Amy trailed her hand along the cherished antique table on her way toward the kitchen. The second set of sliding glass deck doors off the kitchen remained intact, but almost every oak cupboard door stood ajar. Drawers hung open or lay on the cork floor. She glanced around the room. “From what I can see, everything has been rummaged through, the same as the living room and family room, as if he was searching for something.”
Amy poked her head into the small room off the kitchen that served as an office. “I’m a writer, and I carry my computer with me everywhere along with my ereader.” She held up the oversized leather purse, just realizing now that the wide strap was still hooked over her shoulder. “He searched my filing cabinet, rifled through the papers on my desk, and tossed things every which way. Even the Murphy bed I’ve seldom used has been pulled down.”
Amy noticed the female officer exchange a look with Constable Robertson.
Sally Wilson met Amy’s eyes. “We should check upstairs, too.”
“Ms. Gibson, please stay here and answer a few questions.” Constable Robertson’s tone indicated it was an order and not a suggestion.
Amy glanced over her shoulder at Leslie and shrugged before heading down the hallway toward the curved staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms. “What was that about?” she asked, meeting the female officer’s eyes.
“Sometimes a single woman’s home is targeted by…”
“A pervert,” whispered Amy, finally catching on. Fearful that she might discover lingerie missing from her dresser, she climbed the stairs to the second floor with lead-weighted feet. At least there’d be a female officer looking over her shoulder when she examined her underwear drawers.
Amy walked directly to her bedroom and approached her dresser. She took a deep breath. She grabbed an ornamental metal handle in each hand, eased open the top drawer, and peeked inside. Her bras and panties lay in neat piles, folded just like she’d left them on laundry day.
“Is anything missing?” Officer Wilson stepped closer.
Amy shook her head and checked the other drawers that contained nightgowns, camisoles, slips, pantyhose. “Nothing has been touched,” she confirmed aloud, breathless with relief.
“Good. I didn’t expect so, but you never know. We should check out the entire top floor.”
The officer stood by and observed while Amy checked the master bedroom walk-in closet and peeked inside the rest of her bureau drawers. Thankfully, she’d made the bed this morning and tidied the bathroom after her shower. Habits ingrained by her mother, a meticulous housekeeper for most of her life. Until the tragedy struck. Amy shook off the bad memories; she wouldn’t go there now.
“Nothing appears to be disturbed or missing.” Amy met Officer Wilson’s eyes. “Perhaps the intruder heard me pull into the driveway and fled before making it upstairs,” she speculated.
“Certainly could be the case.” Sally Wilson nodded in agreement. “Check the medicine cabinets. Do you have any prescription drugs he may have helped himself to?”
“There’s nothing he’d want, unless he can get high on multi-vitamins and birth control pills.” Amy remembered she’d shared the fact she was a widow. “Debilitating cramps,” she added.
“Been there.” Sally smiled, understanding. “It’s highly unlikely anything is missing then.”
After they inspected the other three bedrooms and the bathrooms including both medicine cabinets and discovered nothing amiss, Amy and Sally returned to the kitchen where Constable Robertson was talking with Leslie.
“Maybe the kid targeted the wrong house?” suggested Constable Robertson, exchanging glances with Wilson.
“What do you mean?” asked Leslie, wrapping a supportive arm around Amy’s waist.
“There was a known drug house on the next street over, same house number.”
“A drug house in this neighborhood. You’ve got to be joking,” blurted Amy.
“No joke. We shut the drug house down a week ago, but maybe all the riffraff on the street haven’t gotten the word yet. The punk we just arrested certainly hadn’t.” Constable Robertson shrugged. “Or he just broke in when he spotted the cash on the dining room table and turned your place upside down looking for more money or drugs.”
“Does that mean this won’t happen again?” Amy felt herself pale.
