If she was that scared, that certain someone was outside, she should have called 911.
“Willow?” Addie asked. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” she managed to say, her voice raspy with fear.
“What’s wrong?” Addie sounded wide awake now, her voice sharp and edged with concern.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Something is wrong. Tell me or I’m getting in my car and driving over there.”
A male voice rumbled in the background, and Addie sighed.
“Okay. Fine. Tell me or Sinclair is going to drive over there, and he’ll bring you here, and I’ll grill you like a cheese sandwich.”
Willow would have laughed if she hadn’t been so terrified. Still. Despite the fact that no one had tried to get in the house. Despite the fact that she was on the phone with her sister. Despite everything in her saying that she’d imagined everything. “I’m just being silly.”
Addie snorted. “You’re never silly. Spill. What’s going on?”
“I thought I heard someone out on the stairs. I’m sure it was nothing.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the wind?” Addie asked, and then she murmured something to someone. Probably to Sinclair. Her husband of a little more than a year, he was a take-charge kind of guy. Hopefully, he wouldn’t show up at her door.
How embarrassing would that be? Having one of her brothers-in-law running to the rescue?
“It might have been.”
“Which means you don’t think it was.”
“I did see a car parked up the road. Not parked. Idling at the curb. That probably just spooked me. It’s usually dead quiet around here this time of night. Go on back to bed, sweetie. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Are you kidding me? Sinclair already called the sheriff, and I’ve already managed to haul my immenseness out of bed. As soon as I can wrangle myself into something warm, I’m making Sinclair drive me over there. Do not open the door for anyone but the police. Okay?”
“Addie, really. This is overkill. I’m sure it was my . . .”
Something clattered against the window, the sound so surprising, so jarring, she screamed.
“Willow?” Addie yelled. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her throat dry with fear. “Something just hit the window.”
“Something . . . like what?”
“Pebbles? Gravel?” That’s what it had sounded like. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Don’t you dare! Stay away from the window! Dang-it, Willow! Did you hear me?”
“How could I not? You’re screeching like a banshee,” she muttered as she flicked off the light and plunged the room into darkness. Despite her fear, despite her sister’s shouted warning, Willow was going to look out the window. She was going to see what was in the alley. Or who. And, she was going to deal with it.
That’s what grown people did.
Even if they were terrified.
Even if their nightmares chased them from sleep.
Even if all they really wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers over their heads, and pretend that the boogeyman didn’t really exist. Because they knew damn well that he did, and they knew just as well that they were the only ones who could stop him.
* * *
Deputy Sheriff Jax Gordon didn’t usually speed through Benevolence, Washington. Truth be told, there was never much need to. Not much ever happened there. When something did, it was usually petty. Vandalism at the local high school, shoplifting at the grocery store, fist fights after a few too many drinks. Rarely, there were other things. Domestic violence. Assault. Drugs. Child abuse. Stuff that was messy and hard, but not nearly as messy and hard as what he’d dealt with when he’d worked for the Los Angeles Police Department. Thirteen years dealing with the dregs of society, ten of that working the anti-gang task force. He’d been on a mission, and he’d been hell-bent on fulfilling it.
One-track focus. Absolutely determined.
Seven years of planning, of thinking about it, of plotting his path to achieving it. He’d entered law enforcement knowing that he’d stay in until he’d accomplished his goal or until he was killed. One had been just as likely as the other, because he’d been going after a cop killer, and he’d known he might not survive it.
He had, and now he was back in Benevolence, helping his uncle and aunt because they’d helped him when he’d been a kid with nowhere else to go.
It wasn’t a sacrifice to do that.
He’d always loved Benevolence. The place had the kind of continuity he’d craved after he lost his family. He’d come as a young boy who’d been angry and scared of just about everything. He’d left as a man who knew his place in the world.
There was something immeasurably valuable in that.
He hadn’t forgotten it.
Not in the years when he’d worked the worst beat in L.A. Not in his years on the anti-drug task force. Not when he’d looked in the eyes of the man who’d murdered his family, and thought about pulling the trigger, taking him down, seeking his own personal revenge. To hell with the law. To hell with due process.
Jax had wanted the bastard to be as afraid as his brother and sisters had been. He’d wanted him to beg for mercy the way his mother had. He’d wanted him to suffer, and he’d have probably pulled the trigger. If not for his aunt and uncle. If not for the love they’d showered on him, the joy they’d taken in all his accomplishments.
