EXPECTING—AND IN DANGER

Attacked in her classroom, widowed teacher Ariel Martin’s only thought is for her unborn child. When her student’s brother, rookie K-9 officer Tristan McKeller, and his faithful dog save her life, she can’t thank him enough. She knows Tristan won’t rest until she’s safe, but she doesn’t want him or his police colleagues digging into her dangerous past. After all, the only person who would want to hurt her is dead…or is he? With her and her child’s life on the line, she’ll have to trust Tristan with her secrets if she wants to finally get the fresh start she’s been desperately seeking.

The woman was pregnant!

“Stay!” Tristan commanded his K-9 partner, and Jesse dropped down with a grunted protest.

A woman appeared in the window. Dark hair. Pale skin. Freckles. Very pregnant belly that wasn’t cooperating as she struggled to crawl through the opening.

Ariel Martin. The newest teacher at Desert Valley High School. Smart. Enthusiastic. Patient. He’d heard that from more than one parent. He’d even heard it from Mia.

“You okay?” he asked, running to her side.

She shook her head, dark gray eyes wide with shock, a smear of blood on her right hand. She’d cut herself. It looked deep, but she didn’t seem to notice. “There’s a gunman. He tried to shoot me.”

The words were calm, crisp and clear, and they chilled Tristan to the bone. Two women had already been murdered in Desert Valley. Was Ariel Martin slated to be the third?

ROOKIE K-9 UNIT:

These lawmen solve the toughest cases

with the help of their brave canine partners

Protect and Serve—Terri Reed, April 2016 Truth and Consequences—Lenora Worth, May 2016 Seek and Find—Dana Mentink, June 2016 Honor and Defend—Lynette Eason, July 2016 Secrets and Lies—Shirlee McCoy, August 2016 Search and Rescue—Valerie Hansen, September 2016

Aside from her faith and her family, there’s not much SHIRLEE MCCOY enjoys more than a good book! When she’s not teaching or chauffeuring her five kids, she can usually be found plotting her next Love Inspired Suspense story or wandering around the beautiful Inland Northwest in search of inspiration. Shirlee loves to hear from readers. If you have time, drop her a line at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Secrets and Lies
Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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As for God, His way is perfect; the word of the Lord is flawless. He is a shield for all who take refuge in Him.

—Psalms 18:30

To my fellow Rookie K-9 authors.

Val, Dana, Lynette, Terri and Lenora, working with the

five of you was such a privilege and a pleasure! We made quite a team, and I’m so glad that I got to be part of it!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

INtroduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The soft buzz of her cell phone pulled Ariel Martin’s attention from the ninth-grade English paper she was grading. It was good that she’d been engrossed in the essay—the student had obviously done an outstanding job. It was not so good that long shadows had drifted across the classroom floor while she was reading. It was late. Later than she’d realized.

She grabbed her phone and read the text that had come through.

Want to grab some dinner later, Ari?

“No, Easton. I do not,” she muttered, shoving the phone back in her purse without responding.

Easton Riley was a nice enough guy—a math teacher who’d coached the football team to regional victory the previous year—but she wasn’t interested.

She had her hands full teaching summer school, tutoring on the side, getting the classroom ready for the long-term sub who’d be taking over from mid-September through December when she had her baby. The last thing she needed or wanted was a relationship complicating things. She’d lived that for five years—always at another person’s beck and call, always worrying about what someone else wanted or needed.

She hadn’t thought marriage would be that way. She’d thought it would be a mutual effort—two people working together to reach a common goal. She’d been wrong. She had the divorce papers to prove it, filed in Nevada and finalized three weeks later. Not what she’d wanted. She’d wanted couples counseling and pastoral help. Mitch had wanted someone else.

That had hurt. What had hurt more was how adamant he’d been that she get rid of the baby she learned she was carrying a week after Mitch had filed for divorce. An abortion, that’s what he’d demanded. He’d even tossed cash at her, screaming that she’d better get rid of the kid or he’d do it for her.

That had been the first time she’d been scared of her ex-husband. There’d been other times after that. The fact that he’d died in a fiery car wreck a month later should have given her a sense of relief, but she’d felt trapped by all the memories—good and bad—of their marriage. Las Vegas had never been her dream. It had been Mitch’s. They’d graduated from the University of Arizona and chased after the things he’d wanted—money, fast cars, expensive toys. She’d been happy to go along for the ride, because she’d loved him.

Love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

She’d learned that the hard way, and now she was back in her old hometown, teaching at the high school she’d attended, trying to get ready for the daughter she’d be raising alone.

“We’ll do great, munchkin,” she said, standing and stretching a kink from her back. She glanced at the clock that hung above the classroom door. 5:45 p.m.

Mia McKeller’s brother was late. Again.

Ariel understood that the guy was busy. The Desert Valley police had had their hands full the past few months—murders, drug runners, attacks, arrests. Rumors and speculations had been running rampant through the town, and Ariel had wondered if she would have been better off staying in Vegas. At least there, she had some anonymity. There’d been no sweet old church ladies knocking on her door in the evening, handing her casseroles and asking questions about her married state, her plans for the baby, her decision to raise her daughter alone. In Desert Valley, everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business. If they didn’t, they wanted to know. The problem was, Ariel didn’t want to explain her marriage, Mitch’s death, the fact that she wasn’t nearly as sorry about it as she should be. She didn’t want to lie, either, so she found herself hedging around questions, giving half answers and partial truths. She preferred authenticity, but it was hard when there were so many things she couldn’t or wouldn’t say. Yeah. She preferred straight-up answers.

She also preferred being on time.

Something that Tristan McKeller seemed to be opposed to. At least when it came to his meetings with her.

He seemed like a nice guy. They’d spoken on the phone several times, and he’d gone out of his way to introduce himself at church. She hadn’t needed the introduction. She’d seen him in town, walking with Mia and his K-9 partner. Her first thought was always that he made a handsome picture—tall and dark-haired, one hand on his sister’s shoulder, the other on the dog leash. Her second was always that he really seemed to care about Mia.

And yet, he couldn’t seem to make it to their meetings on time.

She grabbed her cell phone, checking to make sure she hadn’t missed a call. Tristan had had to cancel two previous meetings due to his job as a K-9 officer. He’d apologized profusely, and she’d been happy to reschedule, but summer school was drawing to a close, Mia’s English grade wasn’t improving, and if she didn’t pass, she’d wouldn’t be able to join her friends in tenth grade the following year. As Mia’s guardian, it was up to Tristan McKeller to ensure his sister was aware of the ramifications of her decisions to not turn in assignments, not attend class, not participate.

Of course, he’d assured Ariel that he’d been talking to Mia, working with her and trying everything he could think of to motivate his sister. Nothing was working, and they were going to have to come up with a new plan. She’d explained it all to him Sunday morning when he’d pulled her aside after church and asked if Mia’s grades were improving. He’d wanted to be prepared for bad news at the meeting, he’d said, a half smile softening the hard angles of his face.

She’d noticed that.

Which had irritated her.

No more men. Ever. That was an easy enough promise to keep to herself.

