“What are you doing here?” he asked, irritation plain.
“I called him,” Cait said.
Bristling, he entered the town house. His gaze swept the front room, bare but for the lonely sofa, pausing on the fireplace, moving on to the entirely empty dining area and the French doors covered by drawn vertical blinds.
“All right,” he said. “Show me.”
She nodded, tension tightening her face again, and led the way to the kitchen and the back door with the glass pane inset.
Colin said what Noah was thinking. “This place would be damn easy to break into.”
She rolled her eyes. “It would be so cozy without windows.”
Despite the snappy comeback, her hesitation was more obvious than Noah suspected she’d want it to be before she opened the door. She peered outside like a turtle sticking her head out of her shell, then led the way.
Colin had brought an enormous black flashlight, which he switched on to supplement the porch lights. They all stared at the spray-painted writing, which got larger, more ragged, angrier, as it went. The lettering was scrawled across the French doors, windows, kitchen door.
“Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry.”
Colin growled something profane as the beam of his light moved steadily across the back of her rental. It stopped at the end, where “Sorry” changed to “Is that enough?”
Both men looked at her.
Her arms wrapped herself tightly and she pressed her lips together. Nobody moved.
“The last time I saw him,” she said in a taut, reluctant voice, “he kept saying he was sorry and he asked how many times he had to say it.”
“Sorry for what?” her brother asked suspiciously.
She didn’t want to tell them; that was obvious. Her gaze darted from Colin’s face to Noah’s and back again, her eyes widening at the implacable expressions she saw.
“What difference does it make?” she cried.
Noah let Colin handle this. He didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.
“Did that piece of shit hurt you?”
Brother and sister stared at each other for a long moment. Then she straightened. “I will not discuss my relationships with you. Or what ended this one. It really doesn’t matter. I told him apologies were irrelevant. He’s refusing to accept that I’m done with him. I have no idea why he won’t let go of the idea that saying ‘I’m sorry, I love you, come back to me’ is all he has to do.”
Noah wanted to get his hands on that scumbag. Ralston might have lost his temper and hurt her; he might have cheated on her. Either way, Noah could understand her not wanting to talk about it. But, by God, he wanted to know which it was.
“All right,” Colin said with a sigh. “We’ll get pictures in the morning. The usual. I want you to pack a bag and come home with me.”
“You don’t really think he’ll be back tonight.”
He frowned. “No, I don’t, but I can’t be sure. What if he shows up on your doorstep to find out whether you are satisfied by his apologies?”
“I won’t answer the door. I’ll call 911.”
A predictable argument ensued. Noah stayed silent, although he’d have been happier if she’d agreed to go home with her brother. He wished he understood whether she was just being stubborn because that was her nature, or whether this had to do with the argument the two of them had had.
Finally Colin snapped, “On your head be it,” and stomped back into the house. The front door closed a moment later.
“Let’s go back in,” Noah said, gripping her arm above the elbow.
He locked the door, thinking how useless it was to install a dead bolt when all a would-be intruder had to do was tap the glass to break it, then reach in. Still, the glass breaking would give Cait some warning.
He started opening cupboard doors. “Do you have tea? Something warm and sweet would be good.”
Her eyes were a little glassy. “Oh. Yes. To the left of the refrigerator.”
At least she had done some serious grocery shopping. He put water on to boil in the one and only saucepan she had, then chose a decaf orange-spice tea. She had only one mug, too, which meant he was probably the only visitor she’d entertained here yet.