the setting sun and so all she could see was a sinuous silhouette sliding between the waves. She’d thought it was a dolphin.
But now, thinking back, she could convince herself it looked human.
The sky was getting darker every second. As Sandy turned back toward the house, a faint whispering stopped her. It sounded like voices.
She went still, listening. Disturbed by her sudden anxiety, the baby kicked. Sandy patted her belly reassuringly.
Within a few seconds, the sounds became repetitive and she realized her ears had played tricks on her. The susurrus noise wasn’t voices. It was leaves and twigs rustling as something or someone moved through the tangled jungle of the swamp. Something or someone large.
But who—or what? And was it as close as it sounded?
She shivered. There were a lot of wild animals in the swamp, some very large, like alligators or bears. But she’d lived here all her life. It wasn’t the prospect of meeting a wild animal that made her tremble.
It was the memory of the dark form swimming gracefully in the Gulf. Had it been a person? Who would be swimming at dusk and then walking through the swamp, the way Tristan once had?
No. She had to stop imagining that each breeze that lifted the curtains or each murmur of waves licking the shore could be Tristan—or his ghost.
There had been nothing ghostly about whatever was moving through the tangle of trees and vines just now. Those sounds were real.
There was no reason she could think of for anyone to be on DuChaud property, not at this time of day—or any time of day, actually. The DuChaud’s home was eight miles from the town of Bonne Chance. Everybody knew where the beautiful hand-built house was, but the road from town turned from asphalt to shells and gravel about two miles away and ended at the DuChaud’s patio. It was not a road that invited casual drivers.
A different noise broke the silence of the early darkness, again faint, but recognizable. The sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves.
Whatever or whoever was out there was on the move and didn’t care who heard him. Sandy inched her way backward, away from the trees and toward her house, both hands cradling her tummy protectively. She ran through the French doors as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, locked them and set the alarm.
Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief. “Sorry, bean,” she muttered. “I know it’s silly, but I think I scared myself.”
All at once, her eyes began stinging. Blinking furiously, she tried to make the tears disappear, but they still welled and slipped down her cheeks.
“Damn it, I don’t want to be afraid in my house. But like it or not, you and I are here alone. We have to be careful. Besides, that’s our dock—your daddy’s dock,” she said, her voice tightening with grief.
“Oh, Tristan,” she whispered. “I need you so much. I’m doing my best to live without you. Why are you still. Right. Here?” She slapped her forehead with two stiff fingers.
“Right here in the very front of my brain. Why aren’t you fading, like a perfect memory should—” Her voice cracked and a couple of sobs escaped her throat. She pressed her lips together, hoping to hold in any more sobs. She didn’t want to cry. The more upset she got, the more restless the little bean.
In all the years she’d been married to Tristan, in all the years she’d known him before that—essentially their whole lives—she’d never been afraid of anything. But the sound of footsteps had spooked her.
“Don’t worry, bean. I’m not turning into a scaredy-cat. I came back here for the peace and quiet, and no alligator or poacher—or whatever that was—is going to scare me away.” Her brave words made her feel better, and as she relaxed, she realized how tired she was.
Yawning, she checked the alarm system and armed the doors and windows, then headed toward the master bedroom.
As she passed the closed door to her office, which they’d converted into a nursery, she realized she hadn’t even thought about checking her email. Too distracted by memories, she supposed.
When she turned on the light, the desktop was empty. Her laptop wasn’t there, where it always sat. Automatically, she glanced around as if it might have gotten set aside by someone during the time she’d been in Baton Rouge with her mother-in-law.
But by whom? And when? A chill ran down her spine at the thought of someone coming into her house.
No, she told herself. Don’t start panicking. Think rationally about who of all the people who must have had access to the house could have done it. Obviously Maddy Tierney or Zach Winter, but Maddy would have told her, right? So...people from the crime scene unit? But all the evidence of Maddy’s kidnapping by the captain of the Pleiades Seagull was in the master bedroom. Why would they need to take her laptop computer?
But if not them? Then she had a thought that sent her heart hammering. What if it had been Tristan? What if he was out there, hiding, and needed something from the laptop.
“Stop it!” she cried. “You can’t go there every time something odd happens or you hear a strange sound. He’s dead and nothing is going to bring him back to life!” Blinking, she forced away all her silly romantic thoughts of Tristan out there somewhere, alive and hurt.
Forget all the evidence about how he had died. Forget everything except one fact. He’d gone overboard into the dark, dangerous water and had never come out. That, if nothing else, told her he was really dead. If he were still alive, he would move heaven and earth to get to her. Tristan would die before he’d allow her to believe he was dead.
With a quick shake of her head, she forced away thoughts of Tristan and concentrated on the missing laptop.
Before she jumped to any conclusions, she should check with Maddy and Zach. They may have had to confiscate it so the hard drive and memory cards could be reviewed.
Maybe Homeland Security or the NSA had needed it for evidence. That made sense, except for the fact that there was nothing on her laptop that could possibly be interesting to anyone other than herself.
She checked her watch. It was just after ten. That was eleven Eastern time. She hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone. Maddy had told her to call anytime if she needed anything.
When her friend answered, she blurted out, “Maddy, did you or Zach take my laptop?”
“What? Sandy? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Did either of you take my computer, or see someone else take it?”
“It’s not there?”
“No. It always sits on my desk in the nursery. Always. And it’s not there.”
“No, we didn’t. We searched it. Remember, you gave us the password. We went through all the saved files, looking for anything that might have been related to Tristan’s death or the smuggling, but it was there when I left.” Maddy paused for a beat. “Have you seen any other signs that someone has been in your house?”
Sandy’s tummy did a flip, which woke up the baby. He wriggled and kicked. “I don’t think so. The nursery is the only room I hadn’t been
