with an unknown man. On the reverse was a hand-drawn map, some scribbles and instructions from his mentor for a meeting that should have happened three days ago.
Things were getting more dangerous by the minute.
Interesting.
DARBY O’MALLEY STARED at the freshly painted and very blank white walls. Blank. And white. She appreciated the simplicity of the unadorned space. Perhaps because nothing in her life could ever be simple. And it didn’t help that her decorating talents sucked.
“White? You need to brighten this place up.” Her brother Sean smiled while complaining about the lack of color. “I saw some purple fuzzy pillows at Grapevine Mills Mall that would look great. Or maybe some orange frames for all those pictures you had me haul in here last week. Or maybe neon-pink flamingos. Nothing red though—we don’t want to clash with your hair.”
Her hair wasn’t red. At least not O’Malley red. She paid good money to add those “natural” highlights. The teasing had lasted throughout the entire fix-up day and continued through the Mexican food and beer that night.
Brothers were supposed to do that. Right? Be intrusive and try to repair more than the broken items around your house. She should know. She had three very intrusive O’Malley brothers and a sergeant major for a dad.
Darby appreciated Sean’s desire to play best friend, but this particular problem couldn’t be fixed over a couple of Coronas. They hadn’t spoken about their brother lying comatose in a hospital bed inside a lockdown ward. They couldn’t visit. Couldn’t help him recover.
She needed to be by herself. Away from a dad who barked orders, and the brothers who followed them.
Finally living on her own at the age of twenty-six. Finally no roommate to eat her favorite cereal. Finally no dirty dishes in the sink except her own. She was more than ready. And no one understood. She hardly understood it herself. She’d lived with someone since college and tolerated way-out-there tastes. Purple was not her favorite color. She wasn’t even certain she had a favorite. Weird. She’d never given it much thought before.
This was a new beginning. A time for new goals. But not the time of night to unpack boxes of old memories.
Tonight, it had taken an hour and her promise she’d come by Sunday before Sean would leave. As far as her brothers were concerned, there wasn’t a problem in the world that couldn’t be solved over a Cowboys game and a grilled steak.
If only their brother Michael’s problems were that simple.
“Michael will wake up and I’ll clear his name.” She had to. She was a cop. A cop whose brother had been accused of murder. Talk about your conflicts of interest.
A thump interrupted her nightly pity party. She hit the mute button on the remote, hoping it was a sound effect from the old Lon Chaney movie on TCM. Nope, there it was again. She crossed the new carpet and tile, looked through the very unsafe, four-paned back door and didn’t see a thing. She shrugged, took a step back and heard another whack on wood.
The back porch’s light lit the entire deck. No one stood on the other side of the triple locks. At least not that she could see. She slid her hand into her holster on the counter and pulled her Glock from its resting place. She’d chosen this neighborhood in North Dallas because of the low crime rate, but someone could think she was an easy mark. Not likely.
And then again, the kids across the street were famous for their practical jokes. She’d heard all about them the day she’d moved in. Just what she needed…a neighborhood of pranksters. If she barged out there as if she was on a drug bust, she’d probably scare those children directly into therapy.
So don’t overreact.
There it was again. A solid bump on the deck. Kids or no kids, she wasn’t going anywhere without her Glock pointed straight ahead.
She should call the local P.D. and teach those kids a lesson. But then she’d have every parent on her back for as long as she lived here. And the last thing a new owner needed was trouble with the neighbors.
No way. She was a trained police officer. She could handle a couple of kids. So what if she scared them with the gun?
It was after eleven. How had so many hours passed since she’d gotten off work? Still dressed in her uniform right down to her shoes. Well, at least she’d changed her shirt when Sean had come over.
Squinting through the lacy curtains the previous owner had left, she now saw a shadowy figure lying on the steps. With her eyes on the body, she quickly unlocked and opened the door. Darby stepped outside and scanned the shadows in the tiny backyard. No potential threats. Nothing. He seemed to be alone.
“Police. Don’t move,” she said, aiming her gun at the suspect.
A man—not a kid—was slumped across the steps. Moonlight shone on a beard-stubbled face and long, dark hair.
“O’Malley?” His head thudded against the wood. “Need…help.”
Okay, so he wasn’t some random nutcase. He’d asked specifically for her.
“Why do you want O’Malley?” Why hadn’t she brought her cell outside to call 911? She continued to hold the man at gunpoint, but he didn’t look as if he was going anywhere. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his eyes were closed and he held his side as if he was injured.
“Gotta stay a…wake.”
“Who are you?”
“Pike said I could trust you,” he panted. “Undercover. No…hospital.” The last of his words faded as he appeared to slip into unconsciousness. His hand fell away, covered in blood.
“God almighty.” Darby pushed her gun down the back of her pants and bent to her knees. She frisked him. He wasn’t carrying a weapon, but there was a photo of Pike on a fishing pier. The reverse side had a map to her house and a coded message from her brother Michael.
Rolling the stranger to his back, she felt his chilly neck for a pulse. “Talk to me. What does this have to do with Michael? What trouble will you be in if I call an ambulance to save your hide?”
Baggy jeans and a black extra-large T-shirt helped disguise the blood seeping across his side. Good grief, she couldn’t let him bleed to death on her back steps. He was soaked to the skin, with no jacket and an empty shoulder holster.
Was he here for the package? How could she be certain he was the person Pike mentioned? But Michael had sent him, so how did it all fit together?
“No docs,” he mumbled. “Verify…two one four…five five five…nine six nine six.”
Darby took one last look at the yard. No movement. It was the wrong thing to do, but she grabbed the unconscious stranger under his arms and pulled him through the door. He moaned, but didn’t give any indication he was waking. She lowered him to the tiled breakfast nook floor.
God, what was wrong with her? She couldn’t do this again. Just call 911 and deal with the repercussions later. Still thinking she shouldn’t get involved, she knelt and yanked the Ozzfest shirt up to the guy’s armpits.
Smooth, sculpted pecs and abs—make that an entire six-pack—would normally have her biting