The intruder’s menacing words rang in her ears: You tell the cops you can identify me, I’ll be back some night when you’re home alone. Amy’s heartbeat quickened. She was home alone every night. Obviously, the kid hadn’t been observing her house for any length of time, or he would know she lived alone. He just assumed more than one person would inhabit such a large house.
Should she confide in the officers? Tell them about the kid’s threats? Or was the little thief just trying to frighten her with empty words? The police arrested him and hauled him away. Surely, he’d remain incarcerated. Unless the judge released him on bail or into parental custody? Oh God, if he was released, what was stopping him from delivering on his threat?
Not. One. Damn. Thing.
Chapter 2
Constable Robertson met her eyes. “Could this happen again? Anything’s possible. I’m sorry I can’t give you positive reassurance that this was a one-time incident.”
“The guy threatened to return some night when I was home alone if I identified him.” Amy felt her legs wobble. She slipped away from Leslie’s arm and slid onto a kitchen chair before her knees buckled.
Robertson frowned. Amy wondered if she’d done the right thing, blurting out her admission.
“He’d be a fool if he did. Besides, the guy was high, might not even remember where he was or what he said when he comes down. I wouldn’t be overly concerned, but keep an eye open and call 9-1-1 if you see anything suspicious or anyone resembling him lurking about.”
“Just remember to set your security alarm,” added Constable Wilson. “If you don’t need me, I’ll check the backyard in case the thief left something behind.”
“Good idea. Let me know if you find something.”
Wilson disappeared out the back door.
“Amy, I’m going to call the salon and see if they need anything.” Leslie patted her friend’s shoulder.
“Okay, Les. And if they need you, then go. I’m okay.” Amy smiled weakly.
“Yeah, right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Leslie dug her cell phone out of her handbag and headed toward the living room.
Constable Robertson pulled a notebook out of his pocket and clicked the end of his ballpoint pen. “I require some information for my report.”
Amy took a minute to breathe again. She shifted in her seat, pulled her shoulders back, and faced the police officer seated across from her at the kitchen table. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked her to fill in the witness statement he set on the table. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t have held a pen. She took another deep breath.
While he flipped through the pages of his notebook, she studied him for the first time aware of him as a man, not just a cop. Dark brown hair, clean shaven, he appeared to be in his mid-twenties, probably a year or two younger than her twenty-eight years. He sounded quite professional, seasoned, experienced, in charge, however. Perhaps he just looked younger than his actual age. Gorgeous. Handsome. Gorgeously handsome, she decided.
“Ms. MacArthur?”
Amy mentally shook herself, realized he was staring at her.
“Huh?” She immediately felt her face redden. She wrote hundred thousand word novels for a living and ‘huh’ was the best she could come up with?
“What time did you leave your house this morning?” His deep voice totally mesmerized her and even lent a degree of comfort.
“About six thirty, although the dentist office isn’t too far away. My appointment wasn’t until seven, but I was concerned about rush hour traffic.” Her heart skipped a beat, and she momentarily lost herself in his dark brown eyes that watched her as she spoke.
“Okay.” He bent over his book, re
cording her answer she assumed. She noticed his stylish haircut, imagined running her fingers through those silky-looking strands of...
“Ms. MacArthur?”
Dang it! She’d done it again. He must have asked another question.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” He slid forward on the chair. When he leaned closer in anticipation of her response, a whiff of his cologne teased her nose. She inhaled deeply, savoring the woodsy rainforest scent. God, he smelled good enough to eat.
“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
She waited a few moments longer, waited for him to elaborate. She imagined a variety of things he could get her, do for her, do to her, starting with kissing her right now. Reluctantly, she shook her head. “Nothing, thank you. I’m fine.”
His expression almost indicated disappointment. Or was she imagining it?
“Just relax. You mentioned you were a writer. What do you write, Ms. MacArthur?” He tilted his head.
