“Did they have other foster children at the time?”
“No. After Josie ran away they didn’t seem to have the heart for it any longer. She and I were the last fosters they had.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Didn’t you miss Josie?”
Pain she’d long buried speared through her midsection at the direct mention of his sister. Although she was a year and a half older, Josie had been her best friend, and the two of them had been as close as sisters.
Until the day they weren’t.
“Of course I did. The Carltons practically raised both of us. But she and I had grown apart and then one day she just disappeared.”
“She did that to us, too.” Ethan continued to drift around the room, his restless energy as raw as an impending storm. “Grew apart. Stopped wanting to see us for our court-sanctioned visits. Until the day she just vanished.”
“Did you ever find out where she went?”
“No.” He picked up a small crystal giraffe from her coffee table and turned it over in his hands. Although his gaze was ostensibly on the small piece, Lizzie could tell he was a million miles away. “And no amount of digging by my law-steeped siblings has provided any information.”
As she watched him, another thought hit Lizzie, as powerful as the proverbial storms she saw in Ethan. Curious, she pushed them in a different direction. “You don’t believe the nonsense some asinine journalists have begun spouting about her. The ridiculous notion that she’s taken up your father’s torch and is the Alphabet Killer.”
Ethan stiffened at her words, his normally stoic facade going to granite. “It’s not just the journalists.”
“Who, then?”
“Forget I mentioned it.” Ethan glanced down at the object he had gripped tight in his hands before gently settling it back on the coffee table.
“Come on, Ethan. You can’t tell me you really believe it. I realize none of us knew Josie as well as we thought, but I do know her well enough to know she’s not a killer.”
“No. I don’t believe—”
His words vanished into the air as a hard thud echoed from overhead. Ethan looked up, his gaze sharp. “What room is that? Above us?”
“The baby’s room.”
Another thud sounded above them and Ethan leaped from the room, the heavy tread of his footsteps already echoing as he raced up her stairs.
“Call 911!”
* * *
Ethan was torn between staying with Lizzie downstairs and heading after the intruder in her home, but every instinct screamed to take the option that might end this here and now.
More noise echoed from the upstairs hall and Ethan headed in the direction of the sound, quickly catching his bearings as he ascended to the second-floor landing. A door at the far end of the hall slammed closed and he had no doubt it was now locked as well.
As he moved determinedly toward the door, Ethan mentally cataloged what he knew of the house. It was relatively new and Lizzie was only the second owner, which meant the builder had likely left skeleton keys in the event someone was locked in.
A large quilted giraffe hung from the door and Ethan lifted his hand to the lintel, satisfied when his fingers brushed the thin piece of metal. He had the key in the lock and the door open in moments.
Only to find his rush was in vain.
The empty room’s lone window was already open, its bright pastel-colored curtains blowing in the afternoon breeze.
He crossed the small space in a matter of steps and caught sight of a figure racing across the back of the development. It briefly crossed his mind to follow, but he knew it for a fool’s errand.
“Did you—” Lizzie broke off, her voice heavy and out of breath as she came through the door.
“He’s gone.”
“He?”
“I thought.” Ethan stopped and turned back toward the window. The figure had vanished, but he conjured up the image in his mind. “He was wearing a thick sweatshirt with the hood up, so I guess it could be anyone. They were too far away to get a sense of height.”
“The police will ask what color.”
“It was nondescript navy blue.” Ethan glanced down at his own sweatshirt, tossed on that morning from a stack of similar clothes in the bottom of his drawer. “Just like I’m wearing. Hell, like half the population wears every weekend.”
“It’s still something.”
Lizzie stood framed inside the doorway, long, curly waves of hair framing her face, and he stilled. Since he’d seen her the morning before, his emotions had roller-coastered through the ups and downs of his new reality.
Yet here she was. Standing in the doorway of their child’s room, a warrior goddess prepared to do battle to protect her home. He saw no fear. Instead, all he saw was a ripe, righteous anger, spilling from her in hard, deep breaths.
“Maybe you should sit down?”
“I’m too mad to sit.”
“Once again, I’m forced to ask the obvious. Humor me.”
He reached for the window, but she stopped him. “Leave it. It’s not that cold, and maybe there are fingerprints.”
Although he had no doubt the perp had left nothing behind, Ethan did as she requested. She’d already taken a seat in the rocking chair in the corner, and he felt his knees buckle at the image that rose up to replace her in his mind’s eye.
Lizzie, rocking in that same chair, their child nestled in her arms, suckling at her breast.
The shock of emotion that burrowed beneath his heart raced through him, and Ethan fought to keep any trace of it from showing. How could he feel so much joy at something so unexpected?
At something he’d never wanted?
He’d grappled with that fact from the very first moments with Lizzie the morning before in his kitchen and had yet to find any answer.
Yes, she carried his child. And yes, that had raised a protective instinct he never knew he possessed. But it was something more. Something deeper.
He’d spent his entire adult life avoiding entanglements, so the depth of how far he and Lizzie were now entwined should have been a concern. So how come he wasn’t feeling more restrained? He should feel as if he had a noose notched against his throat, but instead, these weird moments of excitement broke over him, swamping him in a confusing mix of protectiveness and desire.
The sound of sirens
