if we’re caught.”
“Then we won’t be caught. Did you bring your camera?”
Gracie grabbed her trusty Polaroid from under her arm and held it out. Light from the streetlamp glinted off the narrow lens.
“Get ready,” Alexis said. “The library window is around the corner. You should be able to get a really good picture from there.”
“Why aren’t you getting the picture?” Gracie asked as dread made her legs feel as heavy as bronze.
“Because I’m going to stay here and see if any floozy bitch runs out the back way.”
“If Zeke were having an affair, wouldn’t he just go to a motel?” Gracie asked.
“He can’t. I pay the bills. Besides, when we were dating, he let some guy use his apartment for a lunchtime rendezvous. I’m telling you, Riley’s doing the same for Zeke. Who holds campaign meetings until two in the morning?”
It sounded logical in a twisted psychotic way, Gracie thought as she inched toward the side of the house. Especially if one ignored the reality of sneaking onto private property to snap pictures through an open window.
“We don’t even know if they’re in the library,” Gracie said in a low voice.
“Zeke says they always meet there. If he’s really at a campaign meeting, that’s where it should take place.”
“Can’t I just look through the window and tell you what I see?” Gracie asked.
“I want proof.”
What Gracie wanted was to be far, far from here. But she recognized Alexis’s stubborn expression and her own guilt. Even if she wanted to turn her back on her sister, she couldn’t. Better to simply take the pictures and get out than stay crouched and arguing.
“Get ready,” Gracie said as she once again moved toward the house.
The bushes under the building were thicker than they first appeared. They scratched her bare arms and tugged at her khakis. Worse, the library window was higher than her, which meant she had to hold the camera above her head, point down into the room and take a picture without being sure what, or who, was in there.
It would just be her luck to focus the camera just as someone looked out the window.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered as she stretched up on tiptoes and pushed the red button.
Hot, bright light exploded in the night. Gracie instantly dropped to her knees as she swore under her breath. The flash! How could she have forgotten about the flash?
“Because I use the camera to take pictures of wedding cakes, not to spy on people,” she muttered as she scrambled back to her feet and started running toward the car.
There was no sign of Alexis, nor did Gracie know if she’d actually gotten a picture of anything. Not that it mattered. She just wanted to get out of here before—
“Freeze!”
As the forceful command was accompanied by something hard and very gunlike being jabbed between her shoulder blades, Gracie did as instructed. She froze.
“What the hell are you up to? If you’re a thief, you’re a piss-poor one. Or do you always announce yourself with a flashbulb?”
“Not if I can help it,” Gracie said as she sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I can explain.”
As she spoke, she turned, and as she turned she saw the man holding the shotgun and he saw her.
Both of them jumped back. While Gracie wished the ground would open up and swallow her, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Sweet Jesus,” Riley Whitefield breathed. “Gracie Landon, is that you?”
AS THE GROUND-SWALLOWING was taking too long, Gracie began to wish for a large, people-eating dinosaur to rise from the grave and devour her whole. Or aliens. She would accept aliens swooping her up into their visiting craft if she didn’t have to stand here and stare at Riley’s gorgeous face. She would even endure the medical experiments without complaining.
She hadn’t seen him since the summer she’d turned fourteen. He’d been all of eighteen, caught in that half-boy, half-man stage that was both appealing and awkward. He’d grown up, filled out and gotten sexier and more dangerous looking. But the disbelief in his eyes made her want to die right there on the spot.
“I can explain,” she said, then wondered if she really could. Were there any words that would convince him she wasn’t still crazed stalker girl recently released from a mental institution?
“Gracie Landon?” he repeated.
She noticed he’d lowered the shotgun so it wasn’t pointing directly at her. That was something.
“This isn’t what you think,” she said and took a step back. Maybe it would be better for both of them if she just disappeared into the night. And where was her sister? How just like Alexis to fade away when the going got tough. She’d always let Gracie take the fall for things.
“You weren’t lurking outside my house, taking pictures?” Riley asked.
“Okay, yes, I was doing that, but it wasn’t about you. Not technically.”
His eyes were the color of stormy midnight. At least that’s how she’d described them when she was a teenager. She’d written really bad haiku about his eyes and his mouth. She’d imagined how he would kiss her when he finally came to his senses and realized they belonged together. She’d even written poems to his various girlfriends—after he’d dumped them—commiserating with their pain.
Yes, my dear Jenny, I alone can understand, the magic of the moment, when he takes your hand.
Gracie placed her palm on her stomach where she could feel the acid churning. Most days she couldn’t remember where she’d left her car keys, but she could recall lines of horrible poetry written a lifetime ago?
“There’s something seriously wrong with me,” she muttered.
“I’ll second that,” Riley said.
She narrowed her gaze. “You’re not helping the situation. You know that? I know this looks bad, but here’s a news flash. I’m not here for you. My brother-in-law, Zeke, is supposed to be helping you with your campaign for mayor tonight. That’s what this is all about.” She waved the camera in his face.
He frowned. “You have a thing for your brother-in-law?”
“What?” she yelped. “No. Yuck. Of course not. My sister, Alexis, asked me to—” She pressed her lips together and turned away and started for the car—assuming Alexis hadn’t driven off in it after slinking away. “Just forget it.”
“Not so fast,” Riley said as he grabbed her arm.