Amy wondered if he was truly interested in her career choice or if he hoped to calm her down by temporarily distracting her. She was equally distracted by him and the stressful situation. “I’m a romance writer, romantic suspense. I doubt you’ve read any of my work. I’m currently working on a series that I’ll set in a ski town, maybe Banff or Lake Louise. I haven’t come up with a name for it yet.”
“I read mostly mysteries, thrillers.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I ski at Sunshine every year. Maybe call it Sunshine Shenanigans Series.”
Amy laughed in spite of herself. “Beautiful alliteration, Constable, but as a title for a contemporary romantic suspense series...not so much.”
“I didn’t think so. Are those your children?” he pointed to the picture of four smiling faces clipped to her fridge door.
“No, that’s my neighbor’s brood.” Amy smiled at him, feeling less tense about the whole morning fiasco. “They’re really great kids. Well-behaved, willing to help without being asked.”
“We’d better finish this report if you’re up to it.”
“Go ahead. And thank you for...”
He just nodded and continued, “You mentioned that you neglected to set the security alarm when you left. Was there any particular reason for that? Were you distracted by a telephone call? Or had you hurried to complete a forgotten chore, folding laundry or something?”
“No, just in a hurry to get out the door so I wouldn’t be late. I have a thing about being late for appointments,” she admitted.
“So, you dashed out the door forgetting the alarm. What did you do next?”
“I drove my vehicle out of the garage and slowly continued backing down the driveway after I pushed the garage door control on the visor. I checked to ensure the garage door was lowering after I turned onto the street, which it was, and then I drove away.”
“And you didn’t notice anyone outside your home? A stranger in the neighborhood? Or the teenager we arrested?”
“No one. Not even a neighbor. I’ve never seen that teen before either.”
Officer Robertson returned to his report, and Amy returned to her musings. Was it too late to request a ‘something’? She’d suggest mouth-to-mouth resuscitation if her heart stopped. And it might any second now if she willed it to, just to feel his mouth pressed to hers.
She spied the ring finger on his left hand. Bare. But that wasn’t a guarantee he was single. And she glanced at the gold wedding band on her hand. Nothing said ‘married’ like a wedding band, but she had informed him she was a widow. Allan died over a year and a half ago. Leslie had been harassing her to start dating again, and she’d almost convinced herself it was time to move on. Perhaps she should remove her rings, especially considering the unexpected attraction she felt to this man.
“You returned home a few minutes before you called 9-1-1. Is that correct?” His luscious lips enticed her with each word.
“I didn’t stop to chat with a neighbor, just entered the house and discovered my living room in a mess. I backed out and called 9-1-1 immediately. And then you arrived.” She realized a second too late that she’d placed too much emphasis on the ‘you’. And then she grimaced, imagining her expression of adoration that might have accompanied the word. What would he think of her, making puppy dog eyes at him? Hero worship for rescuing her from a bad situation? Frustrated, sex-starved widow? There might be some validity in the latter, but her sex life or lack thereof was none of his business. Unfortunately.
Officer Robertson smiled at her, and her bones almost turned to mush. He shifted in his chair and then returned to his report. Amy considered his handsome face for a moment and decided she could simply conjure up an image of this man and any love scene in one of her novels would write itself!
“Is there anything else you can add to the report? Any questions you’d like answered?” He met her eyes, expectantly. And then he shifted on the chair again like a kindergartener in need of a trip to the bathroom.
Something had him squirming, but she couldn’t imagine what.
“Nothing I can think of,” she replied. The only question that popped into her head was ‘are you married?’ but she reined in her curiosity.
The enticing way his body filled out his uniform—broad chest just short of straining the buttons on his black shirt, lean waist and muscular legs evident in his dark trousers—caused her stomach to clench and her insides to quiver. She almost groaned aloud visualizing him out of that uniform.
“Do you agree?”
For crying out loud! She’d zoned out and missed another question. “Pardon me?”
“All that is missing from the house is the money you left on your dining room table?”
