by Layne, Ivy
He'd been restless and anxious those last few months. Promising me everything was fine, then talking about buying more guns and getting a better alarm. He'd been short-tempered and easily irritated. Annoyed when I asked questions, so I'd stopped.
He'd said once that if anything happened, if I needed help and he wasn't there, I should call someone. He had a card. I couldn't remember the name, but there had been a lion's head and a circle. Black on white.
Still clutching the knife in one hand and my phone in the other, I walked past the front door and down the other hall to Trey's office. I rarely went in there. Not before he died and not after. This was his space, his room.
His desk was as neat as he'd left it. Everything lined up. Everything in its place. No business cards.
I should have paid attention. I should have listened, but he'd been so erratic back then. I got used to tuning him out when he went off on a paranoid rant about guns or a new alarm. About people coming after him. If he'd been afraid for Adam, I would have taken him seriously, but it was always about him. Never us.
The top drawer slid open silently, the contents as neatly arranged as the surface of the desk. Pens lined up together, paperclips organized by size, and, in the corner, a neat stack of business cards.
Reluctantly, I peeled my sweaty fingers from the handle of the knife and set it on the desk. The blade gleamed obscenely against the warm mahogany. The first card in the pile was his stockbroker. The second for a local maid service. The third for the Black Rock newspaper.
Below that, a white card with black printing. A lion's head surrounded by a circular banner that read ‘Sinclair Security’. The name underneath was Maxwell Sinclair. Two phone numbers, one toll-free and the other an area code I didn't recognize. The address beneath; Atlanta, Georgia. Why would Trey have worked with a company all the way in Atlanta?
It was the middle of the night. No one would be in the office. Before I could think better of it, I dialed the toll-free number and waited.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. A click, as if the call were being transferred. It rang again, and a woman's voice informed me that I had reached Sinclair Security after office hours but was welcome to leave a message.
A long beep sounded in my ear and I began to babble. “This is Lily Spencer. I—my husband—my former husband—I'm a widow—uh, told me to call you if there was ever any trouble. I live—we live—I live up in Maine, and we've had some break-ins. Uh, I think. The police haven’t found anything, but tonight someone got in. Turned off the alarm. I don't know what to do. I don't know if you can help, but he said if anything ever happened, I should call you, so I'm calling. Please, if you could call me back, I'd appreciate it. Again, this is Lily Spencer.”
I left my number, then stabbed my finger at the screen of my phone and hung up. My cheeks were hot with embarrassment no one could see. I should have planned what I was going to say, should have thought about it, but I was rattled.
Not rattled.
I was scared.
I left the card face up on the blotter and picked up the knife. I thought about making a cup of tea. Turning on the television for company. Of walking through the house again.
I did none of it. I went to the stairs and climbed to the second level, checking every room I passed. I stopped in front of Adam's door and turned the knob, breath held, praying with everything inside me that he was as I'd left him. Safely asleep.
He'd rolled over, pushing his pillow to the floor, stuffed monkey under his head. He was still out cold, cheeks flushed with sleep, his back rising and falling in a regular rhythm.
My sweet boy. If he was okay, I was okay.
I shut the door, turning the almost useless lock on the handle, and sat on the carpet, leaning against the bed frame, the only sound in the room Adam's even breathing.
Pulling my knees into my chest, I listened for any hint of a disturbance, for any sign that we weren’t alone.
Eyes glued to the door, the knife in my right hand and my phone in my left, I waited for daylight and the false promise of safety.
Chapter Two
Lily
Idon't want grilled cheese again.”
“That's funny, when I asked a half an hour ago you said you had to have grilled cheese for lunch. Not peanut butter and jelly, not chicken noodle soup. Only grilled cheese.”
Adam's lower lip pooched out as he scowled down at the perfectly-toasted grilled cheese sandwich. “That was before I knew you were going to use the yellow cheese.”
I stifled a sigh of exasperation. Breathe, I told myself. He’s five. He’s not being a pain in the ass on purpose.
Except, he kind of was.
A five-year-old has three basic jobs: explore the world, give good snuggles, and drive his parents crazy. Adam was excelling at all three.
“Adam, I already told you, the grocery store was out of the white cheese. It’s yellow cheese or no cheese at all.”
My stomach growled as the scent of melting cheese and toasted bread drifted across the table. I’d made Adam lunch, but I hadn’t gotten to mine.
Slowly, I reached across the table saying lightly, “Well, if you don't want it, I might as well eat it for you. I haven't had lunch either and—”
“No!” Adam snatched up a triangle of sandwich and shoved half of it into his mouth, chewing furiously as he glared at me.
Bingo. The fake-out didn't always work. It was just as likely he would have crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to eat until I came up with whatever it was he wanted.
I gave an internal sigh as I watched him chomp through the sandwich. White bread and cheese toasted in butter would go straight to my rear end, but it smelled so good. I hadn't realized I’d wanted one until I'd reached across the table and my mouth had begun to water.
Pushing my chair back from the table, I set about making my own sandwich. I'd worry about the size of my rear end later.