Ariel sighed, grabbing the writing prompt she’d be using for Monday’s composition class. She might as well get it photocopied now, because she had a feeling Tristan would be canceling again, and once she heard from him, she was going home. She had a crib to put together. The baby was due in five weeks. Plenty of time to get the nursery ready, but whenever she got started, she thought about how it was supposed to be—two people choosing colors, two people picking wall art, two people putting the crib together—and she stopped.

She couldn’t keep stopping.

Babies came whether the parent was ready or not.

She walked out of the classroom, the smell of chalk dust and floor cleaner filling her nose. Desert Valley High was smaller than the Las Vegas prep school where she’d spent the first five years of her teaching career. The main hall split into two wings, and she turned to the left, bypassing the girls’ restroom, the library, the cafeteria. The teacher’s lounge was just ahead, the photocopy machines tucked into a cubby there.

She walked into the room, smiling at the little sign one of the teachers had hung on the refrigerator door—a smiley face with Smiles Don’t Happen Here scrawled across it.

Not true, of course.

Desert Valley High was a nice place to work—good teachers, good principal, good kids, supportive parents. A dream come true, really.

If a person still had dreams.

Ariel’s had all died when Mitch had thrown the cash at her and screamed that he wanted her and the baby gone from his life.

“Cut it out,” she muttered, sliding the prompt into the copy machine and closing the lid. The last thing she needed to do was dwell on the past. She had an entire future to plan out and live. She also had a baby who would need her to be strong, focused and positive.

Somewhere in the school a door slammed shut, the sound faint but audible. Tristan McKeller. It had to be. The rest of the staff had gone home for the night. Ariel had been alone in the building since the head custodian, Jethro Right, had told her to lock the main doors when she left.

That was one of the nice things about being in a school this size. She had a key to the main door and could come and go as she pleased.

She left the machine and hurried into the corridor.

At least, she tried to hurry. The baby was gaining weight rapidly at this point, the heaviness of the pregnancy slowing Ariel down more than she’d imagined it would. She’d always been an athlete—cross-country, volleyball, soccer. She’d had to slow down the past month or so, but she still walked every day and coached the girl’s track team.

By the time she reached her classroom, she was slightly out of breath, her heart racing as if she’d done the hundred-yard dash. The door was closed, no light spilling out from beneath it. Had she closed it? Had she turned off the light?

She couldn’t remember doing either, and she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, a shiver of warning working its way up her spine. There’d been moments since she’d left Las Vegas when the old fears had haunted her, when she’d found herself checking and rechecking the locks on the windows and doors of the little house she lived in. She’d found out a lot of things about Mitch after he’d died, things that had made her question herself and her ability to judge people, that had made her wonder if her entire marriage had been based on lies. According to the police, she’d been married to a criminal—a guy who’d laundered money through the casino where he’d worked, an arsonist who’d collected money after helping others commit insurance fraud. If he were alive, Mitch would be in jail.

He wasn’t, and sometimes Ariel thought that the people he owed, the ones who the police said always played for keeps, might come after her to get what they were owed.

She shivered, backing away from the door. She couldn’t imagine Mia’s brother walking into her classroom, closing the door and turning off the light, and she really didn’t think she’d done either of those things herself. She’d heard a door slam. Someone was in the school. Anyone who had any business being there would make themselves known, not wander around stealthily turning off lights.

She’d left her purse in the room, her wallet, her phone, but she could get those later. There was nothing wrong with being careful, after all. Nothing at all wrong with waiting for someone else to walk her into the room.

Heading up the corridor, she thought she heard the soft swish of a door opening behind her and turned, then saw her door swinging open, a man stepping out. Thin. Tall. Face masked by a stocking or a ski mask? He had something in his hand and raised it. A gun! She darted around the corner as a bullet slammed into the wall near her head. Plaster and cement flew into her hair, pinging off her cheek.

She didn’t stop. She could hear his feet slapping against the tile, knew he’d be around the corner in heartbeat.

Run! her mind shrieked, her body clumsy with eight months of pregnancy, her legs churning in slow-motion, time speeding forward, the footsteps growing closer.

She ducked into the resource room, slamming the door closed, her hands trembling as she turned the lock. She stepped to the side just as a bullet flew through the door and smashed into a shelf of books that lined the far wall.

She had to get out!

The window was the only escape, and she ran to it, clawing at the lock mechanism. It didn’t budge.

Behind her, something slammed into the door. Once. Twice. The door shook, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it flew open and the gunman appeared, weapon drawn and ready.

Please, God, please! she prayed frantically as she searched the room for another way out. There wasn’t one, but an old computer monitor sat abandoned on the floor, wires tossed on top of it. She lifted it and slammed it into the window. A tiny hairline crack appeared. She slammed it again, and the glass cracked more. Behind her, the assault on the door continued, the wood starting to splinter and give.

Please, she prayed again as she lifted the monitor and threw it with all her strength.

* * *

Glass shattering.

Rookie K-9 officer Tristan McKeller heard it as he hooked his K-9 partner to a lead. The yellow lab cocked his head to the side, growling softly.

“What is it, boy?” Tristan asked, scanning the school parking lot. Only one other vehicle was parked there—a shiny black minivan that he knew belonged to Ariel Martin. He was late to their meeting. That seemed to be the story of his life this summer. Work was crazy, and his sister was crazier, and finding time to meet with Mia’s summer school teacher? Nearly impossible. He’d already canceled two previous meetings. He couldn’t cancel this one. Not if Mia had any hope of getting through summer school and moving on to the next grade. That’s what Ariel had said when he’d pulled her aside at church last Sunday.

She can do it, Tristan. She’s smart enough. We just have to find the right motivation. We’ll talk about it at the meeting. You are going to be there, right?

Of course, he’d assured her that he would.

What he hadn’t done was assure her that he’d be on time. A good thing, since it looked like he was going to be more than a few minutes late. Jesse was still growling, alerted to something that must have to do with the shattering glass. Kids fooling around and busting school windows? A ball tossed the wrong way, taking out a streetlight?

He hoped it was something that innocuous, but he wasn’t counting on it. Things had been happening in Desert Valley, a string of crimes that seemed to have surprised everyone in the small town. Drug runners. A dirty cop. Murder.

“Find!” he commanded, and Jesse took off, pulling against the leash in his haste to get to the corner of the building and around it. Trained in arson detection, the dog had an unerring nose for almost anything. Right now, he was on a scent, and Tristan trusted him enough to let him have his head.

Glass glittered on the pavement twenty feet away, and Jesse beelined for it, barking raucously, his tail stiff and high.

“Front!” Tristan said, and the dog returned to him, sitting impatiently, his dark eyes focused on the window.

“Stay!” Tristan commanded, and Jesse dropped down with a grunted protest. He wanted to keep going, but Tristan couldn’t risk him cutting his paws on the shards of glass.

A woman appeared in the window. Dark hair. Pale skin. Freckles. Very pregnant belly that wasn’t cooperating as she struggled to crawl through the opening. Ariel Martin. The newest teacher at Desert Valley High School. Smart. Enthusiastic. Patient. He’d heard that from more than one parent. He’d even heard it from Mia. The few times Tristan had spoken to Ariel, he’d been impressed by her interest in his sister, and he’d felt confident that she could help Mia regain her academic grounding. If Mia would let her.

