LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 4

      Nate frowned as he pulled into the driveway of the small, old house. Fiona lived here? He glanced up and down the street, noting the lack of lights and the general air of abandonment. The homes in this part of town appeared to be decently maintained, but there was an overall feeling of neglect, as if this once prosperous neighborhood had been left behind.

      “This is it?”

      She nodded. “It was my parents’ house. I inherited it after my mom died.”

      He noticed the omission of her father. Either he’d died long ago, or he hadn’t been in the picture. “How long have you lived here?”

      “I grew up here, but I’ve only had it to myself for two years.”

      Not that long, then. “You took care of your mom, didn’t you?”

      Her head jerked up and she met his gaze for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she nodded. “How did you know?” she asked quietly.

      He shrugged. “You seem like the type of person who takes on a lot of responsibilities.”

      Fiona nodded, bowing her head to stare at her lap. Great. He’d upset her. Real smooth, Gallagher.

      Searching for something, anything, to say to change the subject, he fired off another question. “Any problems in the neighborhood?”

      Fiona frowned, and he realized he had entered into cop mode and was interrogating her. He smiled to soften the question. “I don’t see any streetlights, so I’m wondering if there have been any issues with burglary or vandalism.”

      She shook her head, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Lemons, underlain by a soft sweetness that was appealing. He’d been too focused on keeping her safe before to really register her smell, but now it wrapped around him like a silk rope. He found himself leaning forward, wanting to get closer to the source.

      “I haven’t heard of any problems, but I’m not around much. Between classes and work, I’m usually only here to sleep.”

      He huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like my life.”

      “Being a police officer must be pretty demanding.”

      “It can be.”

      An odd expression crossed her face, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. He decided not to press her—she’d already had a rough night.

      They were silent for a moment while Nate continued to study the house. It looked decent enough, he decided, even though the grass was a little long and the shutters could do with a fresh coat of paint. The garage door appeared to fit securely, and the front door looked solid. There were a few windows facing the front yard, and he wondered how many were in the back, and what the backyard looked like. Was there another house behind hers, or was it an easement? What kind of fence enclosed the property? Wood, or something easy to climb in a hurry, like chain link? Did she have a lock on the gate?

      His musings were interrupted by the sound of Fiona clearing her throat. “I should probably head inside. I’m sure you’re tired and want to get home.”

      “Let me walk you in.”

      “Oh, no, that’s really okay,” she stammered, apparently taken aback by his offer.

      “I insist,” he said, quietly but firmly. “You’ve had quite the adventure tonight, and I just want to check the house to make sure everything is okay.” When she paused, he smiled. “You’d be doing me a favor—I’ll sleep so much better knowing that you’re safe.”

      She laughed, and the rich sound made his heart thump against his breastbone. “Fair enough,” she told him, opening the car door. “Truth be told, I’ll sleep better too, knowing you’ve gone through the house.”

      He was pleased to see her pull a small flashlight from her bag as they walked up the front steps, and some of his worries eased when he saw she had two dead bolt locks securing her door. Of course, the bad guys could always come in through a window...

      She flicked on a light as she walked in, illuminating the small living room. A floral-print couch sat along one wall, the middle sagging a bit from years of use. Crocheted doilies decorated the end tables and coffee table, and a faded recliner completed the tableau. The room had a preserved feel to it, as if Fiona hadn’t bothered to redecorate after inheriting the house. Or maybe she couldn’t bring herself to change it.

      She gave him a shy smile as he completed his perusal. “It’s not much, but like I said, I grew up here.”

      “No siblings?” It was something he’d meant to ask earlier after hearing about her mother, but he hadn’t wanted to upset her further.

      “No. I was an only child. Mom was forty-five when she had me—I was a bit of a surprise.”

      He opened his mouth to respond, but a thud from the next room interrupted him. Moving quickly, he drew his gun and pulled Fiona over to the front door. “Go wait in the car,” he whispered. “Lock the doors and get low.” He spied a portable phone on one of the end tables and grabbed it, pressing it into her hand. “Dial 911. Tell them there is an intruder in your house, and an officer is on the scene and requests backup.”

      “Nate—”

      “Go.” He ignored her as he pushed her through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

      He moved through the living room and into the kitchen, clearing the small space before heading down the hall that presumably led to a bathroom and bedroom. It had been months since he’d had to draw his gun in the line of duty, and tonight he was holding it for the second time. What where the odds? He shook his head as he stepped softly down the hall. When it rains, it pours.

      More important, though, why was Fiona in danger yet again? He didn’t believe in coincidences, and tonight’s activities made him think she was being targeted. But who would want to hurt her? She didn’t seem the type to have enemies, but then again, he didn’t know her all that well.

      Yet.

      He approached the doorway to the bedroom cautiously, focusing hard to pick up any stray sounds from the room. There was a soft rustle from somewhere within the room, faint at first, but then louder. It took him a few heartbeats to realize the noise was coming toward him.

      “Don’t move,” he commanded. “Houston police. Come out with your hands up.”

      The noise stopped, as if the source was considering his words. Then the sound started up again.

      Nate moved back, retreating down the hall a few steps before assuming a shooting stance, his gun up and pointed at the doorway. He took a deep breath. “Last chance,” he warned. “Put your hands up or I will shoot.”

      A high-pitched meow answered him, followed shortly

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