Lara’s heart nearly ripped apart when she went through her parents’ possessions at their estate. Touching her mother’s clothes, sorting through her designer purses, coats and shoes, deciding what to give away and what to sell took all of her energy. Parents shouldn’t die before their daughter married—or had kids. It just wasn’t fair.

She dragged one of her mom’s nightgowns from the built-ins in the large walk-in closet and brought the silk fabric to her nose. She inhaled, imagining her mom’s arms around her for a brief moment. Swallowing hard, Lara squeezed her eyes shut and wiped the tears from her cheeks as depression clawed her insides raw. Falling apart now wouldn’t help her get through this ordeal.

She glanced Trevor’s way every few minutes. He’d separated Dad’s suits and shirts into neat piles on the bed. Some basic instinct must have told him what to sell, what to toss, and what to give away. There was no way she could have organized her father’s possessions without a total collapse. Trevor had asked her opinion only once, for he must have sensed she was incapable of making a coherent decision.

He stuffed her dad’s underwear in a black garbage bag and cinched the plastic tight. Face drawn, he came over to where she was working and slid a hand down her cheek. “How are you holding up?” His sweet action made her heart skip a beat. Maybe he did care about her after all.

“I’m exhausted.” Guilt at keeping him here swelled. “I know I said I wanted to come merely to get the list of names, but once I looked around, I knew I needed to begin packing.” If only her mind would click off, she might move faster.

“I’ll keep working until you tell me you’ve had enough.”

She gave him a half smile, rose up on her toes, and kissed his rough cheek. “Thank you.” A slight color tinged his face and she averted her gaze. “Before I lose all my strength, I must forage through my mom’s desk to see if I need to take care of any bills. Plus, I have to get that list of friends to call about the funeral.”

Tackling her mom’s clothes was too much for her right now. If she wasn’t in their bedroom, her red-alert anxiety level might lower to amber. At least Trevor didn’t insist on escorting her down the hall.

As hoped, she found the office easier to deal with. There were fewer reminders and fewer memories of how much her parents meant to her. The addresses of the friends were easy to find, and the bills were organized alphabetically. Thank you, Mom.

Close to eleven, she dragged herself back into their bedroom. Trevor was gone and a flicker of worry ran through her. “Trevor?”

His muffled voice came from the den. She went to see what he was up to. His back to her, he was looking through a pile of VCR tapes.

“You find something?” she asked.

“Your life history.” He faced her and smiled.

“Those old things? We’ll toss them.”

“Hell, no. These are family history. You have to keep them.” He pulled one from the stack. “This is your third birthday party.” He put that one back and drew out another one. “And this is your trip to Disneyland.”

Mostly of them had been fond memories. “Enough. I’ll sort through them later to see what I want to keep.”

“Put all of them on DVD and upload them to your computer. You’ll never have those days back. Don’t lose them.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted the reminder of her hardships or the embarrassment of others laughing at her. The kids at the birthday parties were only there because her mom had twisted the arm of some of her friends.

“Good idea. Right now I’m too beat to be effective. I’d like to go home.”

“Smart. You have to rest sometime. Now’s not the time to let your immune system die on you.”

“Too late. My battery power is running on low and there’s no charger in the world that will give me the needed juice to deal with anything else.”

Trevor took care of locking up the house. Even with the help he’d provided, a strong melancholy blanketed her on the ride home. God knows he tried to take her mind off her parents’ death by asking her questions about her childhood travels, but all she could muster was at most one or two sentences. Eventually, he stopped making conversation. She probably hurt his feelings by clamming up, but her reserve tank bordered on empty.

Once they pulled into her driveway, she allowed herself to relax. Home, sweet home. Nothing looked disturbed, thank goodness. Her soft bed and Egyptian cotton sheets were calling her name loud and clear.

Given her ankle still troubled her, Trevor helped her up the porch steps. Once inside, he made her sit at the kitchen table while he searched the rest of the rooms.

He jogged out from the hallway. “All clear.”

“You really expected the intruder to return?” Her stomach tumbled.

“Never can tell. You want something to eat? I’m starving.” He made an exaggerated motion of rubbing his stomach.

“Food’s the last thing on my mind. We ate a few hours ago. What I need is sleep.”

“Well, I need something to eat, and you need to ice that ankle.”

