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Then a chilling thought took hold.
Why on earth would he bring her all the way out here?
3
The sound of the driver-side door opening startled Loren so badly she jumped.
“You okay?” Officer McGoven asked. He already stood before her, his expression blank.
“Y-Yes,” she croaked, unhooking her seatbelt.
“Come inside. You can get cleaned up, and then I’ll drive you to school.” He headed up the pathway leading toward the house. Helpless, Loren found herself scrambling out of the squad car after him.
“Y-You live here?” she asked in a small voice.
In this house, resting in the center of the old Baker farm—herparadise. She spent so much time in the barn just a few paces away, that it never occurred to her someone might own the property. Not just anyone, but an officer of the law. At least, now she knew why her father had always forbidden her from this place.
A creaking sound jarred Loren back to awareness. Officer McGoven had climbed the front steps of the house and eyed her from the porch while holding open a battered screen door.
“Come on.”
She hesitated, wrestling with the building panic within her. The fact that he livedhereof all places was an even bigger reason to avoid him. The smart thing to do would be to run and take her chances getting to school on foot.
Nothing was worth angering her father again—not with her new shoes on the line.
She even took a step toward the woods before the logical part of her brain kicked in. Sure, she could leave, but thenwhat? Spend the rest of her life avoiding the police officer who just so happened to live in her backyard?
After all, he still had her backpack.
Left with no choice, she mounted the steps leading to a large wraparound porch that encircled the house on three sides. Genuine awe diminished some of her fear. She had always admired the sturdy, old-fashioned home. On her visits, she made sure to catch a glimpse of it from the barn at least once. It was the polar opposite of her father’s dreary brown ranch-style house.
Up close, the old estate was far more impressive despite the peeling white paint and vines creeping as high as the upper stories. Would the interior look as decrepit and wild? Before the unease could steal her nerve, she gripped the handle of the front door and peered inside.
The second she glimpsed the foyer of the house, her guard dropped further. She had envisioned some plain furniture. Maybe a television and a beer-stained recliner, like the one her father owned.
Not a wide, open floor plan decorated in alternating shades of brown and emerald green. Both hues evoked the earthy, secluded feelings of the forest, and Loren could almost taste the scent of pine. Intrigued, she ventured deeper inside and found Officer McGovern in an open kitchen, rummaging through cupboards.
Past him was a spacious den, with a bookshelf along the far wall, stocked with countless leather volumes. The walls were a soothing shade of gray, and the wood floors gleamed beneath a fresh coating of wax. Ironically, there wasn’t a TV in sight, though one could probably entertain themselves by gazing out at the view, showcased by a large bay window.
It was breathtaking. Jealously, she imagined McGoven sitting here with a cup of tea, gazing out fondly over the west fields, and the stream…
And the barn.
Her cheeks seared at the sight of it, clearly visible from this very spot. No wonder he knew her name. He probably sat here every day, watching her trespass onto his property.
Which brought up a bigger question? How did she miss the police cruiser parked around back? Though, to be fair, the front of the house faced east, and she had always snuck up directly behind the barn.
Not that the excuse would exactly matter once she was on trial facing criminal charges.
“The bathroom is straight back, down the hall.” She flinched as Officer McGoven’s voice came from the doorway. His tone wasn’t angry, like someone gloating over her crimes against him might be. Merely impatient. “You don’t want to be late. I promised to get you to school before the bell rings.”
“O-Okay.”
Off the living room was a hallway leading to a small bathroom. Closing the door behind her, Loren faced the mirror, steeling herself against what she might find.
A wild-haired, she-devil? Or perhaps the freak Naomi accused her of being?
Instead, a ghost watched her with mournful hazel eyes. Only a vibrant smear of blood gave the pale creature any definition against the white walls. Her chin was bleeding. Ironically, the injury was the only eye-catching thing about her. Lifeless brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, streaked with mud. Her sweater hung on her frame, making her resemble a child playing dress-up in their father’s clothes.
