The Taming of the Thief (37 page)

 
   
He nodded slowly in apparent appreciation,
either because she knew her cars or watched action flicks. “So it isn’t a
neighbor’s?
Maybe someone’s company?”

 
   
“Not unless a visitor rolls past my house at
idling speed without slowing at anyone else’s home.”

 
   
“How often does this happen?”

 
   
“Once a week at least.
For the last several months.”
At least that’s when
she’d noticed it thanks to new sleeping habits.

 
   
“You notice quite a bit.” Harte jotted notes
without looking up. “Did you catch the plate number?”

 
   
“I don’t sleep much.
And
no.”
The base of her spine itched with awareness of him as a man, but
also with knowledge he was holding something back. What? Why?

 
   
“Thank you for your time.” He stood to
leave, pulled a card from his pocket and offered it to her. “Please, let me
know if you think of anything more.”

 
   
She glanced at the card before meeting his
gaze. “I have your numbers.”

 
   
Call
if you need anything,
he’d said a year earlier as he placed his card on the
console table. She’d thought of reaching out a time or two, but doubted he’d
really intended to make the offer. Still, his card was tucked into her personal
phone book by the phone.

 
   
“Right.”
He cleared
his throat and slid the card back into his pocket. “Well, let me know if you
see anything. I’ll see myself out.”

 
   
“Sure thing.”
She
nudged a few magazines aside with her foot and followed him.

 
   
“Hey.” He turned with his hand on the knob.
“Wasn’t your husband a professor?”

 
   
“He was a linguist. He taught at University
of Texas at Dallas.” Why would he ask that? Was there a connection?

 
   
Harte nodded as he pulled open the door.
“Thanks again for your time, Mrs. Sullivan.”

 
   
“I wish I’d been more help.” She followed
him onto the porch and fought against the images of her breaking under the
weight of searing agony. The grief and pain she’d thought had eased flooded
back tightening her chest and throat in sympathy for an unknown family. She
couldn’t shake the thought something big was about to disrupt her world.

 
   
“I hope you find your answers.”

 
   
Maggie watched Harte’s arresting and
confident stride as he crossed the lawn toward a black Audi. He was halfway to
his car when she called out to him.
“Detective!
About
the car I mentioned.”

 
   
He stumbled as if the ground had jumped
under his feet.
“Yeah?”

 
   
“It’s remarkably similar to yours.” She
tilted her head and looked past him.
“Right down to those
rims that perfectly match the paint job.
They’re more subtle than
traditional ones, which is what makes them noticeable.”

 
   
“Interesting.”
He
nodded and continued toward his car without looking back.

 
   
Yeah.
Interesting.
Why had Detective Harte been checking up on
her?