He went over to the refrigerator, scooped out some ice onto a cloth, rolled up the torture device, and placed the frozen concoction on her skin.

While she was suffering from frostbite, he pulled meat, bread and condiments from the fridge and piled the food high on the sandwich. He slapped the meal on a napkin and carried his late night snack to the table. He engulfed the food in mere seconds, pushed back his chair, and dropped the napkin in the trash.

“Why don’t you head into bed while I intruder-proof the house with some noise makers so I can sleep.”

“You plan of putting a bunch of cans in front of the door or something?”

“Or something.”

She peeled off the ice pack and stood. Okay, the ankle did feel better. “Goodnight then.”

As though he worried about her making it down the hall, he followed her to her bedroom. She faced him before he had a chance to come in. “I can take it from here.”

He backed up. “I was only...never mind.”

Before she could think about what he meant to say, he strode down the hallway toward the living room, his boots clacking on the hardwood floors. He’d said he didn’t want her out of his sight, but following her everywhere was going a bit too far.

Uh, oh. Had he expected her to invite him to her bed for more mindless sex? Or to make sure the windows were locked? No brain functions seemed to work properly tonight. She needed sleep. Tomorrow she’d explain why she wanted to be alone. She closed the door, washed her face and dropped into bed.

Morning came all too soon. Lara awoke to rain, and a soft muted light filtered in through her curtains, the gray skies matching her mood. She forced herself to get out of bed and dress in jeans and a big shirt. Makeup and hair combing wouldn’t get done until she’d had her caffeine.

Trevor was in the kitchen, freshly showered, wearing a clean pair of jeans. He hadn’t shaved or combed his hair, so how did he manage to look so good, and so sexy? Stop it. Being here is his job. That’s all.

The rich aroma of fresh brewed coffee intermingled with fried eggs. He held up a spatula. “You want breakfast? I can make you something other than eggs.”

“Coffee is fine.” Food wasn’t in the stars today either.

“Lara.”

“Later, I promise.”

He shook his head and proceeded to prepare a delicious smelling cup of hot coffee, heavily doused with cream and sugar. “Drink all of this.” His brows pointed south.

She gave him a mock salute and held in a chuckle. “Yes, sir.”

Lara sipped the wonderful brew, trying to focus on her case and not on the impending funeral or the too hot detective in front of her. She failed at the detective part. What was it about him that made him different from the other men she’d liked?

She drained her cup and stood. “I really need to spend some time at the lab.” And not on watching you.

The days on the calendar seemed to fly by. Every afternoon had ended in disappointment, but she wouldn’t stop looking for her man’s identity.

“It’s Sunday. The day of rest.”

“So?”

Now came the fight. If he agreed to let her work, Trevor would want her to spend time at the sheriff’s department in order to do his research, while she needed to work at her lab. She waited for him to argue, but instead he nodded. Guilt slammed her for being so selfish, but her career was on the line.

Once Trevor did the security check on the house, he drove to her work. He claimed he could track clues from her computer just as well as from his office, and she wanted to believe him, if only to help her stay on task for one full day.

While he worked in one corner of her lab, she ran the final tests on John Doe #1. By early afternoon, she’d done all she could until the lab finished the tests she’d requested. She sat at the desk next to him and phoned Kerry Markum, another one of the lab’s forensic anthropologists, whose special talent extended to creating clay models of skeletons’ faces. Lara remembered when Kerry had shown her creations on television in an attempt to find a person’s identity, and the victim had been identified. She could only pray Kerry would have the same degree of luck with the John Doe she’d sent her last Friday.

Unfortunately, Kerry told her she wouldn’t finish for another two to three weeks, which was way past Lara’s self-imposed deadline.

The funeral was tomorrow, which meant it was time to call it quits, and Trevor didn’t argue.

The slight drizzle and chilly air on the drive home dampened her mood. Add in her not learning anything new about her case, and the day had added up to be a big zero.

The only good part was that Trevor insisted on making her dinner. Too bad they sat in silence for most of the meal—her fault of course. After Lara helped clean up, she crawled into bed and prayed for sleep. When the gods refused to cooperate, Lara took a sleeping pill.

The next day brought more rain—perfect weather for a funeral. Or not. She dressed in sensible, throw-away-if-they-get-wet shoes and a blue, linen suit. Trevor chose a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a muted tie. The suit stretched tight across his too large shoulders, and the pants hung loosely on his slim hips, but he looked good. Real good.

