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Then…nothing.
Onion stopped barking, trotted acros
s the kitchen and took several long, deep sniffs at the bottom of the door. He jogged back to Claire, his tail wagging.
“Good boy, Onion. Good boy.”
She looked down at the shotgun in her white-knuckled hands. Unable to hold it any longer, she placed it on the fireplace’s brick hearth. Her blood rushed through her body so fast, she could swear she heard the ocean.
Claire slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. She ran her trembling fingers through her hair. The rain beat down nearly in time with her hammering heart, but the thunder and hail had passed.
A rapping at the bay window startled her. She jerked her head up. Jake stood on the other side of the pane, his dark, rain-soaked hair plastered to his head. “Are you okay?”
His words, muffled by the window, shot straight to her heart, calmed its beating. Unable to form any words, she pushed up off the floor and crossed to the door. She tugged it open and cool air stroked her cheeks. The breeze brushed the hair off her shoulders.
Jake folded her into his arms. His chin rested on her head, a warm drop of rainwater sliding down one side of her face, a baptism of sorts. She’d acknowledged her fear. Asked for help. Received it. Found safe harbor. Wanted more.
“It’s going to be okay.” Jake stroked her hair. “I’ve got you.”
And that’s what scared her more than the storm—or the killer. She teetered on the edge of falling for a man she knew nothing about. After Brett, she’d worked hard to block access to her heart. Jake shook down her barriers like an earthquake.
He’d be gone as soon as they trapped Kendall’s killer. She couldn’t take another heartbreak. It had taken so long to come back from the last one.
“Claire—”
A car horn interrupted him. She peeked around his arm and saw Beth’s Mini Cooper in the driveway.
“I have to go.” She stepped away. Confusion was clear in his eyes and it gut checked her. Claire stood on her tiptoes, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
She trudged across the muddy drive with Onion at her heels, her tears camouflaged by the rain. If it hurt this bad to walk away, what would staying have been like?
Part of her wished she’d been brave enough to find out.
Jake watched the tiny car drive away, Onion’s head sticking out the passenger window. His solar plexus ached as if he’d been sucker-punched by a bear. He double-checked the latch on the front door and started toward his SUV.
Something slapping against a solid surface caught his attention. On alert, he stopped in his tracks and listened. There it was again.
Every nerve attuned to any movement, he grabbed the Beretta from his ankle holster. He crept toward the kitchen side of the wraparound porch. Turning the corner, he saw a hotel do-not-disturb sign hung from the kitchen doorknob.
Taking his time to be thorough, he scanned the perimeter. Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, he squatted down by the door. Scratches marred the lock. He picked the lock and cautiously entered Claire’s kitchen. His search didn’t turn up anything new and he returned to the porch and the do-not-disturb sign.
As he had done when he’d found the gas can in Claire’s pantry, he used his cellphone camera to document the find. He e-mailed the latest photo to his Absolute Security account. Still alert, he got into his SUV and turned on his cellphone’s hands-free option.
“Call Sherry.”
It rang twice. “What’s up, hot stuff? You finally callin’ to ask me out on a date?”
“Oh honey, you know I would, but Carl would kill me if I took his blushing bride out on the town. You’d never be able to live with him afterward.”
“Hell, I can’t live with the man now. Do you know he brought home another stray dog today? We’re up to five. Good Lord in heaven, it’s a sin what I pay for dog food every week.”
The news didn’t surprise Jake. He’d grown up with Carl in the house next door and Sherry across the street. For as long as he’d known Carl, almost thirty years, he had been dragging home every pitiful animal he found.
“That’s what you get for marrying a vet.”
“True. So what’s got you calling me if it’s not candlelight dinners?”
“I need some help of the unofficial kind.”
