“Danielle’s on a cruise,” Devon said, her voice quiet.
“You know where she keeps the spare key?”
Devon nodded. “Yeah, it’s in the junk drawer in her kitchen.” Absently, she reached up, brushed her fingers over the pearl necklace she wore. Wryly, she added, “Along with keys from every house she’s ever lived in. Dani is sort of a pack rat.”
“You got a key to her house?”
Devon nodded. “Yeah. We swapped keys so we could get each other’s mail and stuff on vacations—and because Dani’s a bit scatterbrained, loses her keys all the time.”
“Maybe we should check and see if she still has it.”
“Okay.” Feeling a little scattered herself, Devon started toward the door, only to stop and stare down at herself. She still wore the black velvet dress she’d worn to her parents for Thanksgiving. She’d swapped out the heels for a pair of bunny slippers, complete with floppy ears and bright button eyes, so at least her feet weren’t killing her. But she was freezing. So cold she hurt with it. “Maybe I should change.”
Luke slid a hand around her arm and murmured, “Maybe you should lie down and rest. We can look for the key later.”
“No. I don’t want to sleep right now. I couldn’t anyway.” She shivered, mentally shying away from the idea of it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that poor dog, and her belly revolted. There was no way she could sleep just yet.
“Okay. Let’s go upstairs.”
For some reason, the soothing, gentle timbre of his voice rubbed her raw. She almost lashed out at him, and at the very last second, she managed to bite back the sarcasm burning in her throat. Instead, she tugged her arm away from him and forced a smile. “Luke, I’m okay. I’m not going to break.” I don’t think. “I can manage to go upstairs and change without help.”
He stood there, big hands opening and closing into fists, and the impotent anger rolled off of him in waves. “Devon—”
She took one step, closed the distance between them. Laying her finger across his lips, she said, “Luke, give me a few minutes, okay?” She tried for a real smile. “I could use some coffee, though. Would you mind . . . ?”
Coffee, Luke thought, disgusted. He watched Devon walk off, the blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders, her head slumped.
Somebody had gone out of their way to terrify Devon, and he was making her coffee. A nagging sense of guilt ate inside him, spreading like a cancer, and it was getting worse as the night wore on.
It had been nearly six weeks since he and Devon had started sleeping together. That first night, he could recall the whole thing with almost crystalline clarity: all of it, including the weird sensation he’d had of being watched. Six weeks, and that was the only time it had happened.
Luke hadn’t said anything to Devon, not wanting to scare her or upset her, but now he wished he would have. Still unwilling to write it off as his own imagination or some weird sense of paranoia, he’d kept his eyes open, checked out things around her house. There was no sign somebody had been watching her and no more repeats of that one strange incident. Although he didn’t want to think he was imagining things, after six weeks of nothing else happening, he’d started to write it off as some internal reservations of his own.
Considering the complicated mess between him and Devon, maybe his psyche was conjuring some imagined enemy as a way for him to deal with the intensity of his emotions. Sounded like bullshit to him. He was crazy about Devon, and if he weren’t worried about scaring her off, he would have already made sure she knew just how serious he was about her.
But it also didn’t make sense that somebody would have been watching Devon, just that one night, the one night she was with him—and then disappear.
But now his mind was working overtime. Brooding, he stalked into the kitchen and got the coffee going. Devon drank too much of it, and she liked it hot, strong, and sweet. Luke normally didn’t drink coffee outside of work, but he went ahead and fixed enough for him as well, more to have something to do with his hands than anything else.
Devon had already made the connection to the skunk. He wasn’t surprised. She was sharp, and despite being shaky, she was also entirely too rational and logical. She’d made the logical conclusion. Right now, Luke was counting on that logical, rational mind to help him figure this mess out.
A dead skunk. A mutilated animal. There was an escalation of violence there that didn’t go with any pattern he could think of. There had to be more, something he’d missed. Something he didn’t know about.
