bone in her body. She faced the world with a straightforward determination. A flame burned within her. Sometimes she was bright as a torch. Other times, like now, she was a flickering candle. He’d do anything to nurture her delicate fire.
“You said you might be imagining things,” he said. “Why?”
“I heard a crash. Down the hall.”
“Toward your bedroom?”
“Yes.” Her lips were tight. Beneath the sweep of her long brown hair, her forehead pinched. She was desperate, stressed to the breaking point.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said.
He was pretty sure they weren’t dealing with a drug-crazed psycho, mainly because they hadn’t been attacked while standing here talking. But he intended to take her supposed imagining seriously. Until he knew better, he would assume there was an intruder.
From where Shane stood, he could see that the small living room and the L-shaped dining area were clear. The kitchen was straight ahead and the lights were on. If someone was hiding in the house, he was down the hall to the left.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said as lowered the boy to the floor. “Benjy, I want you and your mom to stand here, right by the door. If I yell, you run outside as fast as you can. Understand?”
“Yes.” He held up his arms. “Can I hold your hat?”
“You can wear it.”
When he placed his hat on the boy’s head, Benjy giggled. “Look, Mommy. I’m a cowboy.”
“You sure are.” Protectively, she placed her hand on her son’s thin shoulder.
“Why do we run outside?”
“It’s a game,” she said.
Suitcase in hand, Shane went toward the hallway. As soon as he was out of Benjy’s sight, he unzipped his bag and took out his Sig Sauer. He almost hadn’t brought his weapon. Firearms generally weren’t needed at a wedding.
Moving fast, he entered the first bedroom, the guestroom that usually served as a home office for Angela. He looked into the closet and under the bed. Found nothing.
In the bathroom, he yanked aside the shower curtain. Nobody here.
As he approached Benjy’s bedroom, he could hear Angela reassuring her son, telling him that Shane would be right back and everything was okay. He hoped she was right.
Except for the messed-up covers on the bed, Benjy’s room was exceptionally neat. The closet was almost empty.
The last room to search was Angela’s—the bedroom she’d once shared with his cousin. In a glance, Shane scanned the cream-colored walls and dark wood furniture. After he checked the small adjoining bathroom and the closet, he lowered his gun and returned to her room. A lilac scent perfumed the air; it was Angela’s special fragrance. He never smelled lilacs without thinking of her.
Though he could tell that she’d been clearing out her things in preparation for the move to her new home, there were mementos scattered around the room. A tortoiseshell hairbrush set that belonged to her grandmother. A plate with Benjy’s baby handprints. A handmade quilt Shane had bought for her at a firemen’s bazaar in the mountains. Lots of photographs decorated the walls, including a formal wedding portrait of her and Tom. He wondered if she’d take that picture when she moved in with her new husband.
Finding no intruder, he closed the open window in her bedroom. He noticed that a framed watercolor of yellow roses had fallen from the wall, probably blown down by a gust through the window. The glass in the frame was cracked.
In the guestroom, he slipped his gun under the pillow, then returned to the front door, pushed the door closed and locked it. “No problem.”
A nervous smile touched her full lips. “Thanks, Shane.”
“I think I might have found what spooked you.” He held up the eight-by-ten watercolor. “This picture fell off the wall.”
“Ha! I knew I heard a crash.”
When Benjy tilted his head to look up, Shane’s hat fell to the floor. The boy scrambled to pick it up and returned it to his head. “Did you ride your horse?”
Shane crouched down to his level. “You know I’m not really a cowboy. I’m a deputy.”
Benjy gave him a stubborn scowl. “A depitty cowboy.”
“And you’re a kid who needs to go back to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
While Angela escorted her son back to his bedroom, Shane went into the kitchen. He’d visited this house often enough to know where everything was. Usually, the countertops were covered with fancy little appliances. Not tonight. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen sparkled. Except for a plastic cup on the floor and a water spill near the sink. Using paper towels, he mopped up.
All this cleanliness must be due to the Realtor’s “For Sale” sign in the front yard. The house had to be kept spiffy for showings.
He found a plate of macadamia nut cookies on the small kitchen table and poured himself a glass of milk. This was a nice little ranch-style house in a good neighborhood. It ought to sell fast, and Shane told himself that he was glad to see Angela moving on with her life. When Tom and Angela bought this place a couple of months before their wedding, he’d helped them paint and move in the few sticks of furniture they’d owned. He remembered their high hopes for the future. After Tom finished his time in the military, he’d planned to go to med school and become a doctor.
He munched his way through three cookies while he thought of the good times and the bad. Angela was about to take another big step forward, and so was he.
She joined him. After getting Benjy back to sleep, she’d taken a moment to comb her wavy hair and pull it back in a ponytail. Though she was more composed than when she’d answered the door, he saw tension in the set of her jaw. Her cheeks were flushed. She’d lost weight.
“Thanks for checking out the house, looking for the bogeyman.” She sat opposite him at the small table. “I guess I’ve got a bad case of prewedding jitters.”
“I’m no expert,” he said, “but most brides tend to get fussy about bouquets and cakes and seating arrangements. They don’t go running around their house with a butcher knife.”
“After I heard that crash, I went to Benjy’s room. He wasn’t in the bed. I was terrified.”
“Where was he?”
“Hiding in the closet. I don’t know why.” She rested both elbows on the table and propped her chin on her fists. “I’ve been edgy, not sleeping well. You know how I can get. Not that I’m comparing a case of nerves to how I felt after Tom died.”
He remembered. She’d been overcome with grief, and he’d stayed with her nearly the whole time, except when he went back up to the mountains to follow up on the investigation into the hit-and-run accident that had killed his cousin. The detectives on the case had been competent, but they’d never apprehended the driver of the vehicle that ran him down.
