by Sharon Kay
She transferred the potatoes to a pot, added a dash of sour cream, and popped them into the oven to stay warm. With everything done for the moment, and nothing in danger of burning, she went to her living room and peeked out at the mailbox at her curb.
The mail was usually here sooner, but hadn’t arrived yet when she’d checked an hour ago. Maybe her route had a new postal person. She headed out into the crisp fall air, glad for the bit of sun’s warmth that lingered. She just had on a thin T-shirt and jeans since her kitchen was currently super toasty.
And, yes, the mail was here. She’d just grabbed the stack of envelopes and catalogs when Shane’s SUV rolled into her driveway. Waving, she watched him park and step out, one long leg at a time. Behind him, Denver bounded out, looking alert and expectant. It was his dinnertime too.
Lord, would Shane ever not make her stop and stare? She knew lots of women had cop fantasies, but wow. She stood still as he walked over to her and got into her personal space. “You care if I kiss you in front of your neighbors and the whole damn world?”
She smiled. “Nope.” Shane came before anyone else and their opinions.
He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her close, warm lips meeting hers. Solid strength surrounded her. She let him bend her back, holding onto his bicep with her free hand.
He straightened and pulled back. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she murmured. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved.” Blue eyes glittered down at her, full of more than one hunger.
“Come on in.” She grabbed his hand. Denver trotted alongside Shane. “I hope he doesn’t mind eating out of a different bowl,” she said quietly.
“Shoot, he’d eat off the floor. As long as there’s food, he won’t mind.”
They reached her front door and Shane opened it for her. Denver slipped in next. He didn’t leave the foyer, but his brown eyes locked onto the kitchen.
Shane came in and pulled the door closed behind him. “Damn, Becca. This house smells incredible. Like a restaurant and my mom’s house together.”
“Wow. That’s a nice compliment. I hope the roast lives up.”
Denver started to pant.
Shane laid a hand at Becca’s waist and nodded to his dog. “He knows something special is cooking. He’s detecting each ingredient right now.”
She frowned. “I feel bad giving him his regular, plain old dog food.”
“Don’t. It’s better for him. We can give him a little meat though. If you give it to him, you’ll be his new best friend.” They walked into the kitchen, where Becca set her mail down on the counter.
She pointed at two brand new metal doggie dishes on her kitchen table. “So, there they are.” She’d stood in the pet supply aisle forever, trying to decide what kind to buy, and had ended up texting Shane photos of all the different dog dishes at the store. He’d advised her which ones to get and also what kind of food to buy.
“Perfect.” Next to him, Denver’s ears perked forward.
“Okay. Food’s in the pantry, on the bottom. I figured you could do that part.” She adored Denver, but wasn’t sure she was ready to be that close to his teeth when he was hungry and food was being poured. “Maybe I’ll work up to giving him a treat once his tummy’s already full.”
“Sure.” Shane picked up the big sack of dog food and ripped it open, while Denver pressed his nose to the bag and looked ready to tackle it.
Becca grabbed the mail and flipped through the stack of letters and catalogs. Sale flyers, bills, glossy ads for gutter cleaning services. She stopped at a white envelope with no return address and turned it over. Nothing on the back.
Frowning, she set the other letters down and reached for the opener. Denver’s contented crunching sounds filled the kitchen. She slit the thing open.
One piece of paper was enclosed.
Printed on it was a photo of her.
“See? He’s happy as a pig in mud—” Shane stopped and crossed the room in two strides. “Becca?”
She couldn’t speak, just stared, stunned.
Shane slid an arm around her shoulders. “What is it?”
“I-I… someone, um…” She blinked slowly and sagged into him. Chills zipped down her arms despite the warmth of the kitchen.
He eased the letter from her hands and his growl was instant. “What the fuck?”
Becca’s breath came in short bursts. Sentences wouldn’t form in her mind, only syllables punctuated with shock and unease bordering on dread. The photo was of her a few days ago, pushing her shopping cart through the grocery store parking lot to her car. She had her sunglasses on and a half smile on her face, as if she were thinking happy thoughts. Plastic bags filled her cart.
And typed below it was one line—Did you steal all that too?
Shane set it down on the table and pulled her into his embrace. “Christ, Becca, I’m gonna kill whoever’s doing this.”
She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his clean, masculine scent of soap and aftershave. His warm strength surrounded her and only then did she realize she was shivering. “Who…who would do this? Why?” The phrases zoomed around in her head like cars on a race track, non-stop, roaring, drowning out everything else.
Except Shane.
“Someone watched you at the store, may have followed you there, took a fucking picture, and then mailed it.” His arms tightened around her with each phrase uttered through clenched teeth. “Becca. This asshole knows where you live.”
The new and awful truth sliced through her with icy dread. She raised her eyes to his, now hard with anger. “Oh my god. Who would even do this?”
“I don’t know,” he growled. “But this changes the game.”
