glass and then used it to light the way up the stairs where she pulled on underwear, jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. When she came back to the living room, he was standing by her back door. She slipped her feet into the still-wet sandals that she’d shed earlier. When she reached for the door, he put his hand on her arm. Heat shot upward, settling somewhere around her collarbone.
“Are you okay to drive?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he blew out both candles. Then they ran through the rain, dodging puddles. He opened the garage door before she had a chance to. “Pull out and I’ll close it behind us,” he said.
* * *
SHE DROVE FAST and they arrived in the small town just minutes later. A police cruiser, its lights flashing, sat crossways in the middle of the street, keeping cars from getting past. The streetlights were on, and lights shined through windows up and down the street, telling Jake that the power outage hadn’t included Wyattville.
Tara jerked the wheel to the right, pulled into a parking spot and bolted from her car. A man pushing sixty, standing in front of the drugstore, saw her and waved. She took four steps before Jake caught up with her.
“Stay behind me,” he said, stepping in front of her.
Jake could see the momentary indecision and thought he might just have to tackle her. Given the curves he’d glimpsed under her thin blue robe, the very same ones that were hugged tight by her white shirt and jeans, it wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice. Knowing his luck, though, she’d bring her damn knee up again and hit pay dirt and he’d start his job walking funny for days.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth.
He moved quickly, Tara on his heels. Fortunately most of the businesses had awnings, so they could stay out of the rain as they ran toward the man standing on the sidewalk.
“Mr. Johnson?” Jake asked.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Jake Vernelli.”
The older man smiled. “The new guy. I’m on the city council and let me tell you, we’re damn glad you were available. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here. Generally, Wyattville is a pretty quiet place.”
Tara stepped out from behind him. “What happened, Frank?”
“Officer Hooper drove by around nine and everything was fine, but when he cruised through at ten, he saw that the front door of Nel’s looked odd. I was at the store late and saw him outside. I called you right away.”
Jake could tell by the slump of Tara’s shoulders that everything definitely wasn’t okay. He adjusted his angle slightly. Nel’s Café had a big door that was wood on the bottom and frosted glass on the top. Two inches above where the wood stopped and the glass began was a round hole. Bigger than a golf ball, maybe the right size for a baseball. Around it, the glass had splintered in a semicircle, with cracks shooting upward. It looked similar to how a first grader might draw the sun on a pretty summer day.
Jake walked closer, leaned down and attempted to peer through the hole. It was dark inside. There were two large windows on either side of the door. Unfortunately, the blinds were down, completely eliminating any assistance the streetlights might have given.
“Crazy night for somebody to be out causing trouble,” Frank said. “Probably just some kids without anything better to do.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. And Jake wouldn’t have thought much about it if she hadn’t followed up the comment with a quick but deliberate look over her right shoulder, then her left. It was her eyes that pulled at Jake’s gut. She had the look of someone waiting for the other shoe to drop.
A young officer dressed in a khaki uniform approached. His brown buzzed hair looked official, but the flushed face and sweat stains under his arms didn’t inspire confidence. Green. That was how Chase had described Andy Hooper. He covered the evening shift and would share call with Jake for the night shift.
Frank Johnson stepped forward. “Andy, this here is your new boss, Jake Vernelli.”
Andy stuck out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Mayor Montgomery said good things about you, sir.”
Chase must have left out the part about shooting his partner. Jake returned the shake. “Good to meet you,” he said. “What happened here tonight?”
The young officer flipped open his notebook. “Front door is damaged. Back door appears untouched. There are no witnesses. It does not appear that entry was gained. I was waiting for Tara to get here with a key so I could check out the inside.”
The kid had needed to consult his notes for that? It was going to be a long six weeks.
With her keys in hand, Tara started toward the door. Jake knew it was unlikely there was any danger. An intruder would have needed to manage getting his or her arm through the hole, enough to flip the lock from inside. That would have been difficult to do with without causing more glass to break. However, he’d seen a lot of odd things in his career.
Jake held out his hands for her keys. “Not until Officer Hooper and I check it out,” he said. He pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and he saw the immediate question in Frank Johnson’s eyes: Is that really necessary?
Hell, he had no idea. But it hadn’t been that long ago that he’d been almost too slow to pull his gun, and he didn’t intend to make that mistake again. When Officer Hooper hurried to get his own weapon, Jake fought the instinct to duck and run.
Jake unlocked the door and kicked it open with his foot, wide enough that they could enter. With the door open, there was enough light that he could quickly scan the dim interior. There were tables on one side, booths on the other. An aisle down the middle led to a long counter with six stools. Behind the counter were the pop machine, milk machine and stacks of glasses. “I’m going to check the kitchen,” he whispered. “Stay here.”
He walked toward the swinging door at the rear of the restaurant. However, instead of opening it, he veered behind the counter and walked toward the service window that was cut into the rear wall. It was chest high, three feet long by eighteen inches high, perfect for getting the hot food from the stove to the table in an express manner. He peered through the opening.
Toward the back, a light burning over a three-compartment sink made it possible to see the grill, stove and steam table on one side, refrigerator and worktable on the other. Across from the sink, behind a half wall, was the dishwasher. Beyond it, a rear entrance that looked undisturbed.
“It’s clear. Tell Tara that she can come in.”
By the time he got to the front of the restaurant, she was standing next to the cash register. The drawer was open and the slots were empty. “You keep any money in here?” he asked.
Tara shook her head. “After we close up in the afternoon, I make a deposit at the bank. I hold back enough to start the drawer out in the morning but I keep it in the kitchen.”
“Freezer, right?”
She smiled and it reached her eyes—her very pretty moss-green eyes. They went nicely with her hair—a rich, more strawberry than blond mix that touched her shoulders.