“Yes, that’s all I could see. If I discover something else is missing, I’ll call you,” she added. If she wasn’t such an honest, upstanding citizen, she’d swipe something herself for an excuse to call him. Something from her bedroom, so he’d have to check out the crime scene.
And then she realized she’d actually considered concocting a crime. What was she thinking? She was in the middle of a 9-1-1 Break and Enter report, ogling a cop. But hot guys like this ignited cop fantasies. She brushed her lascivious thoughts off as research. After all, she wrote romance novels for a living. She could totally utilize this guy as a hero in one of her novels.
Shockingly, she realized that stringing words together for a scene in a novel wasn’t the only thing that had crossed her mind. Her musings had been geared toward something personal, too. But that was just stupid, she told herself. After her husband died so suddenly and so tragically, she’d sworn to never fall in love with another man. A police officer faced life-threatening situations on the job all the time. Her heart would never survive anything that horrendous again, so why even go there. But no harm in imagining...
The police officer’s cell phone rang, and she jumped a foot.
“Excuse me,” he said as he rose from the chair, wandered across the room, and leaned against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen.
While he took the call, she visualized them shipwrecked together on a deserted tropical island, lying side-by-side on a white sand beach, the hot sun warming their naked bodies. Amy felt herself blush. She desperately needed something cold to drink, very cold, but she’d settle for a cup of coffee. In her current weak-kneed, shaky-legged condition, filling the coffee maker with water could prove beyond her capabilities. Just when she decided to give it a try, Constable Robertson abruptly ended the call, slipped his cell phone back into his pocket, and returned to his chair.
“I have everything I need. Now, would you please fill in this witness statement and sign it?”
Amy squirmed in her chair. Had he guessed the direction her thoughts had taken? Was he having equally arousing fantasies about her? Was that the reason he’d been squirming in his chair?
He slid the witness statement sheet across the table to her, and the expression in his kind eyes felt like a whispered apology to her. Being powerless
to prevent such pointless crimes must be frustrating for him. If only she’d remembered to set the darn alarm!
Amy took the pen he handed her and started completing her statement. She noticed that her hands were no longer shaking.
“Didn’t find a single thing out there,” Constable Wilson reported, as she returned from the backyard.
“I’m not surprised.” Robertson met Wilson’s eyes. “I just got off the phone with Garrett. While we were talking I mentioned a bit of money was missing from the house. Constable Baylor found a total of thirty dollars and sixty cents in the suspect’s pockets.”
Both cops glanced over at Amy.
She shuddered, once again recalling the look in the young man’s eyes. She quickly did the math in her head. “That sounds right. I gave the Avon lady a fifty dollar bill and my order was nineteen dollars and forty cents.”
“Do you have a copy of the bill?” asked Officer Wilson.
“My receipt is on the dining room table. You can have it.”
“Thanks.” Officer Wilson headed for the other room.
Amy added the part about paying her Avon lady to her statement, including the amount of money that exchanged hands. She read over everything she wrote. Surprisingly, it sounded rational and well-written. One advantage to being a writer, even under stress she could produce a sensible statement. She signed the document and pushed it across the table to Constable Robertson. He picked it up, checked it over quickly, and tore off the top copy. He offered her the bottom self-carbon copy. When he smiled, the cutest dimple appeared in his cheek.
She blushed when she realized he’d caught her staring at him. And he’d been staring right back at her. Did the cop find her attractive? Or was he simply concerned about another unfortunate victim of a break-in?
Finally, her brain clicked into gear and she reached for the sheet of paper. “Thank you.”
Their hands touched when she took her copy from him, creating a shock that jolted her to the core. She imagined the stunned expression on his face matched her own. She’d never felt such an instant attraction to any man, not even her late husband. Judging by Sally Wilson’s raised eyebrow, Amy suspected the female officer noticed something more than a piece of paper passed between them during the exchange.
Love To The Rescue Page 2
