down the porch steps, he continued to search, playing his flashlight over the dark grass and nearby shrubs.
He wondered if his movements were being observed.
He paused when he reached the ground.
Olivia Gordon plowed into his back, she was so close behind him. She still held the waffle iron in a death grip.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“It’s all right.”
And it was. He’d rather liked the feel of her—vividly warm, sweet-smelling, seductively shaped—crushed momentarily against him.
Suddenly aware of what he was doing—and feeling—he stepped forward. An expanse of clear rolling ground lay to the front, rear and sides of her house. The front yard stretched out to the road, and there was forest on either side of the cleared land. He could see trails, some more established than others, leading through the trees. He made a mental picture of the area; he already knew the way to Willis House through the woods. If he moved to the rear, he could take the trail that led over the hills to the pastureland and then on to more trees, more rolling hills and the Horse Farm. The stream that went through the area for several miles could probably be reached through the rear of the property, as well. Anyone who’d been here could have gone anywhere, in any direction. Her nearest neighbor was down the hill a few acres away; trees separated them.
He’d need an army to find someone out there.
He walked around the house with Olivia at his heels. Sammy trailed along, wagging his tail. The dog was a perfect monitor, and his actions certainly didn’t signal that anyone else was present. Whoever had been there was definitely gone.
There was no indication that anyone had tried to break window locks, although he could well imagine the route someone might have taken to do so.
When he’d completed a circuit around the house, Dustin inspected the ground as best he could in the dark, with only his flashlight to provide illumination. He headed toward the trail that wound through the trees and led to Willis House, but there was no sign that someone had come through. It might not have meant much in any case, since there was national parkland that wove in and out around them. People could easily wander off government land and onto private property without ever knowing it.
At last, he stopped and turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry. There’s no way for me to find anything now.”
“That’s okay,” Olivia said. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“It’s what I do, ma’am,” he said lightly.
She turned and walked back to the house. He followed her thoughtfully.
“We’ll have coffee,” she said. Then she stopped and looked back at him. “Well, I guess that was presumptuous. I’m going to make coffee. It’s past five and I don’t see any reason to go back to sleep. But, of course, you might want to. Anyway, Sammy and I are fine now. Really.”
He could tell that she wasn’t fine; she was afraid. But she was going to try hard not to show it.
“Coffee would be great, and you’re right. It’s morning. It’ll be light soon. No sense going back to bed.”
She unlocked the door and walked inside, flipping on lights. She paused for a minute, as if trying to sense something.
“He isn’t here, is he?” Dustin asked.
“Marcus, you mean?”
“Right.”
“The bastard said he was coming back. To watch over me. He didn’t.”
“In all seriousness—although I suppose he could warn you if there’s trouble—I’m not sure what he could do. You made the right call. The pun’s accidental, but it’s still true.”
“You’re better than 9-1-1?”
“You tell me.”
She didn’t answer, but moved on into the kitchen. There were old attractively refurbished stable stools in front of the counter. Dustin sat on one of them, watching as she returned the waffle iron to a lower cabinet and set about making coffee.
“I don’t understand,” she mused. “Why would someone come to my house like that? It would be
He wondered if his movements were being observed.
He paused when he reached the ground.
Olivia Gordon plowed into his back, she was so close behind him. She still held the waffle iron in a death grip.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“It’s all right.”
And it was. He’d rather liked the feel of her—vividly warm, sweet-smelling, seductively shaped—crushed momentarily against him.
Suddenly aware of what he was doing—and feeling—he stepped forward. An expanse of clear rolling ground lay to the front, rear and sides of her house. The front yard stretched out to the road, and there was forest on either side of the cleared land. He could see trails, some more established than others, leading through the trees. He made a mental picture of the area; he already knew the way to Willis House through the woods. If he moved to the rear, he could take the trail that led over the hills to the pastureland and then on to more trees, more rolling hills and the Horse Farm. The stream that went through the area for several miles could probably be reached through the rear of the property, as well. Anyone who’d been here could have gone anywhere, in any direction. Her nearest neighbor was down the hill a few acres away; trees separated them.
He’d need an army to find someone out there.
He walked around the house with Olivia at his heels. Sammy trailed along, wagging his tail. The dog was a perfect monitor, and his actions certainly didn’t signal that anyone else was present. Whoever had been there was definitely gone.
There was no indication that anyone had tried to break window locks, although he could well imagine the route someone might have taken to do so.
When he’d completed a circuit around the house, Dustin inspected the ground as best he could in the dark, with only his flashlight to provide illumination. He headed toward the trail that wound through the trees and led to Willis House, but there was no sign that someone had come through. It might not have meant much in any case, since there was national parkland that wove in and out around them. People could easily wander off government land and onto private property without ever knowing it.
At last, he stopped and turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry. There’s no way for me to find anything now.”
“That’s okay,” Olivia said. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“It’s what I do, ma’am,” he said lightly.
She turned and walked back to the house. He followed her thoughtfully.
“We’ll have coffee,” she said. Then she stopped and looked back at him. “Well, I guess that was presumptuous. I’m going to make coffee. It’s past five and I don’t see any reason to go back to sleep. But, of course, you might want to. Anyway, Sammy and I are fine now. Really.”
He could tell that she wasn’t fine; she was afraid. But she was going to try hard not to show it.
“Coffee would be great, and you’re right. It’s morning. It’ll be light soon. No sense going back to bed.”
She unlocked the door and walked inside, flipping on lights. She paused for a minute, as if trying to sense something.
“He isn’t here, is he?” Dustin asked.
“Marcus, you mean?”
“Right.”
“The bastard said he was coming back. To watch over me. He didn’t.”
“In all seriousness—although I suppose he could warn you if there’s trouble—I’m not sure what he could do. You made the right call. The pun’s accidental, but it’s still true.”
“You’re better than 9-1-1?”
“You tell me.”
She didn’t answer, but moved on into the kitchen. There were old attractively refurbished stable stools in front of the counter. Dustin sat on one of them, watching as she returned the waffle iron to a lower cabinet and set about making coffee.
“I don’t understand,” she mused. “Why would someone come to my house like that? It would be