he didn’t hear. Or maybe he figured he was saving her embarrassment, not calling in Officer Cowlick when there was nothing wrong except she was a neurotic nuisance who hadn’t latched her door properly.
But she had. She was almost sure of it.
Aleksy reached the tree line. Beyond him she could see a patch of sunlit grass and her aunt’s gray cottage. He slid out of his pack, laid down his fishing pole and pulled his gun from the small of his back.
Her breath caught in her chest. Oh, dear God.
She hurried forward. At the edge of the trees, she stopped. Stay here, he had ordered, and she didn’t have any better ideas.
It was like watching a movie, she thought. Aleksy disappeared along the side of the house, moving fast and low. Faye waited, her stomach churning, until she saw him come round the opposite corner.
He sort of flowed up the steps to the wooden deck and flattened himself against the wall, out of sight of anyone who might still be inside. He knocked on the weathered shingles.
“Police!”
No response. At least, none that Faye could hear.
He repeated the knock. “Police!”
He shoved the door back along its track and vanished inside. Faye waited with her heart in her throat and her hands pressed to her mouth. A minute crawled by. Two minutes.
Aleksy strolled out onto the deck. “You want to come tell me if you think anything’s missing?” he called.
She started to breathe again. She could do that, she thought, crossing the grass. Unless the thief had rifled through her aunt’s drawers…
She looked up into Aleksy’s expressionless face. “Is it bad?”
He jerked his head toward the open door. “See for yourself.”
She stepped over the aluminum threshold, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the change in light. She frowned in confusion.
Not bad at all. In fact—
“You still got your TV and VCR.” Aleksy’s voice behind her made her jump. “So your intruder wasn’t interested in fencing electronics. You might want to check your bedroom for jewelry.”
She hurried down the short, dark hallway, very aware of him stalking her. Her room looked the way she had left it, the comforter pulled up carelessly over the bright print sheets, her bottles and lotions arranged haphazardly on the dresser, her underwear spilling out of a drawer…
She flushed and scooped a pair of panties off the floor. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”
Aleksy propped his shoulder against the door. “Was it a mess when you left this morning?”
“Yes,” she confessed.
He smiled. “Anything missing?”
“I—” She did a quick survey of her dressertop, jerked open the drawer that held her jewelry. She stared at the tangle of silver chains and colored stones and dangly earrings, all of it pretty and none of it very valuable. “I don’t think so.”
“Too bad.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d feel better if you got ripped off.”
She stiffened with outrage and embarrassment. “I’m sorry if you feel I wasted your time.”
His mouth compressed. “You didn’t waste my time, cream puff. You definitely had an intruder. I looked at your frame. The door was forced. But if you didn’t get robbed, we have to assume whoever broke in was looking for something.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Like me. Maybe somebody was checking for ID.”
She did not want to be involved. “Why would someone do that?”
“Could be somebody around here isn’t comfortable with strangers. Could be they made me as a cop.”
“That would explain why you were on my deck with your gun drawn shouting, ‘Police,’” she said dryly.
Chagrin drew his brows together. “Yeah, well, let’s hope they missed that. Your bad guys were probably off the premises by then.”
“I still don’t understand why they would search my cottage if they were looking for you.”
“They might have hoped to find my star or my gun. But I’m carrying those. Or they could’ve been after some sign that I’m really living here with you.”
“But you’re not,” she protested.
His eyes met hers, dark and direct. “Then we’ve got a problem, don’t we?”
Chapter 4
She was not going to panic.
He couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Faye met Aleksy’s hard, implacable gaze. Her stomach flopped. Could he?
In her best teacher voice, she said, “I’d feel more comfortable if we continued this discussion somewhere other than my bedroom.”
He grinned, and her stomach flip-flopped again. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“What I want is for this whole situation to go away,” she said. “But that’s not going to happen, is it?”
He looked briefly regretful. “Probably not,” he admitted.
Even though she was expecting his answer, it came as a blow. She tried not to flinch. “Okay.” She tugged the door shut behind him and led the way back to her living room studio, trying to get control of herself and the situation. “Then the more pertinent question is, what do I have to do?”
“Call the police.”
She stopped. “You’re police.”
“This isn’t my jurisdiction.”
“But if nothing’s been stolen—”
“You should still call it in. You notify the local police department, they can beef up patrols, file a report, maybe dust for fingerprints.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” The realization sharpened her voice. “You want to find out who was here without it looking like you’re the one who wants to know.”
He didn’t deny it.
She felt slightly sick. Used. “You said I wouldn’t be involved.”
“You’re already involved.”
“Because someone thought you were living here,” she insisted. “Now they know you’re not.”
He
