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Granny Marie’s grandmother had gotten that door shipped all the way from Kansas City. Four generations of Layton women had basked in the jewel-colored light streaming from it. Claire use to play Barbies in its colorful shadow. A few years later, she’d had her first kiss sandwiched between the door and Bobby Carr’s lean, teenage body. When she came home with her heart shattered by Brett, seeing that door had made everything better somehow.
Firebombing her Jeep was one thing. Destroying Granny Marie’s stained-glass door was something else.
A shadow fell across her path. Jake pried the broom handle from her grasp and held out his cellphone.
“Hank wants to talk to you.”
She backed away as if he’d pointed a lit firecracker right at her. Despite the phone being a foot away, Hank’s cursing came through loud and clear on the phone’s tiny speaker. She swiped it out of Jake’s hand and held it away from her ear.
“Stop cussing at me, Hank, or I’ll hang this phone right up.”
Silence greeted her declaration. It lasted so long she feared he’d hung up on her. “Hello?”
“Fine.” He snorted. “You have to get out of that house now.”
“No.”
“No?”
She yanked the phone away from her ear. People in the next county must have heard Hank’s booming rant that followed. Jake cocked his head to the side. She shrugged her shoulders.
“Hank,” she hollered into the phone. “He’s not here. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
“Look, I won’t let this nutcase turn my life upside down anymore. Come out and take a report if you have to, but I’m staying put.” She fumbled for the end-call button on the unfamiliar phone.
Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to twenty. Then she counted to forty. By the time she’d gotten to sixty, she felt better. She lowered her body down to the top step next to Jake and handed him his phone.
Gazing out at the neighboring field, she watched the corn’s yellow husks dancing in the wind. A year ago, she’d returned home heartbroken with her self-confidence obliterated. Granny Marie, already ailing, fixed up Claire’s old bedroom and nagged her until she finally ate. She’d brought Claire back to the land of the living right before Granny Marie left it. On her deathbed, Granny Marie made her promise to keep the family home.
She’d done a hell of a job.
“You know he’s only trying to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Onion wriggled in under her arm, squeezing his big body onto her small lap. She stroked the stressed-out dog’s head and enjoyed the silky smooth fur against her fingers.
The killer wanted that phone and flash drive. He thought she had them. She wished like hell she did. She’d give him the damn things in a heartbeat, just so he’d go away. Groaning, she laid her head on Onion and inhaled his scent of dirt and dog sweat.
“You know, you really might want to consider a maid if you’re too busy to pick up after yourself.”
Jake’s face gave nothing away. No smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. His lips never twitched upward. He didn’t even look at her.
It took a second for the deadpan humor of the statement to filter through to her. When it did, she laughed. Loudly. The sound roared out of her body with such gusto, it released the pent-up anger and anxiety formerly settled like concrete in her stomach.
“Thanks. I needed a laugh.” Without thinking, she gave his shoulders a quick squeeze. She meant it to be a friendly gesture, but when they touched, something inside her clicked into place.
“Yeah, I picked up on that, being a crack investigator and all.” He patted her leg, and left his hand resting on her thigh.
His calloused thumb sent tingles shooting through her body.
His hand captured her attention. Long, lean fingers. Close-clipped nails, except for the thumb. That nail looked as if it were a regular afternoon snack. His tan palm covered the width of her leg. Warmth surged through her limb to the rest of her body.
“You sure do make it hard not to like you.”
His finger traced tight circles on her thigh. “Well, they say everybody has a talent.”
