Free Switchback by Catherine Anderson Page B

night.” No sooner had the words passed her lips than Mallory realized she sincerely meant them. Having Mac there
was
a comfort. “With Keith in the hospital and my folks gone on vacation, I would have been alone.”
    â€œMaybe you can be there for me sometime,” he replied. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
    He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling to let her know he was going upstairs. She followed him up, searching the rooms off one hall while he checked the ones off the other.
    Nothing.
As Mallory slipped silently from Keith’s bedroom into his upstairs study, a deluge of memories swept through her mind, pictures of Keith and Emily together, laughing, playing, filling the rooms with sounds of happiness.
    Now, with nothing but silence around her, Mallory could appreciate how truly blessed she had been. Had the refrigerator always hummed so loudly? She could hear it, even from up here. Had the floors always creaked like this when someone was walking? The horrible sense of emptiness inside the house made her feeling of loss all the more acute. She might never again see Keith sweep his granddaughter into his arms, never hear Em’s carefree giggles or see her eyes light up with excitement at the sound of her grandfather’s voice when he came in at night. The list of losses seemed endless.
    When they had finished searching the second floor, Mac met her on the landing. Together, they returned to the kitchen. Grabbing a notepad and pen off the bar, he wrote, “Nothing that I could find. As far as I could tell, the house hasn’t been searched, either.”
    Mallory lifted her hands to let him know that she hadn’t found anything, either. Then she took the pen from him and wrote, “Maybe they wanted my keys for something else? To open something, perhaps?”
    He scanned her response, his frown deepening. Shrugging one shoulder, he motioned for her to sit at the table. He seemed more relaxed as he opened the refrigerator. She sat down and watched him, too heartsick to care what he was doing or why. She even forgot to worry about his gun, despite her fears. Em’s voice rang in her ears.
Mommy, will you cut my toast into hearts? With jam on top?
    Mac’s voice sliced through Mallory’s memories like a knife through tinfoil. “How do eggs sound? Eggs and toast.”
    â€œI’m not hungry.” She closed her eyes and tried to sort the voices in her head, Em’s, Mac’s, her own. “A drink, maybe.”
    â€œJust because you don’t feel hungry doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat. My cooking may not be up to your usual standards, but it’ll fill your hollow spots.” He located a skillet and placed it on the stove. Flashing her an encouraging smile, he began taking food from the refrigerator. “You’ll be surprised how much better you feel once you’ve eaten. Take it from me. When things like this happen, you make it through one minute at a time. When you can’t do anything else, you fuel up for the next round and rest.”
    â€œI—I really don’t feel like eating.”
    â€œI want you to try, sweetheart.”
    Mallory gazed at his broad back, at the crisscrossed leather strap of his shoulder holster. The endearment unnerved her for a moment. Then she decided he must still think it was necessary to keep up the pretense that they were lovers. She watched him move around her kitchen with practiced ease. Clearly he was a man with many talents, as adept at acting and cooking as he was at picking locks and tending scraped legs. He located the silverware drawer and pulled out a fork to whip the eggs he had cracked into a bowl. Seconds later, she heard a loud sizzling sound, followed by the methodical scraping of the spatula against the cast-iron pan.
    The cooking smells reached her and turned her stomach. She fastened her gaze on the tabletop. In the reflecting light, she could see smudges on the