“You okay?” he asked, running to Ariel’s side.

She shook her head, dark gray eyes wide with shock, a smear of blood on her right hand. She’d cut herself. It looked deep, but she didn’t seem to notice. “He’s got a gun. He tried to shoot me.”

The words were calm, crisp and clear, and they chilled Tristan to the bone. Two women had already been murdered in Desert Valley. Was Ariel Martin slated to be the third?

“Who?” He grabbed her arms, hauling her through the opening.

She landed on her feet, her body trembling. “I don’t know. He was wearing something over his face.”

“But you did see a gun?” he asked, wanting clarification before he called in a gunman on the loose.

“Saw it. Heard the bullet slam into the wall. Saw one go through the door. He was trying to get into the resource room where I was hiding, but I think he heard your dog barking and left.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t hesitate, the words flowing out easily. Truth did that to people. This was no overly imaginative person freaked-out about something that might have been seen. This was a woman who’d been terrified by a very real, very imminent threat.

Her safety was first, but Tristan wanted to go after the guy now, before he had a chance to run. If this was connected to the other murders, this might be the break they’d been looking for. Ariel had seen the guy. Not his face. But his height, width, maybe his skin tone.

He called dispatch and asked for backup as he led Ariel to his SUV. The sooner they hunted the perp down and took him into custody, the safer everyone in the vicinity would be.

He couldn’t leave the victim, though. Not until he was certain the gunman wasn’t hanging around, waiting for another opportunity to strike.

“Do you think he’s gone?” Ariel asked.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know. Not for sure. He could be in the building somewhere, or heading around the side of the school,” she responded, just a hint of a tremor in her voice. Despite her advanced pregnancy, she was fit and muscular, her legs long and slim, her arms toned. He’d noticed that the first time he’d seen her. She’d walked into church with her head high, her shoulders squared, her belly pressing against a flowy dress, and there wasn’t an unattached guy in the congregation who hadn’t sat up a little straighter. A few months later and her belly was bigger, but she still looked confident and determined. Being shot at could shake the toughest person, though, and it had obviously shaken her.

He opened the passenger door, helped her into the seat.

“I do know for sure,” he assured her. “Or at least, Jesse does.” He pointed to his K-9 partner. The dog was relaxed, his tail wagging, his scruff down. He’d be growling or barking if he sensed danger. Instead, he’d loped back to their vehicle, not even a hint of tension in his muscular body.

Good, but not good enough for Tristan. He wanted to search the school, make sure the guy hadn’t left anything behind—firearms, bombs, some kind of accelerant that he could use at a later date to cause mass casualties. Not likely, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Same for Ariel. Aside from her paleness and the cut on her hand, she seemed to be doing okay. It was better to get her checked out at the hospital, though, and make certain there wouldn’t be any complications with her pregnancy. He called dispatch with the request for an ambulance as he opened the back of the SUV and pulled out a first-aid kit.

“I don’t need an ambulance,” Ariel protested.

He ignored her, pulling on disposable gloves and lifting her wounded hand. “This is deep. You’ll need stitches.”

He pressed gauze to the wound, and she winced.

“Sorry.” He didn’t ease up on the pressure, though. She’d bled a lot. Probably more than she realized.

“It’s fine.” Her free hand lay against her belly. No ring on that one or the one he was holding. He knew she was a widow. He’d heard rumors that her husband had died shortly after she’d found out she was pregnant. He hadn’t asked for details, but he’d wondered. Mia really liked Ariel, and Tristan figured it took a special kind of person to win his sister’s affection. He’d imagined that Ariel must be gentle, quiet, maybe a little sentimental, but taking off her wedding ring so soon after her husband’s death didn’t seem sentimental at all.

Then again, maybe it was. He didn’t know much about those kinds of things, and he didn’t know Ariel well enough to ask. What he did know was that she deserved better than this.

He met her eyes, saw fear in the depth of her dark gray gaze.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said.

“I hope so.”

“It will be. The ambulance should be here soon. They’ll triage this before they transport you,” he said, and she frowned.

“Like I said, I don’t need an ambulance.”

“You’re nine months pregnant—”

“Eight, and—”

Whatever she planned to say was cut off by a police cruiser’s siren. The vehicle screamed into the parking lot, lights flashing, tires shrieking as Eddie Harmon’s car squealed to a stop beside Tristan.

Eddie jumped out of the car, his uniform shirt pulled tight across his stomach, his shoes scuffed and pants wrinkled.

“What’s going on here? Got a call about a gunman?” He eyed Ariel, taking in her bleeding hand and her very pregnant belly. “I’m assuming it was a false alarm, maybe a misunderstanding?”

Of course he’d assume that. Eddie liked to take the easy route to police work. His focus was on his family and his upcoming retirement rather than his job. He wasn’t a bad cop, but he wasn’t a good one, either.

Tristan would have preferred to have one of the K-9 officers there. He trusted Eddie to do his job, but he hated to leave Ariel with a guy who probably wasn’t going to take her seriously. She looked too pale, too vulnerable, and he was tempted to stay right where he was until the rest of the K-9 team arrived. But, every minute he waited was another minute the perp had to escape.

“There was a shooter,” Tristan assured him. “I’m going to take Jesse into the building and secure the scene. There’s an ambulance on the way. Can you stay with the victim until it arrives? Until we know what the perp is after, we can’t assume he’s not going to try to strike again.”

“In other words, you want me to take guard duty,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his belly and eyeing Tristan dispassionately.

“Right.”

“I guess I can do that.” Eddie shrugged. “Easier than walking around the building looking for the perp.”

That’s exactly what Tristan figured he’d say.

He met Ariel’s eyes. She still looked scared. She also looked exhausted, her face pale, her cheekbones gaunt. He hadn’t noticed that before, but then he’d been telling himself for months that he shouldn’t be noticing anything about Mia’s teacher. His life was filled up with work and with his sister. He didn’t have time for relationships. Especially not complicated ones. A pregnant widow? That was way more than he had room for in his life.

“This might take a while. When I finish, I’ll check back in with you.”

She nodded, and he called Jesse to heel and jogged to the building. The perp hadn’t gone out the front. Jesse would have scented him when they’d walked back to the SUV.

“Where is he?” Tristan asked, and Jesse’s ears perked, his nose going to the air and then the ground. Tristan would have preferred to have Shane Weston and his apprehension dog, Bella, there tracking the perp, but waiting was out of the question.

“Find him!” he urged, and Jesse ran to the back of the school, nosing the cement path that led to double-wide doors. They yawned open, the corridor beyond silent and empty. This had to have been the entrance point. The exit point, too, if the guy was gone.

Tristan followed the dog across the threshold, calling out as he entered the building, warning that police were present. No response. He hadn’t expected one. He really didn’t expect the perp to have hung around.

Jesse tugged him through the hall, passing classroom after classroom. The lab stopped at room 119, sniffing the floor before walking inside. There, he nosed around near a teacher’s desk, sniffing a dark blue sweater that hung over the back of a chair. He huffed quietly and left it, continuing across the room to a storage closet that stood open.