The coffeepot started to steam and hiss. Watching as the dark liquid dropped into the glass carafe, he leaned back against the opposite counter. When he heard Devon’s feet on the steps, he shoved away from the counter, crossed the kitchen—it seemed empty without the wheeled island in the middle of the room.
“Smells good,” Devon murmured, padding over to him in stocking feet. She’d pulled on a long, bulky sweater over a skinny-legged pair of jeans. Thick gray socks covered her feet. He poured her a cup of coffee and added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar.
He drank his own black and watched Devon from under his lashes. She was pale, but that empty, disconnected look was gone from her eyes. She looked pissed off, he decided. Oddly, that, more than anything else, eased some of the tension in his gut.
He’d take pissed off over scared any day. Pissed off didn’t give her that wounded look that made him so sick with fury, he couldn’t even think.
“Who in the hell would do something like that, Luke?” she asked abruptly, setting her coffee down and shoving away from the counter to pace. Her feet were soundless on the floor, and she moved around with a restless energy Luke understood all to well.
Better to move than stand still. Gave some small relief to the fury inside. Yeah, he understood restless, edgy energy, although he had learned to channel his. Took a little more effort this time around, though—or actually, a lot more effort.
“I don’t know.” Setting his mug down, he moved to intersect her as she started back across the kitchen floor. Reaching out, he laid his hands on her upper arms and stroked up and down. She felt so frail under his hands, he thought. But her body all but vibrated with rage. “We need to try to figure that out. Anybody you can think of who would want to scare you like this?”
Her lips curled in a sneer. “There are plenty of people who’d like to scare me, Luke.” Then she scowled and added, “But I don’t know if any of them would want it bad enough to kill some helpless animal over it.”
“Two.”
Sliding him a glance, she paused, then nodded, slowly. “Two. So you don’t think it’s impossible whoever did this killed the skunk, too, right?”
Luke wished he had a concrete answer for her. “Definitely possible, I’d say. Likely?” He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Has there been anything weird going on?”
She sent him a droll look. “Besides the fact I’ve got a man practically living with me?” Devon shook her head. “No. Nothing I can think of. Same old cases at work, a few hard-assed teenagers, but none of them strike me as this brutal.”
Brutal. Yeah. That pretty much described it. “Come on. Let’s go check on that key.”
“And if it’s missing?” Devon asked, her voice soft, hesitant. “What then?”
Luke was actually more concerned about what it could mean if the key wasn’t missing. Somehow, somebody had gotten in and out of her house, leaving no signs. That, even more than the brutality of the dead animal, bothered him—downright scared the hell out of him.
But he didn’t let it show. Stroking a hand down Devon’s tumbled hair, he responded, “Then we do the same thing we’re going to do even if it’s not missing. We’re changing the locks. I’m going to take a look at your security system and probably going to beef it up a little.” A lot.
He slid her a sidelong glance and asked, “How do you feel about getting a dog?”
“A dog?” she repeated, her brows going up.
THE k
ey was still in the drawer.
Devon blew out a sigh of relief and turned to look at Luke. He was studying the kitchen with a weird look on his face.
“When did Danielle leave for her cruise?”
“Last Friday. Flew down to Florida and spent the night.” Cocking her head, she peered at his face and asked, “Why?”
Luke shrugged. “No reason,” he said.
There was nothing in his tone to indicate otherwise, and nothing in his expression, but he wasn’t telling her the truth. Folding her arms over her chest, she said succinctly, “Bullshit.”
Gray eyes narrowed on her face. Stomping over to him, Devon pushed up on her toes and shoved her face into his. “Don’t lie to me, Luke. I hate lies.”
A faint smile curled his lips. “I’m not lying—not exactly.” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers, fast and soft, and then he stepped away, circled around the kitchen. His head tipped back, and he took in a slow, deep breath, dragging the air in through his nose, holding it, and then releasing it in a slow, controlled manner. “She’s been gone a week since Friday, so the house has been empty about a week, right? I haven’t seen anybody staying here.”