I was spreading butter on a thick slice of bread when three heavy knocks sounded on the door. Thump, thump, thump. I jumped, muscles jerking tight, the knife clattering as it fell from my hand to hit the counter.
Adam's eyes shot up from his sandwich and fixed on me, narrowed with worry. “Mom?”
“Oops,” I said, picking up the knife, stalling Adam as my mind raced.
It's just someone at the door.
It's fine.
People knock on doors. It doesn't mean anything.
I was trying to forget the night before. Trying to forget the open door, the yawning dark of the woods beyond. The dragging sound and my frantic phone call.
In the light of day, it all seemed overblown and dramatic.
Maybe I hadn't shut the door properly.
Maybe I'd forgotten to set the alarm.
Maybe I was overreacting.
The logical part of me objected to this train of thought. I knew what I saw, and I knew I didn't forget to set the alarm.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Three more heavy knocks landed on the front door. I tried not to imagine the size of the fist that made the deep, full sounds echoing through the house.
“Aren't you going to answer it?” Adam asked around a mouthful of grilled cheese sandwich.
Straightening, I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and turned to smile at Adam. “Of course. It was just so quiet the knock startled me. Finish your lunch, and if you eat it all, you can have a cookie.”
“I'd rather have an apple,” Adam grumbled under his breath.
What kid didn't like cookies? My kid, that's who. It was the cookies, not the kid. I was hit or miss in the kitchen. My grilled cheese sandwiches? Divine. My cookies? Not so much.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I strode down the hall, stopping at the security panel to turn on the screen. The camera clicked on, showing a man at the door.
He was tall, the tips of hi
s short-cropped dark hair cut off by the top of the screen. His shoulders were broad enough that only one was visible, and what I could see of his arms were corded with muscle. A black shirt with a familiar lion's head logo stretched across his chest.
It couldn't be. I'd only called the night before.
Unlocking the door, I swung it open and looked up. And up. I'm on the short side, slight except for my hips and butt. My visitor loomed over me, his face a wall, eyes flat.
My voice more hesitant than I'd like, I said, “Can I help you?”
“Knox Sinclair. Sinclair Security. You called, said you needed help.”
I cleared my throat. “That was fast. I only called a few hours ago.”
“Good timing. My schedule was free. So was the plane.”
“I thought you'd call. I—”
I'd made the phone call but hadn't expected someone to turn up this quickly. That was weird, right? Who flies most of the way up the east coast without calling first?
Trey had left me Sinclair Security's card. What if they were mixed up in whatever Trey had been into? What if Knox Sinclair was at my door only hours after I'd called because he was already in Maine? Because he'd been at my open door last night?
Knox's dark eyes leveled on mine. I couldn't get a read on him. I needed help. I needed someone to trust. That didn't mean Knox was my answer.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked in a deep voice.
I stepped back and waved a hand, welcoming him into the house. Pacing past me, Knox's eyes swept the entry hall and what he could see of the living room, cataloging every detail, his expression unreadable. If he was annoyed at having his day interrupted by a flight to Maine, it didn't show.
“Would you, uh, like some coffee? Lunch? I don't know how we do this.” I spread my hands out in front of me palms up, at a loss.
“I'll take the coffee, no lunch. I ate on the plane. Is there somewhere we can sit down? I need to know what you're dealing with before I know how I can help you.”
“Oh, of course. Yes. I'll get you some coffee and we can sit in the living room. Just let me get my son settled first. I don't want him to—” I gestured towards the kitchen.
Knox seemed to understand. He nodded, then raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in question. I stared at him, taking in his thick, dark hair, eyes so deep a brown they were almost black, sharp cheekbones, straight nose, and a full lower lip that was a lush contrast in that strong face.
His voice rumbled, “Living room?”
I dropped my eyes, a flush heating my cheeks. One second I'm not sure I can trust the guy and the next I'm staring at his lips. I needed to get it together. “Yes, sorry, I'll show you.”
Knox followed as I led him deeper into the house, shutting and locking the door behind him. The living room opened in front of us and I gestured vaguely. “Anywhere you want to sit is fine. I'll be right back.”
Leaving Knox Sinclair to get himself settled, I found Adam finishing the last of his sandwich. He opened his mouth to speak. I stopped him with a raised palm. “Not with your mouth full.”
For a second, I was afraid he'd choke as he swallowed the giant bite of sandwich, washing it down with a generous swig of lemonade.
“Who was it?”
I busied myself making a fresh pot of coffee, thinking about what to say. I tried not to lie to Adam. He was only five, but kids have great bullshit detectors.
I wasn't going to tell him that I was afraid someone had tried to break into the house. No way. I settled for part of the truth.
“Now that it's only the two of us here, I feel like we need to upgrade the alarm system. I called the company who installed it, and they sent someone up. I need to sit down with him so he can help us figure out what we should do.”
“Upgrade the alarm? You mean like laser beams so no one can walk on the floor?” Adam's eyes lit with glee. My kid was watching too many cartoons.
