from the intruder, who was taking his time to lower his weapon to the floor. “You okay, Rebecca?”
He felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder and glanced down at it. Streaks of blood stained his shirt, and he momentarily let his guard slip.
“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed, taking her hand and holding it in his. He flipped his eyes back up to the suspect and was faced with an empty space. It had taken the guy barely a second to vault through the broken glass. Jack ran to the window and saw the man scrambling down a tree alongside the house. His wiry figure was illuminated by the flashing red-and-blue lights of the police car that had turned onto the street. He turned to race from the room in hot pursuit, but Rebecca gripped his forearm.
“Let him go, Jack,” she said. “The police will pick him up.” She looked at him intently. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
He saw the fear on her face and gave a small nod of his head. He couldn’t leave her when she needed him. He put his gun down and lifted her bloodied hand in his. There was a long cut that snaked down her forefinger to her thumb.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “I cut myself trying to move the shelf in the bathroom.” She laughed weakly. “When I bought it, I never thought I’d be moving it to use as a barricade.”
He took her noninjured hand and led her into the main bathroom. He flipped the light switch before remembering that the power was out, and he used his cell phone to activate a flashlight. He sat her on the edge of the bathtub, pulled a clean towel from the rack and wetted it a little to wrap around her wound. He then positioned himself on bended knee to hold the towel tight against the cut. Her usually honey-warm skin looked pale with a streak of blood across her forehead. He often thought that her skin had a luminous quality, and it seemed to sparkle when the sun shone down on her. Her eyes were the palest blue he’d ever known, in stark contrast to her dark, almost black hair. To say she was striking was a vast understatement. But at that moment her radiance was fading, and she looked exhausted.
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I’ve been in a lot worse situations that this.”
He tried to raise a smile. “Haven’t we all?” He immediately regretted saying these words, worried that she might think he was referring to the day that neither of them had ever spoken of—the day when her world stopped. She didn’t need reminding of that, not now.
“It’s fine, Jack,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here. Ian would be really grateful.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m really grateful.”
He held her hand, smoothing her fingers with his own, wondering how she always seemed to know what he was thinking.
A uniformed deputy appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Grey?”
She looked up. “Yes.”
The light in the bathroom suddenly flicked on, as did the lamp in the hallway. “Someone tripped your fuse box,” the deputy said. “My partner fixed it.”
Jack stood up. “Did you catch the guy?”
The deputy raised his eyebrows. “What guy?”
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “The guy clambering down the tree in the front yard.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see him.”
The deputy straightened his shoulders. “And who might you be, sir?”
“Conrad Jackson. I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. She called me after your patrol car drove past her house on its way to Charleston Road.”
The deputy shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. “We had a couple of problems with the computerized address system.” He looked past Jack to Rebecca. “I apologize for the delay, ma’am.”
Rebecca didn’t look up, and her voice was small. “It’s okay. Mr. Jackson got here in time.”
Jack led the deputy into the hallway, out of earshot of Rebecca. “So the guy got away, huh?”
The deputy crossed his arms. “We were focused on getting inside the house to assist a lone female. Our priority is always to safeguard the victim.”
“Did you check and secure the whole house?”
“My partner is searching the property as we speak.” The officer looked Jack up and down. “You talk like a cop. You in the force?”
“Navy SEAL, retired.”
The deputy nodded in admiration. “Then I guess Mrs. Grey is in safe hands.”
Always, Jack thought. “I want the surrounding area searched thoroughly for any sign of this guy. He’s armed and dangerous. You’ll find a bullet lodged in a closet in the master bedroom. Have it analyzed to see if it matches any recorded crimes or offenders.” He cast a backward glance at Rebecca and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I want to know why he targeted this house. What did he want?”
Jack’s natural authority and commanding presence had an instant effect on the deputy, who wrote the instructions in his notepad and immediately radioed other patrol cars to begin the search for the suspect.
Jack returned to Rebecca’s side in the bathroom, and she stood to face him, a little unsteady on her feet. He gripped her shoulders to hold her up, and she rested her forehead on his chest. He felt the warmth from her skin tingle through his thin linen shirt. She wasn’t usually so affectionate with him, and he felt a mixture of awkwardness and pleasure to hold her so close. His promise to Ian Grey was to take care of his wife, not to become emotionally involved with her. He certainly didn’t want to overstep, so he pulled away, guiding her into the hallway and lowering her into a chair in the corner.
A second deputy came up the stairs. “Looks like our guy is long gone,” he said. “It’s a total mess down there, but expensive items like the TV and gaming devices are untouched.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And the way the door lock was taken apart is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Rebecca leaned forward and pointed to the deputy’s hand. “What is that you have in your hand?”
He held it forward. “I found it outside in your front yard, possibly dropped by the perp.” He held it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s an art brochure from the Regency auction house in New York.” He raised his eyebrows at his partner. “Our criminals are getting a little more cultured than they used to be. You should see the price guide of this stuff.”
Rebecca held out her hand. “Can I see it?”
As the deputy handed her the brochure, Jack noticed Rebecca’s expression change to one of fear. He knelt down by her side. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the two deputies working together to thoroughly check all the rooms upstairs.
“I’ve seen this brochure before,” she said shakily. “In fact, I photographed these artworks in a presidential palace twelve years ago when I was working in Iraq.” She cradled her injured hand as she talked. “I recently read a newspaper article advertising an art sale in an auction house called Regency in New York. The pieces in the pictures looked exactly like the ones I’d photographed in Iraq, so I requested a brochure. When it arrived, I recognized the artwork immediately,
