Philip “Shaw” Wilson and Tannith Bliss had told him everything they knew, which wasn’t much. The conversations had been straightforward. Although Tannith—Tanni—had done a good job of pretending to shrug off the incident, Troy could tell she’d been badly shaken. He was glad to turn the sixteen-year-old over to her mother.
The last thing Tanni needed was to be questioned by the Seattle press. Shaw was a bit older and Troy felt the young man would cope admirably with a barrage of questions. It might not hurt to give the two of them some warning.
His phone rang and Troy grabbed it, prepared to talk to the elusive Kathleen Sadler. “Sheriff Davis.”
“Uh, I hope I’m not disturbing you unnecessarily.” It was Cody Woodchase.
Troy caught the hesitation in his voice. “You’re not. What’s up?”
“I just got a call from the 9-1-1 dispatcher and apparently there’s been a break-and-enter at 204 Rosewood Lane.”
“Faith?” Troy’s reaction was immediate as he bolted to his feet. That was the address of the rental house where Faith had recently moved. She’d been there a little more than two months.
“I believe I heard she might be a … friend of yours.”
“Yes,” Troy said curtly, his throat muscles tight.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“I do, Cody. Thank you.” Within seconds, Troy had thrown on his coat and reached for his hat. He charged out the office door, unable to think of anything but Faith. He needed to know she hadn’t been hurt, that she was safe from harm.
Two
The moment Faith Beckwith approached her home she recognized that something was wrong. A sense of foreboding stopped her even before she’d unlocked the kitchen door. She shivered but it wasn’t because of the damp chill of early January, although it’d been raining on and off all day, and the wind cut through her winter coat. Her indecision didn’t last long; she shook it off, turned the key and stepped into—chaos.
Her kitchen floor was strewn with garbage. Someone had upended the trash bin all over the linoleum. Coffee grounds, eggshells and an empty frozen orange-juice container left a trail of grime and filth. Footprints of coffee grounds led into the living room.
Without thinking, Faith reached for the phone. She managed to restrain herself from calling Troy Davis, pausing before she hit the first number, which she’d memorized long ago. Instead, she punched out her son’s home number, praying he was back from work.
The relief that cascaded through her at the sound of Scott’s voice nearly buckled her knees. “Scottie … someone broke into the house.”
“Mom? What do you mean?”
“Someone broke into the house,” she repeated, surprised that she was able to keep her voice level, although she’d begun to tremble with shock.
“You’re sure?”
“There’s garbage all over the kitchen floor!”
“Mom,” Scottie said calmly. “Put down the phone and dial 9-1-1, then call me back.”
“Oh, of course.” She should’ve thought of that. Normally she was a clear-thinking woman; however, stepping into this mess had completely unsettled her.
“Call me back as soon as you do.”
“Okay,” she promised Scottie, then pushed the disconnect button. Taking a deep breath she called emergency services and waited for the operator’s voice.
“This is 9-1-1. How may I assist you?”
“My house has been broken into,” Faith blurted. “I haven’t gone any farther than the kitchen. Whoever was here made a terrible mess.”
“Are you sure the intruder isn’t still in the house?”
That hadn’t even occurred to Faith. Oh, dear.
“No …” The chill she’d experienced earlier returned. It felt as if her feet were frozen to the floor. For all she knew, someone could be standing in the other room.
“Are you on a portable phone?” the operator asked, breaking into the frightening scenarios racing through her mind.
“Yes …”
“Go outside and remain on the line,” the operator continued.
Faith forced herself to hurry to the door, moving as quietly as she could, which was probably ridiculous since she’d been speaking in a normal tone earlier. Surely if the person responsible was in the house, he or she would’ve already overheard.
“I’m outside,” she whispered.
“Good,” the 9-1-1 operator told her in a reassuring voice. “I have a patrol car on the way.”
“Thank you.”
“Deputy Weaver’s estimated time of arrival is three minutes.”
“I’m a friend of Sheriff Troy Davis’s,” she said and instantly regretted it. Troy was out of her life. Yet he was the person she’d wanted to contact when she realized there’d been a break-in. “I was a friend,” she amended.
The phone beeped, indicating that there was another caller.
“I think that’s my son,” Faith told the operator. “He wanted me to phone him back as soon as I’d reported the … crime.” She wasn’t even sure how to refer to it.
“You can return the call in a moment,” the operator told her. “Deputy Weaver should be there soon.”
Faith sighed in relief when she saw the patrol car round the corner. “He’s here now.”
The phone beeped again. “I’ll need to take this, otherwise Scottie will be worried.” She thanked the operator and clicked off, then waited to connect with her son.
“Mom, is everything okay?”
“The deputy’s here,” she assured her son.
“All right. I’m leaving now.” Unfortunately, Scott’s house was some distance from Rosewood Lane, and it would be at least fifteen minutes before he arrived.
Still, once she knew Scott was coming, she felt as though she might collapse. As though she didn’t have the strength to remain upright.
The deputy parked his vehicle at the curb and after she’d spoken with him, he stalked into the house with his weapon drawn.
Clutching her purse, Faith stood in the driveway that led to the garage. Not more than a minute passed, although it seemed much longer before Deputy Weaver reappeared.
“All clear,” he told her.
Nodding, Faith started for the house, but Deputy Weaver placed a restraining