How many times had they traveled to cheer for him when he received a citation for exceptional police work? How many times had they called to tell him how proud they were?
They’d never had children.
He was it. All the family they had, and if he went to jail, it would kill them.
So, he hadn’t pulled the trigger.
And, here he was. Three years later, living in a drafty old house on the corner of Main and Bennet, working for the sheriff’s department. Enjoying his life.
That was probably the biggest surprise of all.
Because, Benevolence really was quiet. Most of the time.
Tonight, something was up.
Trouble at Chocolate Haven. That’s what the dispatcher had said. Maybe an intruder. Maybe not. The caller wasn’t sure, but Jax was going to check it out.
Better safe than sorry.
Always.
He sped through town, turned onto Main Street, his lights on, his sirens off. No sense waking everyone. If he did, there’d be dozens of calls to the sheriff ’s department, asking what all the commotion was about.
Up ahead, a car pulled away from the curb, drove a block and turned right onto Miller. He was too far away to get the make of the car or the plate number, but he called it in anyway. Usually, no one was out this time of night, and the car had been close enough to Chocolate Haven for him to think it might be related to the call. He didn’t chase after it, because things never stayed hidden for long. Not in a town the size of this one. Plus, he needed to check on Willow Lamont. She’d moved into the apartment above the shop yesterday. He hadn’t seen her, but he’d sure as hell heard about it.
All three Lamont sisters back in town?
That was apparently the news of the century.
He tried to ignore rumors, but there hadn’t been one person he’d run into during the past few days who hadn’t been talking about Willow, speculating on whether or not she planned to stay.
He’d wager not.
She was one of the best prosecuting attorneys in the country, and he didn’t think she was going to give that up to take over the family chocolate shop.
Then again, he could remember her as a young kid, working behind the counter, a bright smile on her pretty face, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’d been the first person in town to really look at him. Most people had taken a quick look and glanced away, embarrassed by the deep red scar on his cheek. Or maybe embarrassed by what it represented. The ugliness of what had h
appened. The tragedy.
Whatever the case, he’d never forgotten that look, that smile, the deep blue-gray of Willow’s eyes.
She’d changed at some point.
The smile had faded. The direct gaze had dropped. If he’d been older, he’d have wondered what had happened, but he’d been fresh from his own trauma, and he’d just assumed her father’s illness had stolen her joy.
He pulled up in front of Chocolate Haven, jumped out of his cruiser and ran to the alley at the side of the building. Metal stairs led up to the apartment door, and he was halfway up when the door flew open and Willow appeared. Exterior lights cast long shadows on her face, hiding her expression. They also glinted off the knife she clutched, its long blade gleaming dully. A butcher knife. Big. Lethal.
“Want to put that down?” he asked, pausing a few steps down from her.
She glanced at the knife, and he wasn’t even sure she’d realized she was holding it.
“Right. Sure,” she said.
She set it down on the stoop. Carefully. As if she were afraid it would break.
Or she would.
“Sinclair must have called you,” she said, and he walked the rest of the way up. Stood next to her on the stoop.
She was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Her feet were bare. She was shivering, and he didn’t think she realized that any more than she’d realized she’d been holding the knife.
He took her arm, and she jerked back, nearly stumbling in her haste to get away.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, because he’d seen women like this before. Ones who’d been mistreated and abused and hurt, and he hated to see the look in her face. The one that spoke of fear and pain.
“Sorry,” she responded, all the fear gone as quickly as it had been there. “I’m just jumpy.”
“You thought someone was outside the apartment?” he asked, his gaze skimming along the stairs, down to the alley. He could just make out the Dumpster. Other than that, the area looked empty.
“I heard what sounded like someone on the stairs, but . . . it was probably my imagination.”
“Why would you imagine something like that in a town like this?” he asked, and she met his eyes, looked him square in the face the way she had all those years ago.
“Bad things happen, Jax. Even in towns like this.”
“I know. That’s why you were right to be concerned and to call for help.”
“Did Sinclair call you?”
“Someone called dispatch. They called me. If you called Sinclair—”
“Adeline. I called her.”
“Then, one of them probably called this in.”
“It’s probably a waste of your time, coming here. All I saw was a car a few buildings down.”
“It left right before I arrived, right?”
“Yes.”
“I saw it.”
“Good. Seeing it idling at the curb was freaking me out. No one does that around here. Not at this time of night and not in this part of town.” She shivered.