After a quick breakfast Trevor prepared, he held up his cell and pointed to the time. “We need to go.”

She swallowed. “I know.”

The viewing at the Hoffman Funeral home went well, if one considered hearing stories about her dead parents as positive. There must have been over two hundred well- wishers, all giving her a comforting hug or shaking her hand until her fingers hurt.

She inwardly sighed. Her parents would have had a lot of satisfaction hearing how highly regarded they were in the community. If only they could have been here in real time to speak with the recipients of their money, they’d have been extra proud.

Tears slipped from her lashes. God, she was going to miss them.

Trevor wrapped a hand around her waist. “Lara?”

“I’m fine.”

Trevor, bless his heart, had stood by her side while he graciously accepted everyone’s condolences. The family friends tossed questioning glances at him, but no one asked why he was there or who he was, except for one elderly woman who wanted to know the name of the hottie.

Everyone at the reception was either a funeral home staff member, a long time friend of her parents, or worked at her lab. She hadn’t the heart to call the University faculty or any of her acquaintances from school to tell them about her folks’ death. She’d never have been able to handle the added grief.

She glanced up at Trevor and snuggled closer. Only then did she spot Bernie next to the two closed coffins. Damn. Trevor had told her he expected her stalker to be there. Could Bernie really be the one?

She leaned closer. “The man in the ill-fitting brown suit is our DNA specialist, Bernie Laxman.”

“I know. We interviewed him about the note. I saw his photo.”

The slimy man wove his way through the crowd and slid up to her. “Hello, Lara.”

Surprised Bernie had washed, she accepted his hand. “Thank you for coming.” She refrained from wiping her right hand down her thigh.

Trevor squeezed her arm. “There’s someone who’s been waiting to speak with you.” He nodded toward Eric Markowitz in the hallway, outside the viewing room.

She was thankful for the excuse. Bernie held Trevor’s gaze in a long stare-off, but Bernie flinched first and glanced away, his eyes turning cold as he slipped back into the crowd. After he had a short conversation with Phil and Gina, he left. Good riddance.

Given she’d opted not to have a religious ceremony, the funeral director, Mr. Hoffman, accompanied them to the cemetery for the burial. The rain had stopped and steam rose from the ground, curly around her, sucking the breath from her body. Had Trevor not kept an arm wrapped around her, she might not have been able to stand at all.

The hardest part was seeing the lovely spray of flowers on top of the coffins. Her parents were dead, and she’d never see them again. After mopping the tears from her cheeks, she dropped two red roses on their caskets. Trevor then escorted her to the limousine, stopping once to let her peer back at their graves. Dr. Rolf Hoffman, her professor, watched nearby.

Strange. She didn’t remember him at the service, nor had she mentioned to anyone at the University about her parents’ death. A shiver crawled up her spine. Why come to the gravesite and not say hello?

Maybe his brother, Robert, told him, and the good professor didn’t want to disturb her. He was often considerate that way.

At the funeral home parking lot, Lara slipped into Trevor’s truck as more rain arrived. “Do you mind driving me to the lab?”

He let out an exasperated breath. “You’ve just buried your parents. You need to rest. Phil will understand if you don’t go in today.” She couldn’t tell if his voice held any disdain, but his eyes remained warm despite the pinched brow.

“Resting is the worst idea ever.” She squeezed his arm. “I need to keep busy, be with people, do something with my hands.” For emphasis, she wiggled her fingers close to her face. She had to take her mind off possibly not seeing Trevor again. Tomorrow she would be moving into the safe house.

He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “If you refuse to rest, would you mind if we go to the sheriff’s department instead, so I could get some work done?”

Her breath lodged in her throat. She’d been so thoughtless thinking he could work at her lab every day. Fair was fair. “Sure. In all likelihood, I wouldn’t do a very good job even if I’m at the lab. The tests I ordered might not even be back from analysis yet.”

He ran a thumb across her chin and her mind darted away from her problems. He cranked the engine. “I figured as much.”

She wasn’t convinced she’d add much to her case without Trevor’s help anyway. She needed him to pressure the remaining two families to ask their doctors for either dental X-rays or medical files of the missing family members in order to finish her comparisons. It didn’t help that one man didn’t seem to have a family. Now that he was missing, there was no way to obtain any kind of film or medical documents, even if he’d sought some kind of medical help in the last few years.

