Lord.
The couple approached Chloe. Mary leaned against her husband, trying to wake up.
“What do we do now?” Paul asked, his arm around his wife.
“Sit down there—” Chloe gestured toward an area where their backs would be against the wall “—and if I tell you to move, do so immediately. Don’t be alarmed. I’m turning off the hallway light so I can check outside and see what’s happening.”
She inspected the ground where she’d seen the intruder on the side of the house. Nothing. Where was T.J.? The prowler? If he ran from T.J., he would go for the backyard most likely. She flipped the hallway light on again, then entered a bedroom overlooking the rear.
The sight of a tall, thin man pouncing on a figure on the ground stiffened her. She leaned closer to see what was going on by the fence, the security lights not quite reaching the place where two men wrestled, rolling away from her view. The urge to go out and help was overpowering, but her job was to stay with the Zimmermans.
One last time, she searched the darkness at the back of the yard. The night shadowed the pair enough she couldn’t tell what was going on. T.J. had had some of the best training in the world, but she hated the helplessness she felt. She shook it off and hurried toward the hallway. She needed to get Mary and Paul into the closet under the staircase—no windows and only one way in. That way she would be able to know if someone breached the lower level right away and defend them better until the police arrived.
* * *
T.J. threw a punch that connected with the intruder’s jaw. The man returned it with a right uppercut, sending T.J. staggering back against the fence. The guy rushed in, pinning T.J. then pounding his fists into his stomach and torso. One. Two. Three jabs. The breath left his lungs. Lightheaded, he blocked the next assault and brought his knee up into his assailant. The man dropped to the ground, groaning. T.J. hammered him until the prowler went still.
T.J. wanted this to end. Still feeling dazed, he stumbled toward the place where his gun lay. An iron grip on his left leg, then a sharp jerk, sent him down. He shook off the assailant’s hand and scrambled away, then struggled to his feet and faced his opponent. The man’s features were obscured by the dark. The man drew himself up tall, his arms held out from his body as he sidled to the right. T.J. mimicked his moves, taking a reprieve in order to inhale deep, fortifying breaths.
“The police are on the way. I’m not letting you leave.” T.J. made a full circle. The sound of the intruder’s raspy breathing wafted to him. “You aren’t getting away. You might as well make it easy for yourself and give up.”
The prowler cackled. “I haven’t done anything wrong. You attacked me. I welcome the police.”
“You’re trespassing on private property.”
“You aren’t going to stop me from getting my story.”
Maybe the guy had hit T.J. one time too many. “Story?”
“Yes, I work for the Texas Inquirer News.”
“That’s great. You can tell the police.” In the distance a siren blared, a welcome sound. T.J. angled closer to his Glock, slicing a glance toward it.
In that split second, the man rushed T.J., taking him to the ground and rolling toward the gun. He’d never lost his gun, and he wouldn’t let this be the first time.
The prowler kept reaching toward T.J.’s Glock. Inches from it, T.J. knocked the lanky guy’s arm away, lurched across the short space and latched on to his weapon. With all his strength, he shoved the man away from him and swung the gun around, aiming it at the intruder’s chest.
“Don’t move.” T.J. scooted back, then rose, keeping his Glock trained on the prone man.
The siren stopped, not far from the house. In spite of the cold air, sweat drenched T.J. The sound of the gate opening reverberated through the air, quickly followed by someone shouting, “Police!”
The prowler pushed to his feet, the security light illuminating the fury on his thin face. “Help. This man is going to kill me.”
T.J. suppressed the urge to laugh, because until the police could straighten this out, he would be suspected, too.
“Drop the gun,” the first of the two officers said, his own weapon on T.J.
T.J. followed his order and then raised his hands. “I’m T. J. Davenport. This man is trespassing.”
* * *
With the patrol cars’ lights flashing in the driveway, Chloe stood on the porch with Detective Matthews as two officers led T.J. and the intruder from the backyard. Both of them had their hands cuffed behind them. She might be mad at T.J. for cutting her off and rushing outside after the prowler, but the sight of his cuts, his rumpled clothing and the bits of dead grass in his hair and on his sweatshirt emphasized she’d fared better than he had. She could take care of herself in most situations, but after one look at the size of the intruder, she had to admit in this case she might not have been able to. She gave a wry smile. Maybe she did have limitations.
But with the Lord all things are possible. You kept us safe. Thank You.
Rob stepped forward, waving his hand toward T.J. “He’s the good guy. You can release him.”
“Oh, please keep them on him for a few more minutes,” Chloe whispered behind Rob.
Her friend chuckled. “Behave, Chloe.”
The police officer took the handcuffs off T.J. “What do you want us to do with the other one?”
“I want to talk to him, then you can take him to the station,” Rob said as he descended the steps.
Rubbing his wrists, T.J. plodded up the stairs to the top of the porch, where Chloe stood. “Where are Mary and Paul?”
“In the living room with an officer. They’re safe.”
“Good, because I want to be in on this interrogation.” T.J. backed down several steps but glanced over his shoulder. “And I heard the crack about keeping the handcuffs on me.”
Serves him right for playing the macho male. She presented an innocent expression. “You okay? You should be checked out by a doctor.”
He turned toward Rob and the intruder. “I’m fine. It’s happened before. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not. You know how to take care of yourself,” Chloe fired back, not wanting him to think she had been worried about him. But I was. Yeah, and that’s the problem. My focus needs to be on Mary and Paul, not T.J.
Though she tried not to, Chloe slanted a look toward T.J., his strong jaw set in a hard line, his usually neat and professional medium-length black hair messy from wrestling with an assailant. A vision of her running her hand through that hair was quickly replaced with another memory of the touch of his day-old beard beneath her fingers as she framed his face and leaned in to kiss...
Chloe shook the thoughts from her mind. That was the past. T.J. had made it clear that he had no room for a wife in his life, and then he’d flown to Washington to guard the vice president. She made a mistake only once—never
