s direction, brows lowered. “She all right?”

“Yeah. The intruders demanded to know where I was.”

That brought a scowl.

“When the power came back on, they took off.”

He started walking again, more slowly. “Why would they leave because of the power? Did she recognize them?” He paused to let Brooklynn precede him down the center staircase. “Or did she have some way to contact the police once the lights were on?”

“I assumed they were afraid she’d recognize them, but she said they wore masks.”

“Then how could she? Did she recognize voices?”

“I think she was pretty traumatized. Maybe she’ll remember something today she didn’t think of last night.”

“Does she know a lot of people in town?”

“Mostly older people. Now that she’s retired, she doesn’t interact with the public much.

She doesn’t have kids of her own, and Arthur’s don’t live nearby.

She’s in her sixties, so I’d say she knows people she grew up with, but aside from me and my sisters, I doubt she knows a lot of younger people. ”

“Why do you assume the people who terrorized her were young?”

“Oh.” Brooklynn considered the question, then shrugged. “I guess I just don’t see any sixty-something men invading a home. Even if one were behind it, wouldn’t they hire someone? The people who followed me sounded younger.”

“But they were here,” he said. “What time was it?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Whoever it was, they were aware of her connection to you.”

That had Brooklynn stopping in place.

She hadn’t thought of that. Not that it was a secret that she and Lois were friends, but it wasn’t public information. Meaning, whoever had broken into her house knew enough about Lois—or Brooklynn—to understand their relationship.

Which meant the intruders, and the people who’d followed her, weren’t strangers or outsiders. They were locals. Or at least someone they worked with was.

Ford watched her processing but didn’t say anything.

Brooklynn swallowed a fresh wave of fear—along with a healthy dose of sadness that someone she knew was behind this.

But who?

She continued toward the kitchen, picking up a scent she couldn’t place that, under normal circumstances, would have had her mouth watering. As it was, she felt a little sick.

And claustrophobic.

She needed out of this house. Out of this situation.

“Your friend called the police?” Ford asked.

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound normal. “I tried to reach Lenny’s partner, but Lenny took the call. He wouldn’t tell me anything. In that respect, you and he could be twins separated at birth.”

“I’m nothing like your stalker.”

Stalker.

She didn’t argue this time. She needed to keep in mind who Lenny really was. And no, Ford didn’t seem to have stalker tendencies, but in other ways? “Right. Because where he keeps things from me, you’re an open book.”

“I have a… I’m trying to…” He clamped his lips closed and continued to the kitchen. “Come.”

She froze.

He disappeared through the door, sighed loudly enough that she could hear it, and then poked his head into the doorway. “Will you please help me?”

“Happy to.”

Ford went straight to the stovetop and scooped a big spoonful of noodles onto a plate. “Could you get us drinks? Please?”

She joined him in the kitchen. By the looks of things, he was a messy cook. An empty noodle box, spice containers, and a half-full jar of something—the label was turned away—were surrounded by dirty pots, dishes, and silverware.

“Lemme guess. You’re expecting the servants to clean?”

“Something like that.”

Chuckling, she filled two glasses with ice and water, then carried them toward the breakfast nook.

“We’re not eating there.”

She paused and watched as he put the two plates onto a large tray and added silverware and napkins.

“What am I missing?” He seemed to be talking to himself.

She was the one missing something.

“Salt and pepper.” He answered his own question, snatching the shakers, then grabbed a bottle of soy sauce from the counter. He opened the pantry and shoved something into his pocket. “I think this is it. Come on.” Halfway to the far door, he turned and again said, “Please?”

He was trying to be polite. That was something.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll show you. Trust me.”

He led the way back up the stairs, down the hallway toward the family bedrooms, and through a narrow door she’d assumed opened to a closet.

She shouldn’t assume anything in this house.

They climbed a staircase that rose two flights. At the top of the second, Ford turned back to her. “Stay close to the wall, and you should be fine.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

With all the craziness of the last few days and the news she’d received in the last half hour, a wave of fear rolled over Brooklynn as Ford reached for the knob on yet another door.

Leading to…she had no idea what. Did she trust this man?

If not, she was in too deep to save herself now. She’d go where he led and pray he didn’t lead her into trouble. Or to the men who’d terrorized her friend.

* * *

Brooklynn followed Ford onto a small rooftop patio that had her pulling in a lungful of clean, fresh air, inhaling the scents of summer and sea.

She hadn’t realized how stuffy the house was until she stepped into the sunshine.

The patio floor sloped downward toward a waist-high wrought iron railing, but the angle was nothing like the pitched roofs surrounding it on three sides.

Beyond the rail, she spied the cove where she’d taken photos two days before, the headlands on either side jutting into the Atlantic. She stepped in that direction, but Ford grabbed her arm. “You don’t want to be seen.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Once again, the man had protected her, this time from her own awe.

How did she keep doubting him when he kept proving himself to her over and over? He wasn’t only protective, though. This…this was one more piece of evidence proving his thoughtful, generous nature.

“I figured you were getting cabin fever.” He set the tray on a small café table between two chairs right beside the door.

Were they the same table and chairs she’d seen in the basement when he’d rescued her? She thought so, meaning he’d found them and carried them up three…no, four flights. They were clean, so he’d wiped them down. And swept the rooftop.

She dropped her head back, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the sunshine. “This is glorious.”

“It’s kind of messy.”

She heard the closing of the door, and then the glasses were lifted from her hands. After another full breath, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Another wondrous secret.”

He set the glasses on the table, then removed the plates and silverware from the tray. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

She laughed. Had she been annoyed with him before? Whatever irritation remained flew away on the breeze, along with her fears and worries.

“It’s a widow’s walk,” Ford said. “Not exactly a secret, considering you can see it from the beach. Have a seat.” He waited until she did before settling across from her.

“Was the original owner of this house a sailor?” Widow’s walks were designed for people to watch for their loved ones’ return from long voyages, thus named because so many never made it home.

“No idea. My research doesn’t go back that far. He was obviously eccentric. Maybe he just wanted the rooftop view.”

“It is lovely.” She regarded the Asian dish that smelled so good. “What is this?”

“Pad Thai.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. The sauce came out of a jar. All I did was cook the noodles.”

“And slice and sauté the vegetables.” She used her fork to unearth a bite of pork. “And cook the meat.”

He shrugged. “I needed a break. Seemed only fair, since you’ve done so much cooking.”

She swirled her fork in the rice noodles but paused when he cleared his throat.