Trevor motioned to the clock on the dash. “What time is the reading of your folks’ will?”

She dropped her head against the car seat. Crap. She’d forgotten about that. Why had she agreed to do both the funeral and will reading on the same day?

“At five. Mr. Wellington, our attorney, even mentioned he’d have to skip the service because he’d rescheduled another client for me.” She huffed out a breath. “I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life.”

Once they entered the sheriff’s office, Trevor located an out-of-date Better Homes and Garden magazine in the break room and pilfered a chair from someone’s desk for her to use.

“Are you going to be okay sitting here?” The compassion in his beautiful blue eyes relaxed her. She might get through this day after all.

“Don’t worry about me.”

She could see the argument brewing on his lips until he let out a breath. “I won’t be long.”

“No rush.”

Her eyes drooped, and she leaned her head back against the chair for a quick catnap. After what seemed like only a few minutes, someone touched her shoulder.

“It’s nearly five.” Trevor hovered over her.

“I must have slept.” The magazine had fallen on the floor.

“That’s a good thing.”

Trevor helped her up, led her to the coffee machine, and poured her a cup. “Drink this.”

“Thank you.”

“Taste it first before you thank me. It’s rotted many a cop’s stomach.”

For the first time in a day, a hint of laughter emerged. Trevor had a way of lightening even her worst mood.

As he led her outside, weak rays of sun filtered through the trees. The rain may have dissipated, but with it came the humidity. As they traveled downtown to the lawyer’s office, he remained quiet. Whether he was mentally working on his case or giving her time to collect her thoughts, she didn’t know. Either way was fine by her.

“The will reading seems so unnecessary, considering I’m the only relative.”

What her folks didn’t give away in charity, she’d inherit. Not that she cared. Her trust fund would provide her with whatever she needed.

“I believe it’s legally necessary with an estate of this size.” He walked her to the lawyer’s office, and her heart seemed to need all of her strength just to beat.

She better get a hold on her emotions or she’d never be able to make it through this day. “You sure you don’t want to come in?”

“I’ll wait out here.” He gently placed his hands on her arms.

“You don’t think there are any boogie men inside ready to attack me?” Please be by my side.

He shook his head once. “You’ll be fine. If you need me, I’m right here.” His look of sincerity kicked up her affection a notch.

She rubbed a hand down his jacketed arm, the rough fabric tickling her palm. “Thank you.”

What she knew of Trevor, he’d be embarrassed to learn the size of her family fortune, though her parents’ house surely had given him a clue.

She ducked into the darkly lit conference room. The two men at the large oval table stood. Both were dressed in dark blue suits, pastel shirts, and striped ties. Oh, my. Arthur Wellington had been the family attorney since before she was born. Worry lines etched deep furrows in his forehead and cheeks. His weight loss must have caused his shoulders to fold over his chest.

She’d expected a few other people to be present, but in truth, how many people were needed to read a piece of paper?

“Hello, Arthur.”

“Ms. Romano, please have a seat.”

“Lara, please.” After all, he’d come to their house numerous times for dinner when she was growing up.

She placed her purse on the carpeted floor, and then swept a hand down her braid. There was nothing to be nervous about, so why was she?

“Can we offer you some coffee or tea?” the man next to Arthur asked.

“No, thank you.” She didn’t need to be running to the bathroom in the middle of the meeting. She wanted this ordeal to end.

Arthur’s voice droned on as he read the will’s details. No surprise, the servants received stipends, and her folks’ favorite charities received large endowments. She was given the rest of the estate, estimated at twenty million.

Lara stood. “Thank you.”

Mr. Wellington cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing. Please sit down.” His hands shook. Did he suffer from palsy? He wasn’t that old. Seventy at most.

“If it’s about their vintage car—”

“No. It’s a letter to you.”

“From?”

“Your mother.”

Oh, God. Could she handle hearing her mom’s words? “Go on.”

How she’d had the strength to speak, she didn’t know.

“Dear Lara,” he began. “I’m so sorry if you’re hearing this, for your daddy and I will have passed away. I’ve rewritten this letter more times than I can count, but I am still unable to express our sorrow at what this letter may bring you.

“There’s something your father and I need to tell you. Something we never were comfortable talking about.”

The lawyer looked up.

The agony in his eyes stopped her heart.