I shook my head. “I'm pretty sure no laser beams. This isn't a museum, baby doll, it's just a house. Even if it does have the most precious thing in the world inside.”
He flashed his pure child's grin and my heart squeezed. He was the most precious thing in the house. In the world. I'd do anything to keep him safe.
“I have a feeling it's going to be a pretty boring grown-up meeting. How about you go into the family room and watch some cartoons?”
“TV? During the day?”
Adam didn't wait for me to say yes. He shoved back his chair and took off down the hall, not sparing Knox Sinclair a glance as he flew past the living room.
Unless Knox Sinclair had brought a lightsaber or a team of ninjas to defend the house, there was no way Adam would pry himself away from the television to investigate our grown-up meeting.
I arranged squares of freshly baked coffee cake on a plate and carried it in on a tray with two cups of coffee, a small pitcher of cream, and a bowl of sugar. Knox sat beside the coffee table, a few file folders spread before him.
He'd shifted the chair to give a view of the front door, the hallway, and the tall windows looking out over the lake. I wasn't the only one who was paranoid.
His dark eyes lifted from the paper in his hand. “These windows are a security nightmare.”
I set the tray down on the coffee table and sat on the couch beside Knox's armchair.
“Are they? I didn't know. I don't really know anything about security. Trey had the system put in when we built the house, but—”
“Trey was your husband?”
I took a sip of coffee, uneasy. I was always uneasy these days when Trey's name came up.
I shouldn't be uneasy.
I should be grief stricken. I should be mourning.
I wasn't.
I was uneasy, and I was scared.
I wasn't going to tell Knox Sinclair any of that. I settled for a nod.
“Yes, Trey was my husband. He designed the house and took care of the alarm. I know how to use it, mostly, but I don't know all the details.”
“I've got them right here,” Knox said, gesturing at a manila folder on the coffee table in front of him. “It looks like my father oversaw the installation personally. Shouldn't be hard to expand it if that's what we need.”
Knox helped himself to a cup of coffee, ignoring the cream and sugar. He took a sip and leveled his dark eyes on me. “You called last night in a panic. Mentioned break-ins. Did someone break in last night?”
“Yes.” The word was out of my mouth before I thought better of it.
Knox made a note on the paper in his hand. “What did the police say?” he asked without looking up.
“I, uh, I didn’t call them.”
His eyes sharpened on me. “There a reason you called us and not the police when there was an intruder in your house?”
“I, uh, I—”
Knox leaned forward. “What are you afraid of, Lily? I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“I don’t know where to start,” I said, those words explaining so much and so little.
I didn’t know where to start with anything. With the break-ins, with my life as a widow, with Knox Sinclair and his offer of help.
“Start at the beginning,” Knox said simply.
Nothing was simple about the beginning. College, and Trey, and that first flush of heady, foolish love. That was the real beginning. But that wasn’t what Knox meant.
“About a month after Trey died,” I started, “I thought someone tried to get into the house. The alarm went off and the police came. They said they didn’t find anything, but I heard someone out there.”
“It happened again?”
“Every week or two.”
“That often?” Knox asked, one dark eyebrow arched.
“It’s not always someone trying to get into the house. Sometimes it’s things outs
ide that are moved. I found marks on a window like someone tried to force it open.”
“Did you show the marks to the police? What did they say?”
I shook my head. “Trey’s best friend Dave is a deputy with the town Police Department. He, uh, he’s been keeping an eye on us since Trey died. He says it’s all nothing. Probably teenagers messing around. He said the marks on the garage door were an animal trying to get at the garbage, but—”
Those dark eyes flashed up. “You have problems with animals here? Have they tried to get into the garage before?”
“No. If I leave the trash cans out, sure. We're surrounded by the woods here. Animals, yes. Raccoons and fox. Sometimes coyote. Tons of deer in the summer. But trying to get into the garage or damaging the house? Never. So if it's animals, why now?”
“Good question,” Knox said in a low voice. “Have you seen anyone hanging around?”
“No. A few times I thought I heard something, but—”
“What happened last night?”
I ran through the events of the night before, trying to keep my voice steady. When I was finished, Knox set his notepad and pen on the coffee table and leaned back in his chair, propping his ankle on his knee, arms folded across his chest.
“You're sure you set the alarm. Sure you closed and locked the door.”
“I'm sure,” I said. “I never forget to lock up. I check the doors every night after Adam goes to sleep, and I never forget the alarm. Ever.”
Straining under the pressure of Knox's steady gaze I rose to pace in front of my chair. “I know what I saw. I know what I heard. Adam was in bed. I was the only one in the house. I should have been the only one in the house. I'm not making this up.”
“Sit down, Lily.”
My butt plopped in my chair before I registered that he'd told me what to do in the same tone I used with Adam.
I stayed where I was. Knox wasn't friendly. He was a little scary, but he was supposed to be here to help me. I didn't want to piss him off.
He studied me, appraising, picking me apart. I fought the urge to squirm. Finally, he asked, “Has someone told you they think you're making it up?”