He picked up a can of something that said shaving foam, looking at the other bottles on the shelf over the sink, swallowing thickly when he saw the things he’d lived without for so many years. Everything felt . . . big. Smelled big. All of it was huge, bigger than he remembered, shinier, more. Very. He stepped back into the bedroom, closing that door behind him.
Welcome home, the grandfather had said.
So why did he still feel lost?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Come in,” Mark called, taking his hands from the keyboard and sitting back in his desk chair. Laurie peeked inside.
“I’m running to the grocery store. Anything specific you want for dinner?” She smiled. “I think we’ve officially finished off all the holiday leftovers.”
Mark chuckled. They’d been eating turkey for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the last few days—and November had brought its fair share of turkey too—and he had seen about all of that particular bird he wanted to see for a wh
ile. “How about steak tonight?”
“Sounds good.” She turned to leave, and Mark sat forward.
“Laurie?”
She turned, her expression surprised, questioning.
“Uh.” Jesus, had he forgotten how to do this? How to talk to his own wife? They’d had a few conversations over the last few weeks—stilted ones, but those counted too—but they were still out of practice. “Other than Jak’s obvious lack of knowledge about common things, what did you think of him?” It’d been several days since Jak and Harper had been to their house, and though they’d recounted the holiday warmly, he hadn’t talked to her about the specifics. But now he was officially back to work and for the last few hours, he’d caught up on emails and wracked his brain about what avenue to follow next. He refused to let these cases grow cold.
Laurie came back into the room hesitantly, as though she was afraid she’d misheard him ask her opinion about a work matter—or, sort of a work matter anyway. She furrowed her brow for a moment as she thought about his question. “He has a sweetness to him, an . . . innocence . . .” She sat in the chair in front of his desk and seeing her there, that thoughtful look on her face, made his chest constrict. “Although he’s clearly all man.” She shot him a raised eyebrow look and he chuckled. He figured any woman would have noticed that. “But . . . I don’t know. He has . . . secrets in his eyes. There’s almost something . . . he wants to hide from everyone else. It could be his lack of confidence but”—she shook her head—“oh, there I go again, offering up my intuition when you’re asking for facts.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I was looking for your intuition.”
She looked down, a flush coming to her cheeks as she smiled shyly. And at the look of happiness on her face, he swore at himself. When was the last time you made her look that way? He couldn’t even remember.
She looked up. “And, oh, the way he looks at Harper, Mark. He worships her.”
He laced his fingers. “Do you think that’s a good thing?”
She shrugged. “You mean do I think he could make her his whole world when he should be focusing on, well, the whole world?”
“Yes, exactly.”
She looked to the side, thinking again. “Maybe. But I think Harper’s an intuitive girl. I think she’ll help guide him, and step back if that’s the case.”
“I hope so.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
For a moment they sat there staring at each other, both smiling, things needing to be said, though Mark wasn’t sure where to start, not sure he wanted to do this. Not yet. Not now. Then when? The ringing of his cell phone saved him from having to answer his own internal questions.
“You get that.” Laurie stood, seeming slightly relieved by the interruption too. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Mark nodded, reaching for his phone as she slipped out the door. He felt her loss, but simultaneously, was glad she was gone. Although that’d been a step on both their parts, and Mark was glad for it. “Mark Gallagher.”
“Agent Gallagher. This is Kyle Holbrook, returning your call.”
Isaac Driscoll’s former assistant. Mark was momentarily taken aback by the deep tenor of the man’s voice. He sounded much older, but Mark knew from his online portfolio, that he was in his thirties.
“Yes, thank you for calling me back, Mr. Holbrook.”
“Of course. I would have called you sooner, but I was away for the holidays. This is in reference to Dr. Driscoll?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I’m investigating a crime. Isaac Driscoll was found murdered. I understand you were his research assistant sixteen years ago.”