Had the guy been in the closet? Maybe waiting for Ariel to return to the classroom? The thought turned Tristan’s stomach. Master police dog trainer Veronica Earnshaw had been murdered in her place of employment, shot to death while microchipping a new litter of puppies for the Canyon County K-9 Training Center. Since then, Desert Valley had been on edge. That wasn’t the first murder in the area. Five years ago, K-9 officer Ryder Hayes had lost his wife on the night of the annual Desert Valley Police Department dance and fund-raiser. She’d been shot and killed while carrying her dress home just hours before the party.

The perp had shot at Ariel. Was this newest incident somehow related to the other two?

Jesse left the closet, tracing a path from there back to the desk and then out into the hallway. They moved through the dimly lit corridor, the dusky sunlight barely penetrating this far into the building. They reached the corner where the east and west wings jutted to either side of the main building, and Jesse barked, prancing around what looked like bits of concrete and wallboard.

“Front!” Tristan commanded, and the dog returned, dropping down on his haunches.

“Stay!” he said, motioning for the dog to lie on the floor, then moving past and looking at the debris that littered the gray-white tiles. A chunk of wall had been blown from the corner, the bullet still lodged in concrete. Tristan called for Jesse and continued on past several closed doors. He didn’t need the dog to show him where Ariel had been hiding. The door to the room had been shot through, the old wood caving in from the force of a foot kicked into it over and over again. Another few well-placed kicks and the door would have caved in, giving the gunman a clear shot at his intended victim.

A random act of violence?

Tristan didn’t think so. Everything about this seemed premeditated—the perp hiding in the closet, the mask that had hidden his features, the determination to get through a locked door. The guy had been after blood, and if Tristan hadn’t had a meeting scheduled with Ariel, he might have gotten it.

God always has a way.

It’s what his father had told him over and over again. It’s what Tristan’s mother had repeated during Tristan’s challenging teenage years. Since they’d died, Tristan had been too busy trying to raise Mia to spend much time trying to figure out what God’s way was.

Maybe that had been his mistake. Maybe it was the reason why Mia was struggling so much in school and with making friends. Becoming a K-9 police officer had seemed like the perfect transition from being an army dog handler into civilian life, but that wasn’t the reason Tristan had signed on to the Canyon County K-9 Center Training Course. He’d joined in honor of his army buddy and good friend Mike Riverton who’d died the previous May.

Mike had sung the praises of the K-9 program, and he’d been trying to get Tristan to apply. Then Mike had died—killed when he’d fallen down steep stairs at his home. That’s the story Tristan had been told, and that’s what the medical examiner’s records said, but Tristan wasn’t buying it. A guy like Mike—trained in mountain climbing and free-climbing rock walls—would never have fallen and not been able to catch himself.

Yeah. Things around Desert Valley weren’t what they’d seemed when Tristan had moved there for the program. Small towns, he was learning, often hid big secrets.

He frowned, his thoughts going back to Ariel, the way she’d looked when she’d been struggling to escape through the broken window, the fear in her eyes, the subtle trembling of her voice.

Sometimes, small towns also hid murderers.

Not for long, though.

Tristan knew the Desert Valley PD was closing in on the killer. He was certain it was just a matter of time before the perpetrator was found. But, time wasn’t anyone’s friend when a murderer was on the loose.

A murderer, he thought, eyeing the splintered door and the bullet hole, who might have just attempted to strike again.

TWO

She’d almost died.

Ariel couldn’t shake the thought, and she couldn’t ignore it as an EMT leaned over her cut palm, eyeing the still-bleeding wound.

“You’re going to need stitches,” the young woman said brusquely. “We can transport you to the hospital for that, or you can go to the clinic. Your call.”

“I’ll go to the clinic,” Ariel responded by rote.

If she’d died, the baby would have died. Thinking about that was worse than thinking about herself, broken and bleeding on the floor of the resource room.

She shuddered, and the EMT frowned.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone a little gentler. “You seem shaky, and they could check on the baby. It might give you a little peace of mind.”

Aside from the guy who’d shot at her being thrown in jail, there wasn’t much of anything that could give her that. “I’m sure.”

The woman nodded, pressing thick gauze to the wound and wrapping it with a tight layer of surgical tape. “That should hold it until you get to the clinic. Have someone drive you. Husband, family.”

“All right.” Except that Ariel didn’t have a husband and she didn’t have any family. She was making new friends at church and at work, but even after five months, they weren’t the kind of relationships she could count on in a pinch.

If the principal came to check out the damage to the school, she’d probably offer to give Ariel a ride. Pamela Moore’s daughter, Regina, had been Ariel’s best friend from kindergarten through their sophomore year of high school. They’d stayed close after Ariel had moved away, and when Regina had taken her dream job working as NICU nurse in Phoenix, Ariel had cheered her on.

Regina had been the reason Ariel had been offered the job in Desert Valley. She’d contacted her mother, pleaded Ariel’s case and gotten her an interview for a job that had opened up when another teacher had gotten married and left town.

It had seemed like a God-thing, the opportunity coming out of left field at a time when Ariel had been desperate to get away from Las Vegas and all the memories it held. She’d wanted a quiet little town to raise her daughter in. She’d wanted a safe environment where everyone knew everyone and where small crimes were considered a big deal. She’d thought that was what Desert Valley offered, all her sweet childhood memories leading her to believe the place would be perfect. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Several Desert Valley police vehicles had pulled into the parking lot and K-9 teams were spread out across the school grounds. Ariel could see a female officer walking through the gym field, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, a golden retriever trotting in front of her. Ellen Foxcroft. A nice young woman who everyone in town seemed to like. Her mother was a different story. Marian Foxcroft was notorious for sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. She had money and influence in Desert Valley, and she wasn’t afraid to throw both around to get what she wanted.

Unfortunately she also had enemies. She’d been attacked a few months ago and left in a coma. It was one of the many crimes that had been taking up the front page of the town’s newspaper.

Ariel had tried not to pay much attention to the stories. She had enough stress and worry in her life. She hadn’t wanted to add to it, and she’d been afraid...so afraid that she’d made another mistake—just like the one she’d made when she’d married Mitch.

She touched her stomach, feeling almost guilty for the thought.

“Ma’am?” the EMT said. “Would you like me to call someone for you?”

“No. I’m fine.” She stood on wobbly legs and moved past the EMT just to prove that she could. Her keys were in her classroom. So were her purse and her cell phone. The house she’d bought with money her great-aunt had left her a decade ago was only two miles from the school, but walking there wasn’t an option. Not with the gunman still out there somewhere.

Had Tristan found any sign of the guy in the school? Was he okay? She’d watched him walk toward the building, and she’d wanted to caution him to be careful, because the gunman had meant business. He’d been bent on murder, and if Ariel had walked into her classroom, she’d have probably been shot before she’d even realized she was a target.

She shivered, rubbing her arms against the chill that just wouldn’t seem to leave her.

“You holding up okay?” someone asked.

She turned and found herself looking into Tristan McKeller’s dark brown eyes.

“I was just thinking about you,” she said, the words escaping before she realized how they’d sound. “What I mean—”

“Is that you were wondering if I’d found the gunman?” he offered, and she nodded.

