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it with makeup. Thanks.” She checked the water temperature, wet his hair, then pumped the shampoo bottle and filled her palm.
    “How’s JJ? Is he missing home?”
    “He’s adjusting. It’s as good as can be expected.” Hannah lathered his head, running her fingers through his short thick hair. For the first time, her attention drew to the silver patches streaking his dark hair. His youthful face belied the gray. She plied her fingertips into his scalp, finding the closeness distracting while trying to control the question that kept nagging at her. Lifting her sudsy hands, she paused. “I don’t really understand why you’re so concerned about us.”
    Andrew’s eyes flew open as if startled by her query. He appeared to gain composure, and deep dimples flickered at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve asked myself the same question.”
    The look on his face made Hannah grin back, yet she was still uncertain about his motivation. His spicy scent mingled with the fragrance of the shampoo.
    After a lengthy silence, Andrew turned his head toward her, and his expression changed as if something pressed on his mind, but he remained quiet. She rinsed, then shampooed again, then added conditioner with the final rinse before having him sit up.
    Once he’d straightened, he looked her in the eyes. “What about the note? Did you call the police?”
    His question startled her. “Yes.”
    “Has your husband written you notes like this before?”
    Hannah’s back stiffened. “He’s my ex -husband. Itold you.” She grabbed a towel and dropped it over his hair. “And that question is rather personal.”
    “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand how any man can treat a woman so—”
    Hannah tousled his hair with the towel to dry it with more vengeance than she meant, then pulled the towel from his head. “The shelter’s helping me handle things. I’m grateful for all you’ve done, and I appreciate your concern, but—” She tilted her head toward Macy and a customer. “I haven’t spoken to my boss yet.”
    “I understand.” He rose from the chair and slipped a tip into her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
    Hannah struggled with the uncomfortable situation. Macy called him to her station, giving Hannah a reprieve. She watched him be seated, then went back to her work.
    Andrew cringed as he settled into the chair. Why had he been so blatant? He could have said hello and let it go at that. Anything but what he’d done. He couldn’t blame her for her irritation. She didn’t know him or his intentions any better than she knew the TV anchorman delivering the news or the mailman bringing the mail. For that matter, he didn’t know his intentions, either.
    Andrew answered the stylist’s question about the type of cut he wanted and tried to avoid staring at Hannah. Since Carla had mentioned drugs, he’d been more than on edge. People hooked on drugs changed, and another thing Carla had told him lingered in his mind. She’d said Hannah had left the apartment after Jack had fallen asleep. He’d tried to make sense out of the statement, but he’d left it alone. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. He figured a woman should feel safe in her home, but Hannah couldn’t with a man like Jack.
    Home. The word unsettled him at times. In Detroit, he’d met many young women who’d gotten involved with shady men who’d used them for their own purpose—from drugs to prostitution. They’d been young and innocent, leaving home to make their way in the world as he had done, but they didn’t have the financial backing he’d had, and they had been too proud to return to their families. He could relate to that in a heartbeat.
    He’d never had to cheat or use people, but Andrew had found himself eating one meal a day and trying to shine his worn shoes while he hoped to make at least one business deal that would succeed. Why hadn’t he realized he was intelligent but just didn’t have the same vision for