Free Switchback by Catherine Anderson Page A

“Lovers. Say we’ve been seeing each other for six months. Things have gotten cozy. It’d seem natural for me to be here. Keith’s in the hospital, your kid’s been snatched. I’d hang around, stick close, give you moral support. All it’ll take is a little playacting.”
    â€œHow
much
playacting?”
    â€œEnough to be convincing.” He caught her shocked expression and rolled his eyes. “Not
that
much, for heaven’s sake.”
    â€œIt’s not that. It’s just that I’m afraid I can’t do it.”
    He pressed his fist against her chin jokingly. “Hey, it’ll be easy. Just don’t call me Mac Phearson. He might recognize the name. Mac or Hey-You, but not Mac Phearson. I’ll do the rest.”
    The front door swung open beneath his hand with a loud creak. He preceded her into the entry, the soles of his sneakers grabbing the tile.
    For some reason, the thought that there might be monitors in her house was the final blow to her self-control. She began to shake and couldn’t stop. All evening, she had fought off tears and hysteria, telling herself there would be time for that later. Now she realized there wasn’t going to be. Her only sanctuary had been invaded.
    Mac must have seen her trembling. He paused and curled his arm around her to draw her against him. Being closer to him helped somehow. The tremors running through her body subsided. She pressed her face into the hollow of his shoulder. Soap, cologne, leather and the faint aroma of hot dogs—a nice smell, ordinary and comforting. The steady beat of his heart lulled her fears. His arms were hard and warm. He ran a hand over her hair and she felt his callous palm catch on the strands. He was wonderfully sturdy when nothing else was, and she dreaded the moment when he would move away from her.
    â€œYou okay?”
    She found the strength to nod. He gave her back a pat and left her again, disappearing into the shadows. Sudden light blinded her. She blinked and tried to focus. With detached curiosity, she watched him move about the hall, running his hands along the door frames. When she realized he was searching for hidden microphones, she began to help, sliding her fingertips under the edge of the table, behind the painting of the Puget Sound, through the dried flowers. They found nothing, but that still didn’t mean there weren’t bugs in a nearby room.
    â€œI really appreciate your staying over,” she said, praying she didn’t sound too stiff and formal. “Good friends make times like this bearable. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
    She saw a gleam of approval flicker in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”
    They walked the length of the entry into the kitchen, which adjoined a breakfast nook to the left, a formal dining room to the right. Mac hit the light switch as they passed through the doorway. Mallory turned to stare at the rose-and-cream tiles on the counters, at the oak cupboards and trim. Day before yesterday, she had made breakfast in here. Em had stood chattering at her elbow. Now it seemed like a lifetime ago.
    Mac motioned toward a chair in the breakfast nook. Then, shrugging out of his jacket, he draped it across the bar. He took quick stock of his surroundings and began to check the kitchen for hidden listening devices. Taking her cue from him, Mallory ignored his signal to sit down and searched the two adjoining rooms. This
was
her house, after all. She would notice if anything was out of place when he might not.
    When she returned to the kitchen, Mac was just stepping through the hall doorway. She guessed that he had been checking the remainder of the first floor. It had been a long while since either of them had spoken. Afraid that the silence might strike an eavesdropper as odd, she said, “It’s amazing how much better I feel knowing you’re staying over for the