“Yes. And if you were okay. Apparently, you are.”

“I am, but the gunman is still on the loose. We’ve got a couple of K-9 teams trying to track him. Hopefully, we’ll have him in custody soon. You said he was wearing some sort of mask?”

“It seemed like it. I only got a glimpse as he was coming out of my room.”

“Were you heading there when you noticed him?”

“I was on my way back from the Xerox machine. I’d heard a door slamming shut, and I thought it was you.” She spoke quickly, filling him in on the details and doing everything in her power to not allow emotion to seep into her voice. Breaking down in front of people wasn’t something she liked to do. Even when Mitch had screamed at her, telling her that the baby she was carrying would ruin his life, she hadn’t cried.

She finished and Tristan nodded. “Matches with what I saw. There’s a bullet slug in the corner of the wall and one through the door into the room where you were hiding. If you’d been standing in front of the door—”

“I made sure that I wasn’t.” She cut him off. She didn’t want to speculate, she didn’t want to imagine. She’d been spared. Her baby had been spared.

God looking out for them?

She wanted to believe that.

She’d been trying hard to believe that everything that had happened—all the difficulty and trouble—would turn out for the good. There were days, though, when she questioned His goodness, wondered if He’d decided to turn His face away from her.

“Smart thinking, Ariel. It saved your life.” His gaze dropped to her stomach, to the baby bump that pulled her silky summer top taut over her abdomen. “And your baby’s. I guess you decided against the ambulance ride?”

“I’ll get stitches at the clinic.” Maybe. Or maybe she’d use a couple of butterfly bandages and hope for the best. The last thing she wanted was to walk out of the local medical clinic alone after dark, and there was no way she was going to ask Principal Moore to go with her. Not when the gunman was still on the loose. What if he came after Ariel again? What if someone else was in the line of fire?

The thought made her stomach churn.

“You’re new to town,” Tristan said, the comment taking her by surprise.

“I’ve been here for a few months, and I lived here when I was a kid,” she corrected, not quite sure where he was going with the conversation.

“You were in Las Vegas prior to your move?”

“Yes.”

“And your husband—”

“He was my ex, and he died a few weeks before I accepted the job offer here.”

His expression softened, as if he realized there was a lot more to her story than anyone in town knew. “Had you been divorced long?”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“Most violent crimes aren’t committed by strangers. Most involve people who know each other. Is there a new relationship? A boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Someone who might be holding grudge?”

“Do I look like I have time for another relationship?” she asked with a laugh that she knew sounded bitter and hard.

She swallowed down the emotion, tried again. “There’s no one else. My ex-husband died three weeks after our divorce was finalized.”

“Can I ask the cause of death?”

“A car accident. He drove off a hillside and crashed into a tree. The car burst into flames on impact.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. He wasn’t a very nice guy, but no one deserves that.”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes such a dark brown the irises were nearly invisible. They reminded her of Mia’s, the lashes black and thick. Mia, though, always looked sullen. Tristan looked concerned.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and she tensed, not comfortable with the pity she saw in his eyes.

She didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for her. She just needed to move on with her life, make a safe home for her baby and create something out of the nothing she’d been left with when Mitch had told her they were done.

“Like I said, so am I, but there’s nothing I can do to change it. All I can do is make a good life for our child.” My child was what she’d wanted to say, but Mitch would always be part of their little girl’s life, the shadowy parent who existed as nothing more than a name, a photograph, a hole in the heart.

“It’s still tough, Ariel. There isn’t a woman on the planet who doesn’t deserve better than what you got. It’s getting late, and you need to get those stitches. How about I follow you over to the clinic? Jesse and I can escort you in and then follow you home when you’re done.” He touched his dog’s head, and the yellow lab seemed to smile, its tongue lolling out.

“I—”

“You know it’s the safest thing, right? Until we find out who this guy is and why he took a shot at you, you need to be cautious.”

She knew. She didn’t like it, but she knew.

“All right,” she conceded. “But I’d rather just go home. A couple of butterfly bandages will take care of this.”

* * *

Tristan didn’t agree with the butterfly bandage idea, but he wasn’t going to argue. Ariel knew what she wanted and after being married to a not very nice guy, she probably didn’t need anyone telling her what decisions to make.

“That’s fine. I’ll walk you into the school. You can get your things and then we’ll head out.”

“You aren’t needed here?” she asked as they headed across the parking lot.

“I was off duty when I arrived. The chief assigned the case to someone else.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she said, brushing a few strands of hair from her cheek, the bandage on her hand crisp white in the fading light.

“Why do you say that?” He led her through the front door and into a wide lobby. Posters hung from walls, announcing clubs that would be meeting again in the fall.

“Mia,” she responded. That was it. No other explanation.

“You think I should be spending more time with her?” He tried to keep defensiveness out of his voice, but he was feeling it just the way he did every time some well-meaning neighbor or church lady or school counselor pointed out that Mia needed more attention and time than what he was able to provide.

“I have no idea how much time you spend with her. I just know it can’t be easy raising a teenager. Especially one who’s been through a really difficult loss.”

She was right about that.

He’d been an only child until he was seventeen, and he knew nothing about kids or teenage girls. He was learning, but it was a slow process. One that Mia didn’t seem to have much patience for. “Mia has been through a lot. The last couple of years have been hard on both of us.”

“I know, and I have a lot of sympathy for both of you, but hard times aren’t an excuse for poor work.” She stopped short and looked straight into his eyes. He was struck by that—by the directness of her gaze, the unapologetic way she pointed out the truth.

“I’ve told her that a dozen times.”

“Probably a dozen too many. Kids like Mia need structure. They need consequences, too.”

“I hope you’re not talking about me letting her fail, because I’m not willing to do that.”

“If she doesn’t improve her grade in my class, she’s going to fail, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.” She sighed and started walking again. “I was thinking more along the lines of grounding her until her grades come up.”

“I’ve done that. I’ve also made her come to work with me on her days off, so that I can make sure she’s not goofing off. None of it seems to matter. She still turns in shoddy assignments.”

“When she turns them in at all,” Ariel added, and he couldn’t argue the point. Mia had received zeros on her last three assignments.

“I’ve been thinking about hiring a tutor to work with her. She hates the idea.” It was the only option they hadn’t explored. He could hire someone, see if that person could help nudge Mia into focusing on school again. “She’s a smart kid. Before my parents died, she was in the gifted program.”

“I know. I saw her records. Her standardized test scores are high, too.” She stopped at the yellow police tape that blocked off one corridor of the school. “Tutoring will help, but she needs to know that people are invested in her life.”

“She’s got plenty of people invested. She just isn’t appreciative of the fact,” he muttered.

“Fourteen-year-olds seldom are.” She smiled, but her gaze was focused on the hallway beyond the tape. “I guess I should get my things,” she said quietly.

“I can get them for you,” he offered. “If you’d rather not go back to the classroom.”

“I’ll have to go back Monday, so I may as well face it now.” She lifted the police tape and shimmied under it, her advanced pregnancy not seeming to hinder her movements.

Up ahead, rookie K-9 officer James Harrison and his bloodhound, Hawk, crisscrossed the hallway, moving from side to side and back again.