Devon shrugged. “There isn’t anybody. I’ve come over a couple of times to bring her mail in.”
His eyes shot to hers, cutting through her like a laser. “When?” he demanded, his voice hard and flat.
“A couple of times. Sunday, to leave her paper. You were already at work. Monday, Tuesday—again, you were at work. I forgot to check on Wednesday. That’s the whole reason I have a key to her place, Luke,” she snapped, tossing her head back and planting her hands on her hips. “You know, I’m really getting—oomph. Hey!” He grabbed her by the hips and hauled her up, planting her butt on the counter between the stove and the refrigerator.
“You don’t come in here alone again, Devon. You got it?”
Devon stabbed her finger into his chest. “I don’t like being told what to do, slick.”
He caught her wrist, squeezed. “Somebody’s been in her house, Devon.”
Those words sucked the anger right out of her, and she squirmed around a little as confusion took its place. “Nobody’s staying here, Luke. Danielle would have let me know if—”
“Danielle probably doesn’t know,” Luke said, his eyes grim. “Come on.” He tugged her off the counter and laced their fingers. “I can smell food—something spicy, like Cajun. If Danielle’s been gone since Friday, I wouldn’t be able to smell that. And cigarette smoke, but I don’t see any ashtrays.”
Automatically, Devon took a sniff. “I don’t smell anything. And Danielle doesn’t smoke.”
“No, but somebody who does smoke has been in here. And pretty damn recently.” He led her through the house, checking each room, and making her do the same. They stopped in the bathroom, and Luke examined everything from the shower stall to the sink drain. He treated each room to the same thorough examination.
But whatever he was looking for, Devon didn’t think he found it. After nearly an hour, he led her back outside, taking her keys and locking the door. “We need to tell Danielle to get her locks changed. You’re getting yours changed today.”
Defensively, Devon said, “I’d already figured that much out.” Then she felt stupid. Luke was worried. Hell, she was worried. What normal person wouldn’t be downright terrified right now?
“Look, can we go back to the house?” Devon said. She shoved her hair back from her face and laced her fingers behind her neck. “I’m tired, I’m freaked out, I can’t concentrate right now.”
Luke’s arms came around her, and she leaned into him, sliding her arms up around his shoulders. He brushed his lips over her forehead and murmured, “It’s going to be okay, Devon. I promise.”
FOGGY from lack of sleep, Devon huddled on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head propped on the well-cushioned armrest.
Luke was on the phone talking to somebody from the hospital—arguing more like it. “Don’t give me that shit that this doesn’t qualify as an emergency,” he snapped into the phone. “My girlfriend is being stalked, some nutcase broke into her house, and until I know she’s safe, I am not working nights or evenings.”
He was quiet for a moment and then said, “So fire me.”
“Luke . . .”
He shot her a narrow look, and Devon rolled her eyes. The man would get his way anyway. He was like a bulldog when he got something in his head. “I don’t give . . . Yeah, fine, put her on the phone.”
Tuning out the sound of Luke’s voice, Devon stared into the fire, letting the undulating flames soothe her, lull her into a state of semi-awareness. Focusing very hard on not thinking about anything, she jumped when Luke knelt down in front of her and touched a hand to her thigh. Forcing a wan smile, she asked, “Do you still have a job?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Talked to Lynette Ransom. She’ll cover my shift today and find somebody to cover tomorrow. I’m off Monday anyway, and hopefully by Tuesday, we can work something out.”
“Luke, you do not need to rearrange your life over this.”
His mouth compressed into a thin line, he said, “If you think for one damn minute I’m not going to rearrange heaven and earth to protect you, then we got a problem.” He moved onto the couch beside her and pulled her onto his lap. With his arms looped around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder, some of the ice inside her thawed a little. Devon relaxed back against him and finally allowed herself to think, just a little, about what in the hell she should do.
“Let me move in.”
Startled, Devon straightened up and glanced back at Luke. “Move in?”
