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She buried her face in his neck and clung to him. “How did you get here so fast? Oh, I’m so glad you did.”
“I was on the back patio.” Not that he was ready to share, but he’d been praying for guidance about her. “I heard you scream.”
“Thank God.”
Grimly, Gabe agreed. Maybe God had kept him outside for this very purpose. Brooke needed him. The protector in him rose both furious and determined. Gently, he tried to calm her down. He talked about the tickets to the Rockies and shared his idea of buying some sporting equipment for the church. “With your input, of course.”
She responded thinly, saying little, but gradually the violent shudders eased.
By the time the sheriff arrived and pulled the squad car into the driveway without use of flashing lights or siren, Brooke was mocking herself for being frightened.
He was glad she was feeling better, but a hooded man on the porch was not a laughing matter.
He met Sheriff Diggers at the door and apprised him of the incident. Brooke filled in the details.
The older man removed his cap and scratched his head. “Lot of nonsense going on around here lately. Ever since you decided to reopen the Lucky Lady.”
Gabe looked sharply at the lawman. “You think this has something to do with me?”
“Can’t say. Not yet anyway.” He replaced the cap. “You folks sit tight while I have a look around outside.”
“I’m going with you.”
The sheriff’s keen gaze took his measure. “Got a flashlight?”
Gabe turned to Brooke, eyebrows raised in question. She nodded. “In the kitchen. I’ll get it. I’m going, too.”
He didn’t argue. After what she’d experienced, the need for human companionship would be strong. He took her hand, felt the soft skin and delicate bones and got mad all over again. Brooke didn’t deserve this kind of hassle. He’d be madder still if the incident had anything to do with him.
“I’m going on,” Diggers said. “Come when you want. Be careful. I don’t figure anyone’s still around but we have to consider he might be.”
The sheriff’s heavy boot steps clomped out the door. Gabe and Brooke went for the flashlight. By the time they found a battery with enough juice to run the light, Sheriff Digger’s voice hollered at them.
“You folks come on out here. I want to show you something.”
“This will do.” Gabe flipped on the weak light and led the way outside. “Where are you?”
Sheriff Diggers answered, “Round on the east side of the house. Watch your step. There’s some junk over here. Blame near broke my neck on some kind of planter.”
Beside him, Brooke stifled a nervous giggle. “Sorry.”
“Your caller left you a message. Don’t make sense to me. Might to you.”
Holding tight to Brooke’s hand, Gabe followed the faint glow of flashlight to where the sheriff waited, wreathed in shadows.
“A message? What kind of message?” Brooke asked.
The lawman shone his light on the side of the house. Bright red paint oozed down the white siding. One single word gleamed like fresh blood: Lucy.
Brooke sucked in an anguished gasped. Slapping a hand to her mouth, she whirled and ran.
“You want to tell me what this is all about?”
Gabe’s face, grim with fatigue and stress, loomed over her. He’d paced the hardwood flooring of her living room for the past five minutes, one hand to his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck, stopping periodically to fire off a question.
Brooke had no intention of dragging up her worst memory for anyone, especially Gabe. The sudden appearance of her sister’s name had shaken her more than the hooded man. To her relief, Sheriff Diggers didn’t seem to remember a child’s death that had occurred years ago. “The sheriff will talk to Vincent. I’m sure he’s responsible. He or his sister.”
After snapping photos and asking a few questions, Sheriff Diggers had driven away. Brooke wasn’t at all certain he’d say a thing to Vincent considering he and Pauley Clayton, Vincent’s dad, played dominoes together. With his retirement less than a month away, the sheriff had his own reasons for not upsetting old friends.
