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what, you throw it all back on the bed the next day?”
    “Hardly.” Air pumped out of Allie’s lungs in a deep sigh. He needn’t know it took almost fifteen minutes to remake her bed. The detective no doubt left his covers in a heap every morning and dove back under them at night.
    “Is this the only place to sit?” Sutter indicated a small, low-backed chair skirted in chintz, which matched the dressing table skirt and pillow shams. After a cursory glance at the antique French dresser and marble-topped nightstand, he said, “Let’s see what else you got up here.”
    A few steps brought him back to the hall and into the center room. Allie had set it up as a combination living room/den with her TV, computer and stereo equipment. A Mozart concerto issued from a pair of speakers set in two of the room’s corners. Whether Mozart or Vivaldi or any of her other favorite composers, she worked best with the soft sound of background music wafting downstairs.
    “Good, there’s something to sit on.” He patted the upper edge of the forest green linen-covered arm chair. It matched the two-seated sofa. “I’ll bring this into the bedroom.”
    He didn’t wait for permission, just hefted the chair and carried it off. It took less than no effort for him to haul the chair away. His jacket probably covered Hulk Hogan-sized muscles. The thought made Allie feel a little less vulnerable, considering an extremely dangerous man might be only days or hours from her doorstep. She shivered at the idea of him being wily enough to elude a three-state dragnet.
    Sutter’s last stop was the kitchen situated at the rear. Maple table, four matching chairs and appliances occupied most of the space. The scent of the expensive mint-flavored tea Allie had splurged on still hung in the air, along with a whiff of the cinnamon and raison toast she’d consumed earlier. He gave the room a quick onceover.
    “You buy this place yourself?”
    Answering questions related to the situation that put him inside her house was one consideration. Providing personal information quite another. However, instead of voicing her objection, which would only add to an already negative vibe, she muttered, “No, I inherited the property.”
    The year Allie graduated from design school her grandmother had passed away. She’d left Allie the house. Allie’s parents had divorced when she was eight, after which she and her mother had moved in with Gram. Unused to structure, Allie had soon adapted to the stability the move provided, especially after the haphazard existence of those early years with her parents in Berkeley.
    Her grandmother, an expert seamstress, had sold women’s clothing at the old Emporium Department Store downtown. She’d given Allie her first sewing lesson. Hooked at an early age, Allie had set her heart on a career in fashion. With so many pleasant reminders in the house, her thoughts of Gram were frequent and always bittersweet. It was one reason she’d never sold the house and relocated to a live/work loft. Although she missed her grandmother, she thanked God Gram wasn’t around to be drawn into this crisis.
    Sutter’s eyes widened. “Inherited. Nice.” He moved to the windows and gazed down into the garden. “No one’s climbing up here without a grappling hook or a beanstalk.”
    A spontaneous laugh built in Allie’s throat. She swallowed it before it escaped. Her every instinct told her not to let her guard down with him.
    Sutter returned to the hallway.
    “How much time do you spend upstairs?”
    “Enough. Why?”
    “This is where I’ll occupy most of my time. We can keep each other company. Could be a long wait.” He stared straight into her eyes. He must have guessed his being so close made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was his way of punishing her for outing him on his stakeout duty. Or maybe he was always this confrontational. She pitied his wife or significant other. Whomever.
    “Okay, let’s talk about Barnett.”
    The name