Her stomach rolled as the facts sank in—the thought of someone watching her, taking her picture, tracking her like prey. She was blindsided. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. “I feel sick,” she murmured into his navy-blue cotton shirt.
He stroked her back. “Wanna sit down?”
She nodded, trying for a full breath.
He guided her to the cozy living room couch where she’d been relaxing that day he’d brought over her driver’s license. Gosh, it seemed like a year ago. They sank into the soft beige cushions, where Shane pulled her onto his lap. “Becca,” he said. “I don’t like that this guy knows where you live. This is different from just sending a letter to your place of employment.”
“You decided it’s a guy?”
“As a percentage, most stalkers are male.”
Stalker? She mouthed the word. “Who would stalk me? I’m the most uninteresting person in the world.”
He paused. “Also as a percentage, many women are stalked by their ex-boyfriends or ex-husbands.”
Becca’s stomach dropped at the thought. “Oh my god.”
“I have to ask.” Strong fingers held her close. “Do you think Kirk would do this? He did seek you out at the bar.”
“No. No way.” Her stomach tumbled. “H-He was so concerned about his career and how I was a liability. I can’t imagine him crossing this line. He loves his job and the idea of moving up more than anything else. He wouldn’t jeopardize his shot at statewide office.”
He nodded. Becca wasn’t sure if he was convinced, but from her point of view, it was crystal clear. She traced lines on the fabric of Shane’s pants. “I-I feel creeped out and confused.”
“Baby, I don’t want to scare you, but we don’t know what his game is. Whoever he is, he’s fucked up. Maybe he’s just gonna be a creep and spy, but…” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t want you staying here alone.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “W-What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know, and I hate unknowns. The guy could be unstable.”
“What about a restraining order?”
She gazed into his blue eyes. It didn’t seem like anything unsettled him, and yet anger vibrated from him now. His gold name tag shone like a star, something tangible and secure. The image of that little boy popped into her mind, the way his little fist had clutched it in the forest. She knew Shane would do what he could to help, but if the law limited him…
He took her hand. “Stay with me.” It wasn’t a question.
“What?”
“Until this blows over, or until we know more,” he continued with a quiet intensity that made her want to say yes. “I don’t want you here alone. And I’ve got room.”
Despite the churning in her stomach, she couldn’t suppress a tiny tummy flip at the idea of being with him round the clock. Yeah, the days they didn’t see each other seemed too long. And maybe if not for this crazy circumstance, it would seem too soon to move in together, but maybe not. When she was with him, the warm fuzzies exploded. She felt safe, warm, cherished, not like a problem or a basket case.
The clinking of Denver’s collar drew her from her thoughts as the shepherd meandered from the kitchen. He padded over to them and set his head on Shane’s knee, but since Becca was on Shane’s lap, his black nose was on her leg. He looked from her to Shane with big brown eyes.
“See, Denver wants you to stay with us too,” Shane murmured.
“Hey, Denver,” she cooed and gently stroked from his silky ears down to his shoulders. He huffed out a breath but stayed where he was.
Shane had given her an out. It wasn’t forever. Not like he was proposing. The decision was clear and filled her with calming clarity. “Okay.” She raised her eyes to Shane’s. “I think staying with you sounds perfect.”
A grin that was part sexy and part relief lit his face. “Good. I gotta tell you, though.” He glanced at her kitchen. “I won’t be able to make anything that smells as good as what you got going on in there.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I like to cook. You can make me cold cereal. I won’t mind.”
He chuckled. “I can do you one better than cold cereal.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. My mom made sure I knew how to make at least one thing for breakfast, and that’s her French toast. I make it, Rosie makes it—it’s a Marlow thing.”
“Mm. I can’t wait.” She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.
He stroked her hair. “I want to show that letter to Ted. I have a feeling it’ll yield zip, but it’s worth him checking it out.”
“I just don’t get it,” she whispered. “I gave back the money. I only had it for, like, a day. No one got shortchanged.” She idly circled a blue button on his shirt. “I guess the whole county knows though, or they could know. It was in the paper.”
“You keep saying that. But I doubt that the people of Redemption County are walking around with mental lists of everyone who committed misdemeanors.”
She sighed. “I guess I still feel guilty. Even though the money was returned and the fine was paid. But I could never fully explain why I did it. Not good enough to make any sense.”
“Sometimes, there’s no reason for why things happen.” His voice rumbled around her, carrying the hundred-pound weight of what he wasn’t saying. The photo of him in the bombed out building loomed in her mind.
She straightened and gazed into the blue depths of his eyes. The pain of loss stirred, unfair and unbidden, and tears welled. “Do you ask yourself that? Why things happened?”
“I stopped.” Strong arms held her tightly. “I wasn’t getting an answer, and figured I never might. I hate that I didn’t understand why it had to happen. But I remember the looks on the faces of my teammates’ families. I remember the looks on my parents’ faces and on Rosie’s, when I woke up at Walter Reed. I remember the grief and the relief. And eventually, I stopped asking why. I hate unknowns, like I said. But this question had me by the balls, and I had to stop thinking about it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Wasn’t getting me anywhere. And I had a job to do. People to watch out for.”