“Yeah.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and said, “It’s not like I’m not here half the time anyway. If I’m here, with you, you’ll be safer. I’ll feel better.”
“You going to watch me twenty-four/seven, Luke?”
“I plan on doing that anyway, even if I have to sleep in my car out in the driveway,” he said. He lifted a hand, ran it through her hair, and then curved his palm over her neck, his fingers splayed wide. Using his thumb, he tipped her head back. His eyes, that smoky, sultry gray, bored into hers. “Let me move in, Devon. I’ll do what I can with my shifts so I’m not working nights for a while. Don’t ask me to leave you here alone at night.”
His fingers tightened, and impossibly, his eyes seemed to darken. “Damn it, do you have any idea how sick it’s making me, to think you were over at that house while he was staying there, watching you?”
“We don’t know . . .”
“I know,” Luke said. His muscles bunched with the need to do something, hit something. He needed action, something defined, decisive. Something he knew would keep her safe.
Safe—he had to battle back a bitter, ugly laugh. A fucking Ranger, and he hadn’t been able to stop this. That nagging sense of guilt, compounded by his stupidity, was going to eat a hole inside his gut the size of the Great Lakes.
She reached up, laid a hand on his cheek. “Why do I get the feeling you’re blaming yourself?”
“Because I am.” Closing his fingers around her wrist, he brought her hand around and kissed her palm. “That first night we were together, after you fell asleep, I went outside to get my bag.” Luke leaned his head back against the couch and blew out a harsh breath. “I felt somebody watching me, Devon. Watching your house.”
Devon squinted at him, her nose wrinkling as she repeated, “You felt somebody watching my house.”
“Yeah.” Lifting his head, he said, “I’m not the paranoid type, Devon. I brushed it off, thought maybe it was too little sleep, stress, whatever, but now, I’m not so sure.”
Shaking her head, Devon said, “I just don’t get it. Why would somebody be watching me? Hell, why would somebody leave a dead skunk in my yard, and why would somebody . . .” Her voice broke, and she paused, took a deep breath. “Why would somebody do something like that to a dog and then leave it in here for me to find?”
“Because whoever did it is crazy. Crazy people don’t need reasons. They don’t need answers or logic.” Luke cradled her face. “I’m sorry. I let this happen.”
“Oh, bullshit.” Devon smacked his hand and shoved off his lap, stalking over to the fireplace. Spinning around, she glared at him. “You didn’t let anything happen. And assuming you’re right about that night, that somebody was watching me—what in the hell could you have done?”
Luke exploded off the couch. “Damn it, I could have watched you better!”
“Watched me?” she repeated, her brows rising. “Watched me? Luke, I am not some eight-year-old who needs a babysitter.”
She started to turn away and then abruptly spun back to him. “Wait a minute . . . is that what the past six weeks have been about, Luke? You’re watching me? Trying to take care of me?”
She blinked rapidly, but not before he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Get out of here, Luke. Now.”
“Like hell,” he snarled, reaching out and snagging the neckline of her sweatshirt. Hauling her against him, he glared down at her. “The past six weeks have been about getting as close to you as I possibly can, in every way I can.”
“Yeah, so you can make sure some nutcase isn’t out there who wants to hurt me?” she demanded. “I knew you were a bit of a Boy Scout, Luke, but this is ridiculous.” She shoved against his chest but didn’t manage to budge him an inch, and that only pissed her off more. “Damn it, let go of me. I don’t need a bodyguard. I don’t need some Good Samaritan in my life.”
“You think that’s what this has been about?” Incredulous, Luke stared at her. She struggled to get away, but instead of letting her go, he worked an arm around her waist and hauled her rigid body off the ground. Tangling his free hand in her hair, he said, “You actually think I’ve been spending every free, waking moment with you because of one occurrence, more than a month ago?”
As if realizing the futility of struggling against him, Devon settled for arching back as far as she could and keeping her body stiff and rigid. “Makes plenty of sense to me.”
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