“We’re moving through,” Tristan said, and James gave a brief nod, his focus on a wadded-up piece of paper that lay on the glossy tile.

“Anything interesting?” Tristan asked, and James finally looked up.

“I’m not sure. Hawk alerted here, so I’m going to process it like it is. It could have just been left behind by a kid and kicked by the gunman when he ran through.” He shrugged, his gaze shifting to Ariel. “We’ll figure it out though, and get this guy behind bars as quickly as possible.”

He was trying to reassure her, but Ariel didn’t look convinced. She looked tense, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, her bandaged hand resting on the swell of her abdomen.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “I’ll feel a lot safer when he’s in custody.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?” James asked, opening up an evidence collection kit. He took a quick photo of the paper, then put on gloves and lifted it.

“No, but I don’t think he’s anyone I know.”

“You didn’t see his face?” James carefully opened the sheet, studying words that were scrawled across it.

“No. He was wearing a mask of some sort. I already explained everything to Officer McKeller.”

“I know it’s frustrating, but you’ll probably be explaining things to a lot of people, Ms. Martin,” James responded. “Unfortunately, that’s the way these cases usually work. Lots of questions asked over and over again. Did the chief give you permission to leave the scene?”

“She’s been cleared to go,” Tristan responded. “I’m going to escort her and make sure she arrives home safely. At this point, that’s my top priority.”

She tensed at his words, but she didn’t protest them.

“Good,” James said. “If the guy was planning this, if he found out information to help him achieve his goal, there’s no guarantee he won’t go after her somewhere else.” He held up the paper, so that Tristan could read the handwritten words.

Desert Valley High School

Room 119

Ariel Martin

They were scrawled in black ink, every i dotted with a circle. The A underlined.

Ariel took a step back, her gaze focused on the paper, her face leeched of color. Freckles dotted her nose and her cheeks, giving the impression of youth, but there was maturity in her eyes—a deep knowledge of what it meant to struggle, to suffer and to survive.

She’d been through a lot. Now she was going through more. That bothered him. It made him want to do everything in his power to keep her safe.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Yes. I...” She pressed her lips together, sealing in whatever she’d planned to say. “You’ll think I’m nuts.”

“There are a lot worse things that people can be,” he responded, and she smiled, a dimple flashing in her right cheek. She had a pretty smile, a soft one.

“True. The thing about the letter...the writing looks really familiar.”

“A student?” James suggested.

“No. My ex-husband.”

“Did you part on good terms?” James asked. “Is it possible—?”

“He’s dead.” Tristan cut in. There was no sense walking down that road. A dead man didn’t write notes. He didn’t carry a gun. He didn’t stalk his ex.

“That blows a hole in my theory, then,” James responded, carefully placing the note in an evidence bag.

“What about the writing made you think of your ex?” Tristan asked Ariel.

“Mitch always underlined the A in my name, and he always used circles to dot i’s.”

“That’s information anyone could have known,” he pointed out. “Friends, coworker, family. Most would have seen his writing at one point or another.”

“He didn’t have family. It was one of the things that brought us together. Two college students with no one.” She blushed, shook her head. “It’s an old story, and there’s no reason to tell it now. I can get you a list of Mitch’s associates, but I can’t guarantee that I know all of them. He was involved in some things I didn’t know about until after he died.”

“Affairs?” James asked bluntly, and Ariel shrugged.

“I found that out before we divorced. After he died, the police started questioning me about other things. He’d been involved in a money laundering scheme in Las Vegas and insurance fraud in Nevada and several other states. If he’d lived, he’d have been arrested.” She said it as if it didn’t matter, her face and voice devoid of emotion. It had to have hurt, though. It had to have made her doubt all the things she’d thought were true about herself and her relationships.

“I’m sorry, Ariel,” Tristan said, and she offered him that same soft pretty smile.

“So you keep saying. Sorry doesn’t change things, though, and it’s not going to help you figure out who tried to shoot me. I’m not familiar with any of the people who were involved in criminal activities with Mitch, but I can print out a list of his work associates and friends and swing it by the police department tomorrow. I may have a sample of his writing, too. If that will help.”

“It will,” Tristan said. “I’ll talk to Chief Jones and see if we can send the paper for handwriting analysis. The state crime lab should be able to process it.”

“You want me to handle that while you escort her home?” James asked.

Tristan met Ariel’s eyes. She didn’t look any less tired than she had a few minutes ago, and he thought she needed to be home more than she needed to wait around the crime scene while he did something another officer could handle. “Sure.”

“Okay,” James said. “Come on, Hawk, let’s see what else we can find.”

The bloodhound offered a quick bark in response and moved down the hall, ears brushing the ground as he moved.

Ariel must have taken that as her cue to leave. She headed down the hall, moving toward her room at a half run that Tristan didn’t think could be good for her or the baby.

But, then, what did he know?

He’d never spent much time around pregnant women. He didn’t know what the protocol was for exercise this late in a pregnancy. She was in good health and very fit. If she wanted to jog, who was he to question her? If she wanted to run away from her problems, who was he to tell her it couldn’t be done?

Obviously, the discussion about her ex had been painful. It was just as obvious that she was done talking about it.

That was fine.

For now.

He kept silent as he followed her to her room. She stopped at the yellow crime-scene tape that blocked her path. Fingerprint powder coated the doorknob and the edge of the door. More dusted the wall.

“This isn’t going to be fun on Monday,” Ariel murmured.

“We’ll have things processed and cleaned up by then.” He lifted the tape, and she walked across the threshold and straight to her desk. She grabbed her sweater, opened a drawer and took out her purse.

“You want to check to make sure everything is there?” he asked, and she opened the purse, pulling out a cell phone and a wallet.

“Credit card. Debit card. Cash.” She listed the items one at a time as she looked through the wallet. “Everything is here.”

“Keys?”

She lifted a key ring. “Here.”

“Anything else you want to grab? You may not be able to get in here tomorrow.”

“I can access lesson plans and grades online. I have what I need.” She slid into the sweater, then hitched the purse onto her shoulder. Nothing about her was fancy or overdone. Very little makeup, hair pulled into a ponytail, clothes understated. Her emotions were understated, too. No panic or tears or frantic speculating. She seemed determined to hold herself together.

That was good. It was easier to get information from people who were clearheaded. Tristan might not be working her case, but he could pick her brain, see if the ex-husband who’d died might be the key to the attack. One thing he couldn’t do was walk away and not worry about the case or Ariel. He couldn’t know for sure, but he thought that Ariel might have come to Desert Valley to escape her past and to try to create a more peaceful future. He wanted to make sure she was able to do both. He also wanted to know if the attack against her was personal.

There was a big part of him hoping that this newest trouble wasn’t related to the other crimes that had happened in town. Desert Valley PD was under pressure to solve two murders and investigate two suspicious deaths. Plus there was the attack on Marian Foxcroft, which had to be related. They’d been hunting for a killer for months and still had no suspect.

If Ariel’s shooter proved to be connected, they might have to shift their focus, stop looking for an opportunistic murderer and start looking for a serial killer.

THREE

Ariel wouldn’t fall apart.