Something shifted deep inside her soul. Her brave cop, her survivor, had found a way to navigate through the questions. Grief was like a swamp, where you treaded as carefully as you could, but sometimes, a snake slithered too close and bit. You never saw it coming until you were already bleeding. She swallowed. “I hope I can be able to do that one day. Stop searching for an answer that might not exist.”
“You can do it, baby. I’ll be right here with you. Promise.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t trust herself to say anything more as emotion crashed over her. Shane. He was the most amazing man she’d ever met, and all she wanted was to tuck herself close to his side and never leave. She leaned in to meet his sensual mouth, hoping to convey with her kiss what she couldn’t put to words.
Because a deep, secret hope bloomed, against any ounce of probability—that he had survived the horror of a bomb blast…for her.
Chapter 27
Shane pulled into his drive, still not able to deny a secret internal happiness every time he saw Becca’s car there. Denver had started a habit of checking for the silver Prius as soon as they turned down his street every day. Sometimes she got home first and sometimes they did, because she stopped by her own place twice a week to grab her mail. Shane cast an amused glance at his partner. “You have a new favorite human, doncha?” Though he was certain Denver thought of himself as human too.
He bounded ahead of Shane to get to the house and waited at the door, tail wagging. Shane unlocked it, grateful Becca had no problem following his directions to keep the door locked if she was home alone. A mouthwatering aroma hit his nose as soon as they walked in.
No need to announce themselves. Denver moved faster than the speed of sound to greet Becca, especially if she was cooking.
She turned, smiling, as Shane entered. God, he’d never not love seeing her after a long day. Or at the start of a day that promised to be long. Or in the middle of the day. It had been almost two weeks since she’d moved in, and her being here seemed the most natural thing in the world. There’d been no weirdness, no awkward adjustment. She just fit right in to his life.
“This house has never smelled so good.” He pulled her close for a quick kiss.
“You say that every day,” she murmured.
“It’s true.” He ran a hand down her back, over her thin tee. “What culinary masterpiece are you brewing today?”
“Chicken Marsala.”
“Damn. You’re spoiling me.”
“I like to cook, and it’s a pain to cook for one. I love this.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Now, feed your dog and go change.”
He gave her ass a smack and took care of Denver’s food and water bowls. Shane set his hands on his hips as his dog started munching. “He knows he’s getting a treat from you later.”
“Hmm. Maybe,” her lilting voice teased as she turned back to the stove.
He ducked upstairs to change clothes. Her girlie stuff was all over his bathroom counter and he could only grin. Never in his life would he have imagined he’d have a woman living here. In all seriousness, he knew he pretty much told her to move in under the warning that she needed to be safe. And while that was true, she could have protested and said she’d stay with her brother or Marcy, but she hadn’t.
He threw his dirty clothes in the hamper and grabbed a clean navy-blue T-shirt. He pulled on jeans and padded back downstairs. There had been no m
ore stalker incidents, thank the lord, but Shane didn’t believe for a second that the dude had just up and decided to leave Becca alone. He didn’t want anything else to happen, wanted to crush the guy, but realistically, he knew how stalkers worked. They couldn’t resist the cat-and-mouse shit.
Eventually, they made mistakes. And when this asshole did, Shane would be ready.
In the kitchen, Denver had finished his dinner and now sat in the middle of the floor, staring intently at Becca. “You’ve acquired a little beggar, I see.”
“Not so little.” She stirred a pan of sauce. “And I think he knows he has to wait.”
“He does.” He glanced at the door. “Do we have time for a quick break before the food is ready?”
“Sure. This still has fifteen minutes to go.”
“Sounds good, be back in ten.” Shane snapped Denver’s lead on and led him outside. Later, if they felt like it, he and Becca would take a longer walk. And they would probably need it after her delicious meal.
It all seemed so damn natural. Like things had always been this way. Like they’d been together for years. The day she’d fallen on her ass in front of him, his life had changed.
And for the first time in a while, the question of why surfaced in his mind. But this time it wasn’t pounding like a hammer, taunting him with baffling, going-nowhere scenarios. This time, it was full of possibilities. He’d never thought of it in terms of possibilities, only empty frustrations.
Until Becca.
Shane felt the rumble of the Jeep’s thickly-treaded tires, even in his dream. The movement of the vehicle provided the only air in the stifling Iraqi desert. He and his team bounced along the dirt and sand road. It was one that another team had checked and double checked yesterday.
It was safe.
Twister panted next to him, scanning the roadside like the rest of the guys. Someone joked about not sharing the Twinkies in a care package he’d gotten from home. Someone else joked about definitely sharing the homemade cookies that his girlfriend, who was a terrible baker, made.
