“Stay safe. I’m praying for you.”
He smiled, glad to know someone was putting in a good word with the man upstairs. Kyle prayed often, but sometimes God felt so very distant. Kyle had come to know the Lord at the Special Warfare Center in Coronado, California. There were days when his faith was the only thing that sustained him through the vigorous training and later combat. “You’re concerned about me? How sweet.”
He heard her exasperated sigh. “As I am for every member of the team.”
Kyle sobered. “I know. And I’m grateful.”
“Be careful.”
She’d shared her story with him after a harrowing assignment had left another team member in the hospital with a bullet wound. She’d lost someone close to her, someone she felt responsible for. Simone took everyone’s welfare very seriously. He appreciated that about her. “I will. You, too.”
“Thanks.”
Kyle hung up and stared at the house shrouded in darkness, his hinky alarm jangling. Just what were the Storms hiding? And was their secret the reason Brenda was in danger?
The house was quiet when he came back inside. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the slight creaking of the floorboards settling for the night kept the place from being completely silent. Kyle swept the downstairs, making sure all windows and doors were locked tight and the security alarm was set. He headed to the guest room on the main floor near the kitchen.
The room was done in muted tones of green and brown. More masculine than not, yet it wouldn’t necessarily be considered a man’s domain, not with the bits of lace on the cherry dresser, the painting of a field of flowers and a lazy creek on the wall and the ruffles on the accent pillows he’d tossed onto the wingback chair in the corner. Still, as digs went, this was cushy and more than adequate to provide a good night’s sleep.
He stretched out on the queen-size bed with every intention of relaxing. But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He kept reliving the moment upstairs when Brenda had sighed. Such a small sound, hardly worth noting. Except she’d been staring at him with such yearning on her pretty face, his ego had ripped the curl. He’d wanted to explore what that sigh meant. He hadn’t. And told himself he couldn’t. That wouldn’t be professional.
Giving up on sleep, he rose and dug through his “to-go” bag, double-checking his weapon and ammo. His hand brushed over the photograph he always kept with him. He didn’t need to see the image to recall the picture of him, his twin sister, Kaitlin, and his parents. Before his mother had taken ill. Before his world came crashing down in a fiery flame of heartache. He zipped the bag closed.
A high-pitched noise pierced the quiet of the night.
His heart jolted.
The house alarm had been tripped!
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