She absolutely refused to.

And not just because Tristan was beside her, his dark gaze focused on her, his eyes filled with concern and compassion.

No. She wouldn’t fall apart, because if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever pull herself back together again.

Legs trembling, heart racing, she still managed to walk out of the school and make her way toward the minivan she’d purchased a week after the divorce was finalized. Mitch had wanted the Jaguar, and she’d been happy to give it to him. She’d still had plenty in her savings account, all the money from her great-aunt’s estate that Ariel had refused to allow Mitch to spend on trips or expensive toys because she’d wanted to buy a house one day. It didn’t have to be big. Just cute and cozy with a nice fenced yard.

How many times had Mitch laughed at that dream? Told her that high-rise condo living in the city limits was more their style?

More his style, but she’d never said that, because she’d loved him and she’d wanted him to be happy. Plus, there’d been a part of her that had thought that eventually he’d get tired of the fast-paced, high-flying lifestyle and settle into the kind of pedestrian family life Ariel remembered from childhood. Before her parents had died, she’d had the pretty little house, the big yard, the fresh-baked cookies when she got home from school. At least, she thought she’d had it. She’d visited the house when she’d moved back to Desert Valley and realized it wasn’t nearly as pretty as she’d remembered it, the yard not as spacious. That hadn’t bothered her. She still cherished the memories she had of her time in the house, but she also realized they’d been made even more beautiful by the time that had passed since she’d been there.

Time changed memories and tricked the mind. Sometimes it made the past into what a person wanted it to be. Sometimes it made connections that weren’t really there. Was that what had happened with the handwriting on the piece of paper? Had it only seemed to be like Mitch’s writing because Ariel had been terrified, the memories of Mitch’s last words to her, still haunting her mind and her dreams?

“Get rid of the baby or I’ll do it for you!”

An idle threat is what she’d thought, words meant to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted—freedom from her, from every obligation and burden that marriage and family brought.

She’d despised him for that for way too long, wasting weeks fuming over what he’d asked her to do, and then he’d died, and she’d had nothing to do with her anger but let it go.

So, maybe all those pent-up memories and emotions had made her see what wasn’t on the piece of paper. Maybe the writing had been nothing more than a note scribbled by a student who’d needed to find her class.

She fished her keys out of her purse, unlocking the minivan as she reached it. She could feel Tristan standing behind her, his presence both disconcerting and comforting.

“I’ll follow you to your place,” he said as she climbed into the vehicle.

She wanted to tell him not to bother. Not because she didn’t appreciate the offer, but because she didn’t want to start needing someone again.

Isn’t that why she’d been with Mitch? Because she’d been alone in the world, and she’d needed someone to connect with, someone to call family?

Look how well that had worked out.

She’d ended up married and alone. Then, she’d ended up divorced and alone. Now, she was alone and in trouble. It would be nice to rely on someone else. Especially when her entire life seemed to be falling to pieces. But, needing someone left a person vulnerable. She’d learned that lesson a little too late to save herself from heartache, but she’d learned it well.

She wouldn’t make the mistake again.

On the other hand, she wasn’t foolish enough to think she didn’t need protection. With a gunman on the loose, his motive unclear, she couldn’t turn down Tristan’s offer.

She was too afraid.

“Sounds good,” she said, fumbling with her seat belt, because she didn’t want to look into Tristan’s eyes again. There was something unsettling about him, about the way that he looked at her, the way he really seemed to see her.

“Let me,” he offered, taking the belt from her clumsy bandaged hand and reaching over her stomach. He snapped it into place easily and moved back quickly, but for some reason, her cheeks heated, her face flushing a dozen shades of red.

“When you get to the house, stay in the van until I check out your property, okay?” He closed the door before she could respond, jogging to an SUV and opening the back hatch for his dog. Jesse jumped in, the lab’s golden fur nearly white in the evening light.

It took a couple of seconds for Ariel to realize she needed to start the van and a couple more to actually do it. By the time she drove out of the parking lot, her cheeks had cooled.

Delayed reaction from the attack. That’s what she told herself as Tristan’s SUV pulled onto the road behind her.

She wasn’t sure she believed it.

Night would fall soon, blackness shrouding the quiet street where Ariel lived. She’d chosen the location purposely—close to school and the town’s business district, but far enough away that she could have the solitude she needed. The house had been on the market for a while. A fixer-upper that no one had wanted to put the time and money into, the two-story farmhouse stood on a double lot that backed to a wide swath of open land. She’d purchased the place well under market value, and she’d been spending most of her free time getting it ready for the baby.

Mitch would have laughed at the idea, but she’d known she could make the old house into a comfortable home. Eventually, she’d invite people over, do a little entertaining, get back into the swing of being the person she’d once been.

She pulled into her driveway, Tristan right on her bumper.

He was out of his SUV before she could open her door, motioning for her to stay where she was as he attached Jesse’s lead. The dog jumped from the back of the SUV, his blond tail wagging, his face set in what looked like wide-mouthed grin. He looked like most of the yellow labs she’d seen—stocky body, broad head, short coat. He was fitter, though, his lean body made for the work he did. In other circumstances, Ariel would have been amused by the perpetually happy dog. Right then, all she wanted was to get into her house, close all the shades and hide from the world.

Tristan made a sweep of the yard, walking Jesse along the perimeter and then to the front door. Finally, he seemed satisfied and jogged to the van.

“Ready?” he asked, opening the door and offering her a hand out.

“Not really,” she responded, the honest answer slipping out as he walked her up the porch stairs. An old swing hung from the eaves, the metal chains creaking as she unlocked the door. Across the street, Edna Wilkinson’s porch light went on. She’d probably noticed the strange SUV in Ariel’s driveway and wanted to get a better look.

“You’re scared,” Tristan said as she led the way into the house.

“I’d be foolish not to be.” She turned to face him, was surprised at how tall he suddenly seemed. At least eight inches taller than her, and she wasn’t short. “Someone nearly killed me. That’s not something I can put on the back burner and worry about later.”

“You’re right, and I can assure you that the Desert Valley police are taking this seriously.”

“They take every case seriously, don’t they? Look at what they’ve accomplished these past few months. Cracking down on that extortion ring and putting corrupt police officer Ken Bucks behind bars. Finding the bank heist money that was hidden outside town.”

“Yes,” Tristan responded. “Sometimes, though, it helps to be reminded that you’re not alone in your struggles.”

The words echoed the thought she’d had at the school—the one about being alone and in trouble—and her cheeks heated again. “Yes. I guess it does. Thanks for escorting me home, Tristan. I appreciate it.”

“It sounds like you’re kicking me out.”

“Just giving you the freedom to go back to whatever you were doing before you saved my life.”

“I was heading for a meeting with you,” he reminded her, a smile in his eyes.

She couldn’t help it. She smiled in return, some of the tension she’d been feeling slipping away. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Tell you what, how about I take a look at the locks on your doors while I’m here? Make sure they’re strong enough to keep someone out? Then, we can discuss my obnoxious sister and her academic troubles.”

“She’s not obnoxious.”

“Much?” he asked, and she laughed.

“That’s better,” he commented, as he fiddled with the bolt on the front door.

