Northern Lights

him—well, anymore than she looked twice or three times at any man when she was with Pat. Then she married Karl Hidel, what, about six months after Pat left. Everybody knew, including Old Man Hidel, that she married him for his money, for The Lodge, but she was good to him."
    "Okay."
    Her gaze flicked to his board, away again. "How am I going to look at these people straight on now?"
    "Downside of being a cop."
    She looked a little dazzled, and a little chagrined, at being termed a cop. "Guess it is." She pushed to her feet, stood in her red sweater with pink Valentine hearts around the hem. "I want you to know before I say this last thing that I like Meg. I've got a lot of affection and respect for her. But I've got a lot of affection and respect for you, too, and I'm hoping she doesn't break your heart."
    "Noted."
    He waited until she'd gone out to swivel around in his chair and stare out at the snow. A few weeks before, he hadn't thought there was enough left of his heart to break. Now he didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed to realize there was.
    Recovery? he wondered. Or stupidity? Maybe they were the same thing.
    He swiveled back and made the calls.
     
     
    SHE DIDN'T COME BACK that night. Nate spent it at her place, with her dogs. He worked off some frustration, and a growing anger, in her weight room. In the morning, when the snow had slowed to a thin drizzle, he drove back to Lunacy and the job.
     
     
    SHE HADN'T CONTACTED HIM, and that was deliberate. Inconsiderate, Meg admitted when she settled back in the cab at Anchorage Airport. He'd probably worry some. He had worry-about-the-woman genes if she was any judge. He'd be hurt and he'd be mad, and that was also deliberate on her part.
    The man had spooked her.
    There'd been a look in his eye when he'd watched her climb into her plane. More than that was the sensation that look had caused to roll around inside her.
    She wasn't after that sort of depth and feeling and contact. Why the hell couldn't people just enjoy some good, simple sex without mucking it up with . . . whatever. Loyalty was one thing, and she'd give and get that—as long as the blood ran hot. She wasn't her mother, ready to roll with whoever came along. But she wasn't a woman looking to share home and hearth for the long term either.
    That's what he was about, and she'd known it. She'd known what was behind those sad, wounded eyes the first time she'd looked into them. She'd had no business sleeping with a man who'd want or expect more than sex.
    Wasn't her life complicated enough right now without feeling obliged to make adjustments for anybody else? For a man, for God's sake.
    She'd been smart to take the extra jobs, and she loved the feeling of being flush. She'd been smarter yet to stay away from him and Lunacy for a couple extra days. Settle herself down.
    God knew she needed to be settled for what she was about to do.
    She hadn't contacted Nate, but she'd contacted Coben.
    The body had been recovered and brought to the facilities in Anchorage.
    Now she was on her way to the morgue to identify her father.
    Alone. Another deliberate act. She'd been living her life, handling her affairs, dealing with her own details alone nearly as long as she could remember.
    She had no intention of changing that now.
    If it was her father in the morgue—and she knew in her gut it was— then he was her responsibility, her grief and, in a strange way, her release.
    This she wouldn't share, even with Jacob. The only person she loved absolutely.
    What she was doing was a formality, more a courtesy. Coben had made certain, in his flat and polite way, she knew that. Patrick Galloway had a record, and his prints were on file. Officially, he'd already been identified.
    But she was next of kin and permitted to see him, to confirm the identity, to sign papers, give her statement. Deal with it.
    When she arrived, she paid off the cab. Steeled herself.
    Coben was there, waiting.
    "Ms. Galloway."
    "Sergeant." She offered her hand, found his cool and dry.
    "I know this is difficult and want to thank you for coming."
    "What do I have to do?"
    "There's some paperwork to clear. We'll streamline it, make this as quick as we can."
    He led her through it. She signed where she needed to sign, accepted her visitor's badge and hooked it on her shirt.
    She kept her mind blank as he led her down a wide, white corridor and did her best to ignore the vague and persistent odors that snuck into the air.
    He took her