The Suicide Club. Gayle Wilson

she could hear him opening the cabinets under the bathroom lavatory and then the closet door in her bedroom. It was not until he started down the hall toward her that she realized what he had seen from outside.

      “The night light has a motion sensor. It must have come on when I got up. When I moved far enough past it, the light went out again.”

      He glanced down at the small bulb attached to the wall plug, which was still burning. He took a few steps toward where she was standing. Just as she’d said, the light went out.

      “Sorry. False alarm.” He shoved his gun back into the holster under his arm. “At least I didn’t wake you.”

      “I was in the living room. I saw something move in front of the windows and thought…” The burn was again at the back of her eyes, and she hated it. She strengthened her voice to go on. “I thought they’d come back.”

      “Yeah. So did I.”

      “I looked out through the peephole and saw a shape. I thought maybe if I turned on the porch light, I’d be able to see enough to identify them.”

      “Sorry.”

      “For what? Looking out for me? That is what you were doing, wasn’t it? Watching my house.”

      He looked almost embarrassed by her realization. Despite that, he nodded.

      She knew by gauging the density of the stubble on his cheeks, something she was becoming adept at, that he hadn’t gotten up early to stand watch. He had been there all night.

      “Something didn’t feel right,” he added.

      Maybe Jace hadn’t been able to sleep, either. In spite of their obviously overdeveloped sense of impending danger, nothing had happened. And in another couple of hours, it would be morning.

      “I can make coffee,” she offered tentatively.

      Did that sound like an invitation to something else? Even if it did, she didn’t regret having made it. She wanted company. And she wasn’t opposed to that company being in the form of an armed detective.

      “Or I could make it while you go back to bed,” he offered.

      “Even if I did, I wouldn’t sleep. Everything keeps running through my mind like some kind of endless looping.”

      “You have an internist? Somebody who could write you a prescription for sleeping pills?”

      She had a family doctor. The one who had delivered her, actually. And she didn’t intend to ask him for drugs to help her cope with this. “I’ll get over it.”

      “There’s no shame in taking medication to help you deal with trauma.”

      “I didn’t say there was. I just…” She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

      For the first time she was conscious of how thin and short her nightshirt was. Maybe that’s why Jace had suggested she go back to bed. Maybe she was embarrassing him.

      “It also wouldn’t hurt to talk to somebody about what happened. A psychologist. Someone to help you deal with the possibility of PTSD.”

      It took her a second. “Post Traumatic Stress? You think I’m going to get PTSD from finding a snake in my house?” Despite the fact that she hadn’t slept since that had happened, she managed a short laugh. “This is snake country. Every time I went into the woods as a child there was the threat of running into one.”

      “Which you knew and accepted. That’s not the same as having someone put a rattlesnake into your laundry hamper.”

      It wasn’t. Still, she didn’t really want to hear his analysis of how poorly she was dealing with this.

      “I don’t need medication. And I don’t need counseling. I do need coffee. You’re welcome to stay if you want some.”

      She was acting like an idiot. She hadn’t slept in two nights, other than in snatches interrupted by nightmares. So, yeah, she was coping just fine, thank you very much.

      They were still standing face-to-face in the hall, with every light in the back of the house blazing. She watched his lips thin and a muscle in that dark jaw tighten.

      “I’ll let you get back to work,” he said. “Enjoy your coffee.”

      Although Jace’s tone had been neutral, she was experienced enough at reading emotion to know she’d made him angry. Maybe even insulted him. And for what?

      Because he was sitting up all night so he could make sure you were all right? Or for offering advice that made perfect sense?

      “Look—” she began, but by that time Jace was already moving past her toward the front of the house.

      She attempted to grab his arm, but he shook her off, continuing to stride purposefully in the direction of the door. All she could do was follow.

      “Jace, I’m sorry. What I said was stupid. I really appreciate the fact that you—”

      “Lock up.” The command was punctuated by the slam of the front door.

      Lindsey closed her mouth, still hanging open from her unfinished apology. Then she closed her eyes, once more welling with tears.

      Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

      Frustrated with herself and more than a little annoyed with Jace for refusing to listen, she turned on her heel, furiously blinking the moisture away.

      She had said she was going to make coffee, and she was, damn it. Then she’d come up with at least ten essay questions before it was time to dress for school.

      She had bragged that she didn’t need help in coping with what was happening. Now seemed to be a good time to prove it.