14

Alison rotated her head and moaned. Her eyes flew open, and she realized she was alive and lying on her back. The darkened room, thank God, stood empty except for her. Gingerly, she tested her hands and arms, checking her legs carefully to see if anything was broken. So far, so good.

A police siren blared, the volume increasing with proximity. Grabbing hold of the edge of the bedspread she winced as she fought her way to an upright position.

Too fast. Slow down. The world spun.

Leaning against the side of the bed, she squinted at the clock on the nightstand. She hadn’t been out long. The closet door stood open and piles of clothing littered the floor. The driver lay where the prowler had dropped it.

Surprised although grateful he hadn’t brained her with it, she rubbed the back of her head and flinched at a tender spot. But as she examined her hand, she was relieved to find no blood. She took several deep breaths, willing the nausea to subside.

Trying to avoid any sudden moves, she wrestled her cell out of her pocket and hit Mike’s number.

Thirty minutes later, Mike and another policeman circled the perimeter of the Monaghan home dusting for prints. With the house lit up like a Christmas tree, Alison, assisted by a female officer, lay on the sofa in the family room with a blanket tucked around her. The woman took samples from underneath her fingernails to see if they could trace the intruder’s DNA to any criminals in their database.

Mike stalked into the family room. A palpable fury radiated from him like steam off a hot Southern pavement.

She lifted her chin. “It wasn’t my fault. He came looking for me this time.”

To say Mike looked grim would’ve been the understatement of the century. “And you didn’t hear him enter?”

“No, I told you. I was out in the backyard gardening, and I fell asleep.”

He gestured to the telephone. “The intruder called from a burner phone to see if anyone was home. We found the phone in the garbage can. And when he didn’t see any lights on, he broke in through the side door in your garage.”

She shrank into the cushions. “That door was locked when the children left. I checked it when I closed the garage.”

“Well, the lock’s busted now, and you better get it replaced tomorrow.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “What in the world made you go upstairs after you heard the noises? Why didn’t you call me then?”

She hung her head, her chin to her chest. He could make her feel like a disobedient schoolgirl. Rightly so, she supposed, in this case.

“I know it was stupid,” she whispered. “I didn’t stop to think. I was just so tired of feeling helpless and out of control.”

He shuffled his feet at the foot of the couch.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I guess I saw red and charged up there without stopping to consider the consequences.”

He perched on the edge of Frank’s chair. “Alison . . .” He folded and refolded the bottom of his tie. “Our intruder, if it is the same person that killed Frank—”

“You don’t think it’s the same person?”

“I’m not ruling out any possibility. But we could have one or two motivated individuals who are looking for something they believe you have in your possession. You’ve been shot at and attacked. I think it’s time you gave the sleuthing a rest and let us handle the investigation from here.”

She struggled to sit taller. “I didn’t do anything this time.”

“No, but you’ve somehow set in motion a chain of events that has caused the perpetrator to get nervous. You could’ve been killed.”

She shook her head. “But that’s the funny thing, if the guy wanted to kill me—and I do think the burglar was a guy—why didn’t he hit me with the club? He had the perfect opportunity to get rid of me once and for all.”

He rubbed his chin. “I agree. All he did tonight was to shove you away. And it was an accident, you believe, that caused your head to strike the footboard. It was definitely a male. We found what looks like a size-twelve shoe print in the mud off your side door entrance. We’ll take a casting of the print. Can you tell if anything was taken?”

“I don’t believe he found whatever it was he was looking for. Nothing is missing as far as I can tell.”

He relaxed in the chair. “I’m just glad you won’t be able to go to work at Weathersby tomorrow.”

She crossed her arms. “Oh, I’m still going.”

He frowned. “What? After all this? Are you crazy?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head. “I realize now, I am.”

He ground his teeth. “You’re not funny.”

She curled a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Missed you at lunch today.”

The silver in his eyes gleamed. “You did?”

“I mean Claire and Justin . . .” Her voice trembled to a stop.

An emotion she couldn’t read flickered across his features. His eyes went opaque.

Shrugging, he rose, ready to end the conversation. She’d noticed he tended to walk away from topics he didn’t want to discuss.

“Yeah? So what?” He stuffed his notepad and pencil into his jacket. “Take the afternoon off to have a quick game of pool with a buddy and what happens? You get yourself knocked out in your own home. Can’t win for losing.” Avoiding her gaze, he drifted toward the kitchen.

She flushed. Her mistake to assume he’d been working a case. She was an idiot. Of course, he had a life that had nothing to do with the children.

Or her.

She bit her lip. “Sorry I messed up your date, Mike.”

His eyes darted to hers, but the strain around his mouth eased. “A buddy I said. Don’t worry about me. You worry about keeping yourself alive tomorrow.” He headed for the kitchen, muttering under his breath. “Some people’s guardian angels should get combat pay.”

“Ray.” He pressed the cell phone to his ear, grateful for Stephen’s offer to maintain a watchful vigil at the Monaghans’ through the coming night. “It’s Mike.”

“Yeah, long time no see.” From his parked truck down the block from Alison, he’d called an old army buddy who’d managed to do well for himself in the DEA.

Ray Jarrod he’d trust with his life. Or, with someone more precious to him than his own life.

Like Alison and her kids.

He listened, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as Ray caught him up-to-date on the social and professional whirl of a federal agent based in the District of Colombia. He turned back to answer Ray’s question.

“Doing well.” A curtain fluttered in Alison’s bedroom upstairs. “Better than I have in a long while. And hoping for better things still.” He smiled into the darkness at Ray’s remark. “You got it, ole buddy. Definitely a woman involved.”

Time for the whole truth. He cleared his throat. “I’ve also been getting myself reconnected to God like you and Karl nagged me to do all through our tour.”

He laughed as Ray responded. “ ’Bout time, I know. But some of us are slow learners. Speaking of Karl, I could use a professional favor from both of you.”

In less than a minute, he summed up for Ray a concise picture of the events since Frank’s death and the players at Weathersby he suspected.

“Proof’s the problem.” Ray said something, and Mike laughed again. “Ain’t that the truth? And if Karl with his position at the IRS could—ahem—stir the financial waters a little, if you get my drift . . .”

Ray promised to give Karl a call in the morning. Mike didn’t suspect any drug involvement on the part of the starched collars at Weathersby, but multiple federal inquiries into people’s lives had an amazing unsettling effect.

Which he hoped would rattle the killer into doing something stupid to reveal his identity.

“Thanks, buddy. I knew I could count on you.” He smiled as Ray gave one more parting shot to his manhood. “Like you weren’t a basket case till Serena had mercy on you and put you out of your misery? Took a good woman to agree to marry a loser like you . . .” Grinning, he pulled the phone away as Ray’s voice barked with laughter and threats of retaliation.

He sobered at Ray’s next remark. “I appreciate the help and the prayers. I’m doing a lot of that these days for Alison and myself.” He flicked a glance toward the Monaghan residence. “Tell Serena I’m also praying baby Jude ends up looking like his mother.”

At the whoop from the other end of the line, he smiled, flipping his phone shut. He glanced at the dashboard clock and repressed a sigh. One phone call down. Quite a few to go. Another long night ahead.

God, any help You’d like to give on this cold case, I’d appreciate.

The light in Alison’s bedroom went out. He sighed.

And with Alison, too.