he’d morphed into someone new. No, it was more subtle than that.
He was still Rafe, the handsome construction worker who had stolen her heart and made her laugh every day. But he was someone else, too. Someone very capable. Someone fearless.
Someone, she suspected, who would do whatever it took to protect her and their home. He’d handled the gun expertly. She’d been in awe, really.
And she’d started paying more attention to the things around her. Noticing when things changed. It was like playing a game where there was no score and she was competing only against herself. She got better at it every day. Nobody got new glasses, highlighted their hair or had their teeth fixed that she didn’t pick up on it. It was just crazy small stuff but she had fun with it.
It was only one of the many ways that loving Rafe had changed her.
She left the bathroom. She didn’t bother to dress. Simply crawled into bed naked. She could hear Duke pacing in front of her door, his nails scratching against the wood floor. “Good night, Duke,” she said, knowing that he wouldn’t settle down if that nighttime ritual wasn’t observed.
The pacing quieted and she knew the big dog had taken his spot outside her door. He’d knock his hind end on the door at five the next morning, ready to go out. Until then, she could sleep.
Except that every time she closed her eyes, she could see poor Milo. After a half hour, she gave up and turned on her light. Duke immediately whined, letting her know that he knew that something wasn’t right. She opened the bedroom door. “We’re leaving early,” she said.
She had to. She absolutely had to leave this house that she had bought with Rafe, where she had made plans, dreamed big. The memories of Rafe were still too strong here. She could see him at the stove, wearing his jeans low on his hips and no shirt, waving a spatula in her direction. Could see him snoozing on the couch, a book open on his chest. Could see him walk across the kitchen naked for that first cup of coffee in the morning.
Could practically smell his earthy masculine scent.
Was it because it was the anniversary of his death? Was it because she and Milo had been talking about him? Was it because of what Milo said?
Probably some of all three. It didn’t matter. It felt as if she was losing her mind.
No better place to do it than a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. If she started to scream and crawl the walls, nobody would be there to witness the meltdown of the century.
Summer would understand and would proceed to plan the funeral. They could have it at the end of the week, when she was back.
With her head on straight.
Maybe with a fish story—in Milo’s honor.
Duke cocked his head and watched her closely as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet and started throwing clothes in it. Swimsuit. Shorts. Water shoes. A couple of summer dresses. Sandals. Some things to sleep in. Then she added toiletries and a lightweight jacket in case the evenings got cool. By this time, Duke was pacing, well aware that his routine was upset.
She dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt and slipped her feet into her favorite cowboy boots. Then she went to the kitchen, where she pulled out a half-full bag of dog food. Plenty for five days. She’d originally planned to leave on Sunday since the café was closed. But now she was free to leave a day early.
She pulled a sack out of the cupboard and haphazardly picked items from her counters and cupboards. The half loaf of bread. A jar of peanut butter. Cereal. There had to be a small town nearby where she could buy milk. Two bottles of wine. She thought about adding another one but figured that was overkill. Boxes of macaroni and cheese. A jar of honey-roasted peanuts. And for the heck of it, she threw in the three bananas that she’d been ignoring for days.
She looked at her watch and debated whether she should call Summer now. Quickly discarded the idea. Summer had been so sick after seeing poor Milo’s body. She needed her rest. Trish would call her in the morning to let her know her plans.
She made one more pass through her house, pausing outside her bedroom door to gaze at her pale gray bed skirt. Shaking her head, she walked into the room, got down on her knees, reached underneath the bed and pulled out her gun case.
Rafe had bought a gun for her several months after the last time she’d gone to the range with him. It had been a surprise. Initially she’d been inclined to tell him to take it back. But he’d been insistent. You should have your own, he’d said.
* * *
SHE HADN’T SHOT it for more than four years. Had kept it locked up, under her bed. Was it crazy to pull it out now? M.A., who was single, had been traveling with her ten-year-old niece and she’d said that she’d felt perfectly safe.
But Trish wasn’t a fool. She was a woman, traveling alone. A little extra protection made sense. Especially after what she’d seen earlier tonight.
She took it out of its case and slipped it into her shoulder bag. “Let’s go,” she said to Duke.
He followed her to the kitchen, and when she opened the door to her attached garage, he hurried ahead of her, like he always did. When she opened the passenger side door of her two-door Jeep, Duke jumped in and promptly scrambled over the middle console into the backseat. She went around back and shoved her suitcase and sack into the rear space. In the corner of her garage was her fishing gear. She grabbed it and put it in the Jeep. Then she got in.
Took a breath. Then another. Wiped her damp palms on her blue jeans.
She didn’t normally steal away in the middle of the night.
But then, there had been nothing normal about this night. The heavy weight of her gun in her shoulder bag was even more proof of that.
It was just after one when she pulled out of the garage and shut the door behind her. Determined to think about something else, she turned on the radio and hunted for a station that had music. She finally found one that was playing oldies from the ’50s and ’60s.
Great. She felt about a hundred. It would be perfect.
She would be in the right area in just over an hour. It might take her a while to wind around the country roads and find the cottage. Hopefully her GPS would behave nicely.
“Are you excited?” she asked Duke.
He barked just once.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, settling back. She wasn’t worried about falling asleep while driving. Her body was practically humming with energy. She would not have been able to sleep.
She’d lost a good friend tonight.
Had Milo simply been a convenient target? Was it possible that a vagrant had been hiding in the alley, and when Milo had opened the door, the attack had been a spur-of-the-moment decision? Or was it something much more sinister? Had someone been waiting for Milo, someone from his past?
She prayed that Chase Hollister would find the answer. She wanted Milo’s attacker to pay for what he’d done. It wouldn’t bring Milo back but it would help to know that a killer had not gone free.
She pressed down on the accelerator, fully aware that