He took off his coat, dropped it on her shoulders.
“How about we go inside? It’s too cold out here,” he suggested.
“Don’t you want to look around first?”
“I will.” He touched her elbow but didn’t hold on. Just turned her toward the door, scooping up the knife as he went.
He could see the apartment beyond, could smell a hint of chocolate in the air.
And, everything seemed to be going just fine.
She was calm.
The danger—if there’d been any—was over.
She stepped toward the threshold, and a sound split the quiet. A kitten’s cry, faint but unmistakable.
“What the heck? Is that a cat?” Willow asked.
“Sounds like it,” he responded.
They turned at the same time, started down the steps in tandem, all of it suddenly making sense.
The car idling at the curb.
The sound on the steps.
The quick departure of whoever had been there.
Someone dumping pets.
It happened all the time, and this time, whoever it was had taken the time to find a Dumpster and throw the animal away.
It boiled Jax’s blood to think about.
He strode toward the Dumpster, Willow right beside him.
A truck pulled into the alley. Sinclair. He recognized the vehicle and the plates. He could see his friend in the driver’s seat. Adeline was in the passenger seat, her hair a mass of wild waves around her head, her face pale.
They’d gotten out of bed to come to her sister’s rescue.
It’s what family did.
Jax didn’t know much, but he knew that.
He waved them through, and they stopped at the end of the alley, parked there, the brake lights from the truck illuminating the Dumpster.
And, the kitten cried again.
An odd little trill.
Maybe a cry of hunger or pain.
“Where is it?” Willow asked, hurrying forward, opening the Dumpster lid. Only the sound didn’t seem to be coming from there. It seemed to be coming from behind the Dumpster. He pulled out his mag light, crouched low because the area behind the Dumpster was narrow. Maybe two feet wide.
The light glanced off the asphalt, bounced against the green Dumpster, rested on the edge of a box.
“Right here,” he said, and Willow moved in close, her arm pressed into his, her hair tickling his cheek as she leaned in to look.
Behind them, doors opened and closed. Sinclair and Adeline called out as they approached, but he’d snagged the edge of the box, pulling it toward him as the kitten continued to cry.
And, his light?
It was shining straight into the box, straight at a soft pink blanket, a half-empty bottle.
A baby.
A human baby.
A tiny little bow in its hair.
Cheeks red.
Lips blue-tinged.
“Dear God,” Willow whispered, and then she reached past him and lifted the newborn from the box.
Make sure you don't miss the first book in the
Home Sweet Home series
Sweet Haven
In Benevolence, Washington, the Lamont family's irresistible handmade chocolates are a cherished tradition--and always a reason to celebrate. And now they're giving the three Lamont sisters, one by one, delicious chances to start again, make a change, and have their sweetest dreams come true...
Neighbors who care, a peaceful routine--accountant Adeline Lamont is glad some things about her beloved hometown never change. But when her grandfather is injured, she has to run the family store, Chocolate Haven, and make its legendary fudge. Trouble is, she can't get the recipe right to save her life--or Chocolate Haven. And she doesn't need her ornery new tenant, Sinclair Jefferson, stirring up the pot with his help--and daring Addie to taste her wild side…
Once Sinclair gets his hapless brother back on track, he's leaving Benevolence for good this time. He's made his life far away from his irresponsible family and their scandals. Trouble is, he can't quite stay away from Addie's optimism, enticing plus-size curves, and kindness to those who need it most. But they don't seem to have a thing in common--except that Addie's passion for chocolate, and for Benevolence, is just as contagious as Sinclair's passion for her. Maybe small-town life has its charms after all…
Click here to get your copy.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The second of five children, Shirlee McCoy spent her childhood making up stories and acting them out with her sisters. Together with their menagerie of stuffed animals, they overpowered bad guys, righted wrongs, and made the world a better place. When she wasn’t engaged in imaginative play, she lost herself in the lives and adventures of Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, and Trixie Belden. It wasn’t long before she discovered her mother’s gothic romances and became an ardent fan of romantic suspense.
Today she's a busy mom of five. When she's not homeschooling her children o
r trying to keep up with endless piles of laundry, she still enjoys losing herself in a good book. And she still loves making up stories. Armed with a laptop, ten fingers, and her God‑given imagination, she overpowers bad guys, rights wrongs, and makes the world a better place for her characters.
Click here to get all the latest news from Shirlee McCoy!
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