“What’s better?”

“You don’t look like you’re going to shatter anymore. This bolt looks good. Let’s look at the back door.” He said it all so quickly that the first few words almost didn’t register.

By the time they did, he was halfway down the hall, heading to the back of the house.

“I wasn’t going to shatter,” she muttered, hurrying after him.

“I didn’t say you were. I just said you looked like you might.” He’d reached the mudroom and the door that opened from it into the backyard.

“I’m not the kind of person who shatters when things don’t go her way,” she replied, but he was turning the lock, frowning at the door, and she wasn’t sure he heard.

“This could be a lot stronger, Ariel,” he finally said.

“I can have it replaced.”

“You could also put a door between the mudroom and the kitchen.” He touched the doorjamb that had once housed an interior door. Someone had taken it down before Ariel had bought the property.

“I think the one that goes there is out in the shed behind the house. I found it there after I moved in.”

“I’ve got the day off tomorrow. How about I stop by and hang it for you? Two layers of defense are better than one.”

“I can do it.” Probably. Although, lately the pregnancy was making her tired. The further along she got, the more difficult everyday tasks became. She tried not to dwell on that. She tried not to think about how much more difficult it would be to parent alone than it would have been to parent as a team.

“Just because you can do it, doesn’t mean you have to. If you don’t want to accept the help as a gift, you can point me in the direction of a good tutor for Mia and give me a pass on being late to our meeting today. I did miss...what? Two previous meetings?”

“You also saved my life, so you’ve already earned the pass on that, but...” She hesitated, not sure about the offer she was about to make. She liked Mia. The teen had a great vocabulary and a flair for words. She also had a chip on her shoulder and an attitude to go with it. “I’ve been doing some tutoring on the side, working with some of the local kids getting them ready for SAT and ACT tests. I’d love to work with Mia.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I offered. Just like you offered to put up my door. Bring her over tomorrow. While you’re fixing the door, I’ll help her with the paper that’s due Monday.”

“She has a paper due Monday?”

“Yes, and two extra credit assignments due by Friday. If she doesn’t get As, she’s not going to pass my class.”

“It would devastate Mia to be held back a year.”

“I know. If I could make an exception, I would. I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. She needs to pass on her own merit. It’s not like she’s not capable of it.” He ran a hand over his hair, rubbed the back of his neck. He looked exasperated and worried. Like any parent would be if his child were failing. Only Mia wasn’t his child. She was his sister. That had to be complicating the dynamics between them.

“Were you and Mia close before your parents passed away?” she asked, and regretted the question immediately. It was too personal, something that he might discuss with a counselor. Not his sister’s teacher.

“I joined the military when I was eighteen. Mia was one. I guess you could say we barely knew each other before I became her guardian. I saw her during my leave, but that wasn’t enough to create the kind of bond that would make this situation easier.”

“I guess it’s my turn to say I’m sorry,” she said, her heart aching for what they’d both lost.

“It’s been hard, but we’re doing okay, slowly getting to know each other better. I think we’ll both survive her teenage years.”

“Think?”

He laughed, the warmth of it ringing through the quiet house. “I should have said ‘survive with our sanity intact.’ Now, how about we stop talking about my sister and finish looking at your locks?”

He walked to a window, frowning at the wood pane and old fashioned lock. “It would be very easy for someone to break the lock and climb in the window.”

“That’s a cheerful thought,” she muttered, her heart thrumming at the thought of a masked intruder entering the house while she slept.

“What’s through here?” He pushed open pocket doors that led into the office. There’d been a desk there when she’d moved in—an old rolltop that still stood against the wall. Light from the hallway filtered in, but she’d closed the shades earlier, and the room seemed dark and dreary.

She flicked on the light, waiting as Tristan checked a front window. It was newer than the one in the parlor, but he still didn’t seem happy. “Definitely need some updating here. How about we do this—I’ll work on getting the house more secure while you work on helping my sister pass ninth-grade English?”

It was a decent deal, but she didn’t want to become fodder for the town rumor mill. If Edna saw Tristan hanging around, she’d spread the news lightning fast. Before anyone even asked for the truth, the entire town would think that she and Tristan were dating.

“I—”

Jesse growled, the hair on the scruff of his neck standing up as he moved toward the window, nosed the shade. He didn’t look happy anymore. He looked ready to attack.

Tristan took Ariel’s arm, nudging her into the hall. “Wait here.”

“What—?”

“Stay here,” he cut her off, flicking off the light and plunging the hallway into darkness.

* * *

Tristan didn’t wait for Ariel to respond. He assumed she’d do what he’d asked her to. For the baby’s sake as much as her own.

He jogged back into the office, called for Jesse to heel and then made his way to the front door. Someone was outside. That much was certain. Jesse knew the difference between a person walking past and someone lurking nearby. He only barked when he sensed danger.

He was barking loudly, doing everything he could to get his message across.

“Cease,” Tristan commanded, and Jesse went silent.

The office window looked out into the backyard. They’d go out the front, move around the side of the building, and hopefully surprise whoever had been trying to peek inside.

The sun had set, hints of light still flecking the horizon and turning the evening a dusky blue. There were few houses on Ariel’s street, the dead-end road isolated. Maybe she’d intended it that way, but it wasn’t the best situation for a woman alone. A pregnant woman alone. She might be fit and tough, but the baby would slow her down if she ran into trouble.

He surveyed the front yard, eyeing the house across the street. The lights were on there, a Toyota Camry parked in the driveway. To the left, a small rancher stood about a half-acre away. To the right, an empty lot stretched toward a fenced property. Plenty of places for someone to stay hidden. Watching a house like Ariel’s was as easy as taking out binoculars and looking through them. She had no large trees. No shrubs. Nothing to block a person’s view of the front door.

That worried him.

Someone had been outside.

He was certain of that. Jesse never issued a false alert.

The gunman? If so, the guy was taking his sweet time acting. He could have fired a few shots in the window in the hope of hitting his target. That’s what he’d done at the school, firing blindly as Ariel disappeared around a corner, and then again while she was on the other side of the door.

Why wait this time?

The question made him cautious. He didn’t pull his gun, just let Jesse have his lead, following the dog around the corner of the house. Tristan stopped there, listening to the night sounds—a few birds calling in the distance, an animal rustling in the bushes a few feet away.

Not a sound from the backyard. No footsteps. No sign that the perpetrator was attempting to enter the house, no indication that he was leaving. But someone was there. Jesse clawed at the ground, twitching in his desire to finish what they’d started.

Tristan held him back, creeping closer to the edge of the house and peering around the corner. He could see someone, a dark shadow backlit by the porch light, pressing against the screened window.

A man?

If so, he wasn’t a tall one.

“Police!” Tristan warned. “Don’t move.”

The person jumped, nearly falling over in his haste to move away from the window.

“One more step, and I’ll release my dog,” Tristan warned.

The person either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He took off, running down the porch stairs, flying across the yard, a hood pulled up over his hair and shrouding what looked like a pale face.

Caucasian. Five-six. Slight build.

He filed the information way as he released Jesse’s lead.

“Get him!” he commanded, and the dog took off, closing in on the perpetrator in the blink of an eye.

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