“They’re small and nonflammable,” Lance said. His mother had needed to keep some of her treasures.

“Lance, is that you? I’m in the office.” His mom’s voice drifted from the bedroom wing of the house.

A doorway opened into the kitchen, while a short hallway led to the three bedrooms.

Morgan detoured to the kitchen with the pie while Lance headed for the hall and the extra bedroom that had been converted into an office when his mother had started working from home.

His mom sat behind the desk, hunched over a keyboard. On one side of her L-shaped desk, a computer was equipped with three monitors. A laptop was open on the second leg. A cat lounged beside the laptop. Another bathed itself in a patch of sun that streamed into the room and puddled on the floor behind the desk.

His mom smiled as he entered the room, leaned over her desk, and kissed her on the cheek.

On the outside, his mother looked ordinary. Her painfully slender frame, white hair she didn’t bother to color, and deep lines in her face aged her beyond her sixty years. The one highlight of her OCD was that she was routine dependent, and her therapist had designed daily hygiene rituals with her illness in mind. She was now incapable of sleeping past her seven a.m. alarm, skipping a shower, or not washing her clothes at exactly nine o’clock every morning. The end result was a seemingly put-together older woman who functioned with a precision that even drill sergeants would envy.

But the ever-present bright sheen of apprehension that clouded her pale blue eyes gave her away. No amount of medication or therapy would ever bring her back to the woman she’d once been.

In the blink of an eye, his mother’s expression shifted from resignation to fear. “Who is that in the hallway?”

Looking lawyerly—and gorgeous—in her navy-blue suit, white blouse, and heels, Morgan stepped into the doorway. She must have left the pie and her giant purse in the kitchen.

Lance gestured for her to come into the room. “Mom, this is Morgan Dane.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kruger.”

He braced himself for a panic attack as his mother studied Morgan for a full minute without speaking. In his mind, Lance was already fetching antianxiety meds from the kitchen when the most extraordinary thing happened.

His mother smiled.

Rising, she came out from behind the desk and extended a hand to Morgan. “Please, you must call me Jennifer.”

What the hell?

When was the last time Mom had willingly touched a stranger?

“Let me make you some coffee?” His mom led Morgan toward the kitchen. The pair of cats weaved precariously around their ankles.

Feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience, Lance followed. His mom gestured toward the round oak table that had graced the gray sheet vinyl since the house had been built. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than he, his mom, or Sharp had sat at it. Even the social worker who visited once a month usually set off an anxiety attack.

But his mom was at the counter making coffee as if she entertained on a daily basis. She pointed to a high cabinet. “Lance, get some plates down.”

“OK.” He did as she asked, his emotions bouncing between suspicion and guarded relief.

“Can I help?” Morgan asked.

His mother waved away Morgan’s offer. “No. No. You’re our guest.”

Lance spent the next twenty minutes in an utter state of confusion as they ate pie and drank coffee like normal people. His mother finished an entire slice, the most he’d seen her eat in one sitting in years, and she wore the first genuine smile he’d seen in a very long time.

Who was this woman, and what had she done with his mother?

“Mom, we need to ask you for a favor.” Lance collected their dirty plates and put them into the dishwasher. His mother would run the appliance at seven o’clock this evening, whether it was empty or full.

“What is it?” his mom asked.

“Morgan is a defense attorney. Sharp and I are assisting with her investigation. We’re shorthanded, and we could use some help running background checks.”

“You want me to help you?” She perked up even more.

“Yes,” he said.

“Of course I will.” She rose, a flustered hand going to her throat as she scurried back to her office.

Lance rushed after her. Was she going to freak out? What had he done? “I don’t want to give you any stress.”

But his mom slid behind her desk. Did she really just crack her knuckles over her keyboard? “Did you bring me a list?”

“Yes.” Lance froze.

Luckily, Morgan kept her wits. From behind him, she said, “I’ll get it.”

When his mom looked up at him, her eyes were wet. Lance had a moment of fear before he realized it was gratitude shining from his mom’s face.

Sharp had been right.

His mother was thrilled to be helping.

“So you’re OK with this?” Lance asked.

She nodded. “I’m so glad you asked.” Her gaze went around the office. “The fall term just began. There isn’t that much I can use to fill my work hours.” She focused on him. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than help you and Sharp. I know I’ve been a terrible burden to you both.”

“Never a burden.” Lance rounded the desk. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he bent and kissed her on the cheek.

She turned, smiled up at him, and whispered, “She’s lovely.”

The waggle of her eyebrows shocked the hell out of him, and he couldn’t stifle the laugh that burst out of his chest.

Another first, his mother showing a sense of humor.

“We work together.”

The gleam in her eye showed she didn’t believe him. “Sure.”

Morgan brought a file into the office and handed it over. His mother opened it, flipping through the pages.

“Are you going to be all right, then?” Lance asked.

“Yes. Yes. I’m going to work on these all afternoon.” His mom’s attention was riveted on the file.

“How long do you think it will take?” Morgan asked.

“Depends on what I find.” His mom flipped through a couple of pages. “I doubt I’ll be finished, but I’ll have something for you by Monday.”

“Then we’ll leave you to it.” Lance straightened. “I’ll call later. If you find anything spectacular before then, would you call me?”

“I will.” His mom lifted her gaze. “Will you bring Morgan back?”

“Maybe,” Lance answered. “She’s very busy with the case.”

Mom’s smile faltered.

“I’d be happy to come back,” Morgan said from the doorway.

His mother beamed. She tugged on Lance’s sleeve. “Bring more pie.”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On Sundays, Mom had group therapy. He’d need to do her grocery shopping and mow the lawn too.

Morgan waited patiently while he stopped in the kitchen to check Mom’s pill organizer and make sure she’d taken all her medication. In the living room, he picked up the boxes of shoes. The stack blocked his vision.

“Let me help.” Morgan grabbed the top box.

They went outside.

“That was a surprise.” He closed and locked the door behind them. “Normally she isn’t good with strangers.”

“Your mother is sweet.”

“She certainly likes you.” Lance suspected his mother had the wrong idea about his relationship with Morgan.

“I’m glad.”

Lance piled the shoes in the back of his Jeep. “This is the ritual. She does OK in the daytime, but at night she gets online and orders all sorts of other things. I take everything back the day after it arrives. I return what I can and donate the rest. She tries, but she just can’t help herself.”

“When you said she was a hoarder, I pictured a cluttered house.”

“It used to be a firetrap, but there was a breaking point when I graduated from college and came home. During the term, I’d come home every weekend, but those last weeks, I got tied up with finals and papers. I hadn’t been here for a month. I couldn’t even get into the house. She’d blocked all the exits except the back door. My absence had exacerbated her symptoms. She worries all the time. I can’t miss a day of visiting. When I was in the hospital, even though Sharp came every day to give her an update on my condition, I had to Skype with her each morning to prove I wasn’t dead.”