“But he saw me, Gray. And he knows I saw him. What if he’s now out to get me?”
“I wouldn’t worry.” Gray started walking toward the kitchen. “He’s long gone. He had to know we’d call the cops, and doe one hangs around waiting for the cops to show.”
“But what if he comes back?”
“You won’t be here. You’ll be home, tucked safely in bed.”
I followed him to the kitchen, glancing uneasily over my shoulder at the hole in the window. “Where are we going?”
“Here.” Gray leaned his body over the sink, then slowly withdrew the towels from his nose. He stood unmoving, head still slightly tilted upwards. “I’mb not bleeding any more, amb I?”
I looked at him carefully. “No, but you look like you’ve been in the war.” I grabbed one of the towels and wet a corner not covered with red. “Look here.”
Gray stood impatiently as I began the delicate job of swabbing his face and neck without hurting him further. After a minute of my tentative swipes, he reached for the cold water, turned it on full and threw handful after handful over himself, scrubbing his cheeks and neck after each wave. Then very gently he scrubbed beneath his nose.
He turned to me, dripping onto his bloody shirt. “How’s that?”
“Pretty good.” I reached up and wiped at a patch of red beside his nose. He grimaced, whether from pain because I hit a tender area or from reluctance to have me touch him, I couldn’t tell. He lifted an arm and dried one side of his face on a shirtsleeve. He repeated the operation with the other sleeve.
I eyed his shirt. The blood was turning rusty around the edges of the stains.
He looked down and shrugged. “Can’t do too much about that. I’ll just toss it.” He started toward the back door. “I won’t be long. I need to check the Ryders’ to make certain there was no damage done by our armed visitor. Don’t leave before I come back. I want to walk you to your car.” He looked back at me and grinned. “And don’t stand in front of any windows.”
I stared at him. Was that last line supposed to be funny? Because it wasn’t. “I thought you thought he left.”
“I do. You don’t need to worry. You’ll be fine.”
“You can’t know that.”
He nodded agreeably. “You’re right. I can’t. Let’s say you’ll probably be fine.”
That settled it. “I’m coming with you.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“It isn’t safe for you to be alone either.” I tried to sound as if I was selfless, full of concern about him. I didn’t want to admit out loud that I was reluctant—admit it, kid, you’re downright scared—to be in the house by myself.
“Don’t want to stay here alone, eh?” His smile was only slightly teasing, very understanding.
I felt my cheeks flush. Sometimes intelligent men were a burden.
We struck off across the newly sodded backyard, around the back fence and into the Ryders’ backyard, me practically skipping to keep up with Gray’s long stride.
I stared at the unfinished house wrapped in Tyvec. The holes where the windows would go stared back at me like black, empty eyes in the gathering dusk and gave me the creeps. I looked instead at the scale of the house.
“Why do people buy places this big?” I thought of the small, two-bedroom apartment I’d lived in before I moved in with Lucy and Meaghan. The whole thing would fit into the great room of the model, and this house didn’t look any smaller.
Gray shrugged. “Americans like big.”
“Even if they can’t afford to furnish half the rooms? Even if they can’t go on a vacation for years because they’re house-poor, or put money aside for their kids’ braces and educations because they have to pay that astronomical mortgage every month? Even if they both have to work to stay afloat financially, leaving the kids to raise themselves?”
I blinked. Where had all that come from?
“Easy there, Anna,” Gray said mildly. “I just build ’em. The Realtors and the buyers handle the money issues.” He started around the side of the house.
I hurried after him, unwilling to get too far from his comforting presence. It was a good thing I had no aspirations of being Nancy Drew or even Stephanie Plum, let alone Kinsey Milhone or Sidney on Alias. I obviously didn’t have the constitution for dealing with bad guys with guns. Dealing with rebellious schoolkids was more than tough enough for me. “Where are you going?”
“I want to walk around the house to make certain everything outside is okay before I check inside.”
“Shouldn’t we just wait for the police?” I glanced over my shoulder as I followed him into the front yard. “What if we mess up footprints or something?”
He stopped and looked down at the parched dingy orange subsoil studded helter-skelter with stones and pebbles of all sizes. Then he looked at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I acknowledged. “Too hard for prints.” I glanced over my shoulder again.
“He’s gone, Anna. He was just a penny-ante thief looking for whatever he could get his hands on, maybe even the guy who’s been robbing the site.”
“Wearing gloves and a stocking mask? Shooting at innocent people? I don’t think so.” I studied him. “And neither do you.”
He smiled slightly as we rounded the last corner and found ourselves in the backyard once again. Gray went to the backdoor opening. Ignoring the lack of steps, he pulled himself up and into the house.
“Don’t you dare leave me out here alone.” I reached to pull myself up, but he turned and grasped my hand. He lifted me effortlessly.
“It’s dark in here.” I’m very good at stating the obvious.
“Darker,” he corrected. “Let your eyes adjust.”
Dusk sent its silver light through the many window openings, and I had to admit Gray was right. It wasn’t as dark as I’d first thought. Soon I could make out the rooms, the studs dividing them awaiting the electricians and plumbers before the insulation and drywall went up.
We looked carefully around the kitchen, the great room, the den, the bath, the pantry, the dining room and the living room. Aside from a couple of sawhorses, an aluminum extension ladder lying on the kitchen floor, several plastic-protected windows stacked in each room, a litter of nails and sawdust, and a ladder leading to the basement, the place was empty. The eerie silence pulled at me, making me shiver in spite of the fact that the temperature was still well above eighty.
I cocked my head as I heard a soft plop, plop, like the dripping of a faucet with a bad gasket. “Is the plumbing finished upstairs?” I pointed to the black opening to the second floor.
Gray tilted his head and listened. “That’s strange. It’s not even begun. I’m going to check the
