while.
Tracy felt a faint glimmer of relief. He sounded so reasonable and matter of fact. But the
break-in was still fresh in her mind. She needed to stay on alert. This could be a ruse to
gain entry into her house. She looked past him to the rusted out Chevy he parked in her
driveway. The car is not for sale, she explained. She started to close the door.
The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Can I take a look at it? I could
probably make you a right good offer, he wheedled. What about ten thousand dollars?
Tracy stared at him. Why would someone pay that kind of money for an old car destined for
the glue factory? I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale, she repeated. You’ll have to excuse
me, I’m late for work. Quickly she closed the door and threw the deadbolt.
But the man didn’t move. His voice came through the door. I’d still like to look it over.
What would you say to fifteen thousand?
Fifteen thousand! He had to mean fifteen hundred. With fifteen thousand dollars she could
buy a late model used car and have money left over. But this was ridiculous. The man
didn’t look as though he had fifteen dollars, let alone fifteen thousand.
My car is in the shop for repairs, she called. I do not wish to sell it and that’s final.
She waited quietly behind the door, hoping her silence would convince him to give up and
go away.
After several minutes passed, she moved cautiously into the living room where she peered
through the sheer curtains to get a view of the front yard. Apparently the man still stood
on her doorstep. His battered car was still in the driveway.
She made a quick mental search of the house, trying to think of something to use as a
weapon if he made an attempt to break in. The only thing that came to mind was the old
tried and true standby—a rolling pin.
She glanced anxiously up at the clock. Five more minutes. Hurry up, Leif, she whispered. I
could use some reinforcements.
****
Leif frowned as he approached Tracy’s house. Why was that broken down heap parked in her
driveway? Although her front door was firmly closed, a man stood on her doorstep. Leif
knew he had never seen this character before.
Easing off on the accelerator, he rolled slowly past the house, sizing up the stranger.
Was this the notorious Rick Timmons trying to contact his accomplice in crime, Tracy Dixon?
He pounded a fist on the steering wheel.
Just when I started to believe her.
But Detective Diaz said Timmons was well built. This guy looked as though he had been on a
hunger strike. And unless Timmons was a master of disguise, no one would accuse this man
of being good-looking.
Without hesitation Leif swung a one-eighty and rolled to a stop in front of Tracy’s home.
Startled, the stranger glanced over his shoulder. One glimpse of Leif and he made a fast
about face, beating a hasty retreat to his car. Before Leif opened his door, the man
revved his engine and backed out of the driveway.
Automatically Leif jotted down the license plate number as the old Chevy took off toward
town in a cloud of exhaust. He marched grimly to the front door.
Now let’s see what this is all about.
His knock was much heavier than necessary. Tracy, it’s Leif. Are you ready to go?
Instantly Tracy opened the door. She stood there looking pale and shaken, but her chin was
up in that Don’t tread on me look. Still he knew her well enough by now to sense that she
was frightened. He ached to pull her into his arms, but his brain took charge.
I’m ready. Her voice was husky. I’ll get my purse.
Leif forced himself to wait until they were settled in the SUV before he questioned her.
He sat behind the wheel without starting the engine. Tell me about it. He studied her face
for signs of guilt. All he could see was the lingering fear.
Leif, I was scared. She clasped her hands in her lap as though to stop their
Tracy felt a faint glimmer of relief. He sounded so reasonable and matter of fact. But the
break-in was still fresh in her mind. She needed to stay on alert. This could be a ruse to
gain entry into her house. She looked past him to the rusted out Chevy he parked in her
driveway. The car is not for sale, she explained. She started to close the door.
The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Can I take a look at it? I could
probably make you a right good offer, he wheedled. What about ten thousand dollars?
Tracy stared at him. Why would someone pay that kind of money for an old car destined for
the glue factory? I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale, she repeated. You’ll have to excuse
me, I’m late for work. Quickly she closed the door and threw the deadbolt.
But the man didn’t move. His voice came through the door. I’d still like to look it over.
What would you say to fifteen thousand?
Fifteen thousand! He had to mean fifteen hundred. With fifteen thousand dollars she could
buy a late model used car and have money left over. But this was ridiculous. The man
didn’t look as though he had fifteen dollars, let alone fifteen thousand.
My car is in the shop for repairs, she called. I do not wish to sell it and that’s final.
She waited quietly behind the door, hoping her silence would convince him to give up and
go away.
After several minutes passed, she moved cautiously into the living room where she peered
through the sheer curtains to get a view of the front yard. Apparently the man still stood
on her doorstep. His battered car was still in the driveway.
She made a quick mental search of the house, trying to think of something to use as a
weapon if he made an attempt to break in. The only thing that came to mind was the old
tried and true standby—a rolling pin.
She glanced anxiously up at the clock. Five more minutes. Hurry up, Leif, she whispered. I
could use some reinforcements.
****
Leif frowned as he approached Tracy’s house. Why was that broken down heap parked in her
driveway? Although her front door was firmly closed, a man stood on her doorstep. Leif
knew he had never seen this character before.
Easing off on the accelerator, he rolled slowly past the house, sizing up the stranger.
Was this the notorious Rick Timmons trying to contact his accomplice in crime, Tracy Dixon?
He pounded a fist on the steering wheel.
Just when I started to believe her.
But Detective Diaz said Timmons was well built. This guy looked as though he had been on a
hunger strike. And unless Timmons was a master of disguise, no one would accuse this man
of being good-looking.
Without hesitation Leif swung a one-eighty and rolled to a stop in front of Tracy’s home.
Startled, the stranger glanced over his shoulder. One glimpse of Leif and he made a fast
about face, beating a hasty retreat to his car. Before Leif opened his door, the man
revved his engine and backed out of the driveway.
Automatically Leif jotted down the license plate number as the old Chevy took off toward
town in a cloud of exhaust. He marched grimly to the front door.
Now let’s see what this is all about.
His knock was much heavier than necessary. Tracy, it’s Leif. Are you ready to go?
Instantly Tracy opened the door. She stood there looking pale and shaken, but her chin was
up in that Don’t tread on me look. Still he knew her well enough by now to sense that she
was frightened. He ached to pull her into his arms, but his brain took charge.
I’m ready. Her voice was husky. I’ll get my purse.
Leif forced himself to wait until they were settled in the SUV before he questioned her.
He sat behind the wheel without starting the engine. Tell me about it. He studied her face
for signs of guilt. All he could see was the lingering fear.
Leif, I was scared. She clasped her hands in her lap as though to stop their
Similar Books
