Confession by Carey Baldwin

reschedule.”
    Luke continued to fuss with her between making phone calls, during which he presumably rearranged his day’s appointments and rebooked with Johnson. She closed her eyes, reviewing the day in her head. First, she’d sat in that hot, smelly interrogation room over two hours, then she’d been forced to view that awful picture of poor Nancy Aberdeen. Next, she’d been dumped in a limo against her will and banged her forehead on the window when said limo blasted off to escape what might’ve been bullets but turned out to be a hurled rock instead. Now she had a goose egg the size of a Chihuahua forming on her parietal bone, and an impossible-­to-­ignore man in her living room. A man who would not stop bossing her around: Put this pillow under your head like so. Prop your feet up here. Don’t take that bag of frozen peas off your noggin for another fifteen minutes.
    All in all, it’d been a truly terrible day.
    Oddest thing though—­she drifted right off to sleep—­with more ease than she had in a long, long time.
    B y the time she opened her eyes again, sunset coated the living room in soft pink light. The lace cloth on her dining-­room table looked like a ballerina’s tutu—­what was up with that? She blinked until it looked like a tablecloth again. Her eyes focused on Luke, sitting cross-­legged on the floor, reading a Psychology Today magazine while Chica sprawled in his lap.
    â€œHey there, sleepyhead,” he said when she sat up and yawned.
    â€œHey there back.” A warm feeling spread across her chest, but it was quickly followed by a pulsatile ache in her head. For a moment, she couldn’t get her bearings. What was Luke Jericho doing in her living room petting her dog . . . and when did she get a dog? She touched the throbbing spot on her forehead.
    Oh yeah.
    Chica.
    The limo.
    The rock.
    â€œWho do you think threw that rock at the limousine?” Too many things were going on at the same time. Hard to sort out what was important and what was coincidence. A man breaking into her house, a rock thrown at a limo while she was inside. She didn’t know if it was just bad luck or something more.
    â€œI’m sure the rock wasn’t intended for you if that’s what you’re worried about. Dante’s confession is all over the news, and the limo has a personalized plate: JER I C H O O N E . ­People are scared, and they’re looking for a scapegoat. Right, now, my family’s that goat.”
    â€œ J E R I C H O O N E . How many limos do you have?” she asked, hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be more than the number of pairs of shoes in her closet.
    â€œThree.”
    She had four pairs of shoes. “Well, that’s a relief.”
    He threw back his head and laughed. First time she’d seen him do that. He looked . . . very attractive when he laughed. He also looked very attractive when he didn’t.
    â€œI like this dog.” He scratched Chica under the chin. “She wandered out of that bedroom, right after you fell asleep. Nosed around a little, then once she found you, she wouldn’t leave your side, so here we both are.” Pulling Chica’s face up, he studied her eyes. She mewled and wagged her tail in response. “What happened to her?”
    â€œDon’t know, really. The vet says she’s most likely been on the streets for a very long time. Prior to that, suffered some abuse. She’s malnourished, pregnant. She followed the little boy next door home from school, but she’s too much for Tommy’s family to manage, so I’m sort of her foster mom.”
    â€œLucky dog.”
    â€œLucky me.” She patted her knees, and Chica came bounding over to her. “If I hadn’t needed to take Chica to the vet, I would’ve walked in on a burglar, and who knows what would’ve happened.” She shuddered just thinking how