Angels Fall

keyboard.

    Knowing he was there made it possible for her to get into bed with the bedroom door open and unlocked.
    Knowing he was there made it possible for her to close her eyes and sleep.

Chapter 18

    BRODY CROUCHED in front of Reece's apartment door with a penlight and a magnifying glass. He felt a little ridiculous.
    Though he considered being able to sleep in mornings one of the big perks of writing fiction, he'd gotten up when she had. And had ignored her claims that she could easily walk from the cabin to the diner. Sure, he thought now, no problem at all for a woman who may or may not have a homicidal stalker focused on her strolling along by herself in the dark for a couple of miles like some idiot character in a bad slasher movie.
    Besides, he'd not only gotten the first two cups of a fresh pot of coffee when he delivered her to Joanie's, he scored bacon, eggs and home fries before the place had even opened for business. Not a bad trade-off.
    Now he was squatted down, playing detective. Since he didn't have any personal experience with breaking and entering, he couldn't be ab-solutely certain the lock hadn't been picked or tampered with, but he couldn't see any signs of it.
    He considered, again, overriding her and bringing in the sheriff. Still he didn't think Rick could do any more than he was doing himself at this point.
    Then there was the matter of trust, he thought as he sat hack on his heels. She trusted him, and if he went around her on this, he'd be breaking that trust.
    Claims she's in love with him—but no pressure. Women. She was just mixing up heat and…  companionabihty with the L word. Then she was vulnerable on top of it with what she'd been through. Was still going through.
    He straightened, took out the key she'd given him. Then stared at it in the palm of his hand. Trust. What were you supposed to do?
    He unlocked the door, stepped inside.
    There was a scent to the air—light and subtle. Reece. He'd have recognized it anywhere now. And he  found himself unreasonably angry that whoever had come into her home had walked through that same personal scent.
    Light spilled through the windows now to fall on the bare floors, the saggy, second-or thirdhand furniture, the bright blue spread she'd bought for the narrow daybed. He could only think she deserved better. He could probably help her out, slip her a few extra bucks so she could buy a rug, for God's sake, some paint.
    "Sliding down a slippery rope there, Brody," he reminded himself. "Buy a woman a stupid rug, the next thing she wants is a ring."
    Besides, she had the view that no amount of money could buy. Who needed rugs or a couple of decent pictures on the wall when you had the mountains painted on the sky outside your window, and the lake all but pooled at your door?
    He unhooked her laptop, put it and her thumb drive into its case to take back with him. She'd need another night, at least, away from this place. She might as well have her stuff. Idly, he opened the drawer on the little desk Joanie must have had hauled up for Reece. In it he found two sharpened pencils snapped in half, a black Magic Marker and a slim leather-bound book he recognized as the sort some people use to carry around pictures of their kids or pets. Curious, he flipped it open.
    The photo of a sharp-looking older woman sitting on a bench in what looked like a nicely tended garden had thick black X's over the face. There were others. The same woman in a white shirt, black pants, holding a poodle the size of a postage stamp. A couple in long bib aprons, a group holding glasses of champagne. A man with his arms spread wide in front of a big wall oven. Everyone had X's over their faces.
    In the last. Reece was standing in a large group of people. The restaurant, Brody concluded. Maneo's. Hers was the only face in the group shot that was unmarked, and it was beaming with smiles. Under each person, in small, neat print, was the single word: //smc dead. And under Reece was written:
    //smc insane.
    Had she found this yet? he wondered. He hoped not, and slipped the book into the outside pocket of the laptop case. He'd take it out later, decide how to handle it, when he got home. Though he hadn't intended to invade her privacy quite so deeply, Brody began to search the drawers of the squat ugly dresser.
    He buried the discomfort of pawing through her underwear, reminding himself he'd already taken it off her a few times. If he could touch it when she was wearing it,