Chloe poured black coffee into three mugs. Anthony and the detective sat in the den----a square room at the back of the house paneled in cherry wood. Brass knobs glinted beneath the flames of a gas fireplace. The gas lines had been left untouched by the blast, and the fireplace threw out a lot of heat. Chloe, in fact, felt flushed and uncomfortable, though she suspected the reason was rooted in fear rather than the hissing gas flames.
Hands on his thighs, detective Grant sat broodingly in one of the black leather wing-baked chairs. He lifted one hand to receive the offered coffee mug, barely remembering to offer thanks, his focus being solely on talking to Anthony.
"There's some reason this happened," he pointed out again. He seemed to feel if he covered and recovered the same territory
