CHRISTMAS COMES WRAPPED IN DANGER…

Holiday Hero by Shirlee McCoy

Emma Fairchild never expected to find trouble in sleepy Sagebrush, Texas. But when she’s attacked and left for dead in her own diner, her childhood friend turned K-9 cop Lucas Harwood offers a chance at justice—and love.

Rescuing Christmas by Terri Reed

She escaped a kidnapper, but now a killer has set his sights on K-9 dog trainer Lily Anderson. When fellow officer Jarrod Evans appoints himself her bodyguard, Lily knows more than her life is at risk—so is her heart.

Texas K-9 Unit: These lawmen solve the toughest cases with the help of their brave canine partners

Praise for Shirlee McCoy

“McCoy’s writing is descriptive and contains a well-balanced blend of action and romance in this continuation of the Texas K-9 Unit series.”

—RT Book Reviews on Tracking Justice

“McCoy’s latest in the Heroes for Hire series is a nicely balanced blend of fast-paced action and romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on Fugitive

Praise for Terri Reed

“This fast-paced tale, punctuated with determined characters who tie in nicely with the other books, continues the collaborative Texas K-9 Unit series.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scent of Danger

“Reed’s fast-paced action will keep readers wondering who and why in this quick, enjoyable read.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Cowboy Target

SHIRLEE McCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed about elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later, she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschooling mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in the Pacific Northwest and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her website, www.shirleemccoy.com, or email her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

TERRI REED

At an early age Terri Reed discovered the wonderful world of fiction and declared she would one day write a book. Now she is fulfilling that dream and enjoys writing for Love Inspired Books. Her second book, A Sheltering Love, was a 2006 RITA® Award finalist and a 2005 National Readers’ Choice Award finalist. Strictly Confidential, book five in the Faith at the Crossroads continuity series, took third place in the 2007 American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year Award, and Her Christmas Protector took third place in 2008. She is an active member of both Romance Writers of America and American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in the Pacific Northwest with her college-sweetheart husband, two wonderful children and an array of critters. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends, gardening and playing with her dogs.

You can write to Terri at P.O. Box 19555, Portland, OR 97280. Visit her on the web at www.loveinspiredauthors.com, leave comments on her blog, www.ladiesofsuspense.blogspot.com, or email her at terrireed@sterling.net.

Texas K-9 Unit Christmas

Holiday Hero

Shirlee McCoy

Rescuing Christmas

Terri Reed

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Holiday Hero by Shirlee McCoy

Rescuing Christmas by Terri Reed

Holiday Hero

Shirlee McCoy

To Terri Reed, who is always so easy to work with! Thanks, friend!

I was pushed back and about to fall, but the Lord helped me. The Lord is my strength and my defense, he has become my salvation.

—Psalms 118:13–14

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-laaaaaa,” Emma Fairchild sang as she dipped a roller into a paint pan and swiped it over the walls of her newest project.

Arianna’s Diner. Soon to be Mrs. Daphne’s Diner. Named for Emma’s great-aunt, Bea Daphne.

“’Tis the season to be jolly,” she continued even though she wasn’t at all jolly.

For Bea’s sake, she’d been faking happiness for the past two months. She thought she’d been doing a pretty good job of it. But with Christmas approaching and work on the diner intensifying, she was exhausted, grumpy and desperate to be back in Boston and away from the city she’d always hated.

Sagebrush, Texas. Home of every bad dream she’d ever had, birthplace of every bad memory.

Well, not exactly every one.

Boston hadn’t exactly been good to her in the week before she’d left to care for Bea.

She scowled, refusing to think of her breakup as anything other than fortunate. She might not be happy to be in Sagebrush, but she was thrilled to be done with her no good ex-boyfriend, Camden Maxwell.

Sure, you are, her heart whispered.

She ignored it, rolling more paint on the wall and stepping back to view her progress. Not bad. She should have been pleased. Opening a restaurant had always been part of her life plan. The problem was, she’d never ever planned to do it in Sagebrush. That made it a little difficult to be happy about all the sweat equity she was pouring into the place. Not to mention the money.

“Get over yourself, Em,” she hissed, as irritated with herself as she was with the situation. It was no one’s fault that Bea’s health was declining or that her memory was going. She had no kids. No family aside from Emma. She needed someone, and Emma was going to be there for her. Even if that meant living in Sagebrush permanently.

Or until Bea didn’t need her any longer.

The doctor had said Emma’s great-aunt would probably be around for five or ten more years. Emma was hoping for twenty. She loved Bea more than she’d ever hated Sagebrush. Loved her so much that she was going to open the diner and commit to running it for as long as Bea was around. When she was gone, Emma would sell the place and move on to a new town and a new project.

She sighed and swiped paint on a spot that she’d missed.

God was in control. He had a perfect plan. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything close to what Emma’s perfect plan had been. Another couple of years working as sous-chef at one of Boston’s premier restaurants, marriage, a house and, finally, a restaurant of her own. She’d made a list. She’d checked it twice. She’d gone over details and facts and figures. She’d shown all of it to Camden because he was the one she was supposed to do everything with.

“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered as she carried the paint pan and roller into the kitchen.

She dropped the pan into the deep stainless-steel sink and wrapped the roller in plastic. Tomorrow she’d paint a second coat in the dining area and roll fresh paint onto the kitchen walls. Right now she really needed to get home. She glanced at her watch.

Nearly eleven.

She hadn’t realized it was so late. Bea would be worried and probably hungry. She’d been having trouble remembering to eat.

Emma turned off the light in the dining room, plunging the diner into darkness. Wide windows looked out onto a sidewalk and street that bustled with life during the day. Both were silent and empty. A few business owners had hung Christmas lights in the windows of their shops. Others had placed wreaths on doors or Christmas decorations in large display windows.

It should have been cheerful, but it just made Emma feel sad and lonely. Camden had been planning to give her an engagement ring on Christmas Eve. He’d told her that when he’d given her an ultimatum. Either stay in Boston with him or travel to Texas to take care of her aunt. She couldn’t have both, because he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted a long-distance relationship.

She’d heard the truth in his words—he just hadn’t really wanted her. Not enough to make things work while she took care of Bea.

Jerk.

She grabbed her purse and jacket from the office. A small window looked into the back parking lot. Empty but for her car. One day it would be full of cars and people. She hoped. Prayed.

There was no plan B.

She flicked off the office light and the kitchen light. The entire diner was suddenly dark and silent. Eerie, really.

No. Not eerie. Just exactly the way a restaurant was supposed to feel when it was closed. The problem was, she’d been listening to too many people saying too many things about the murder of the diner’s former owner. People seemed to think Arianna’s death had somehow tainted the building. Ludicrous! That was what Emma thought, but all the talk had kept the building from selling. That had worked out for Emma. She’d purchased the property for well below market value. Hopefully, the notoriety that went with the place would bring in crowds rather than keeping them away.

She opened the back door, fumbling in her purse for the key. A soft rustling sound broke the silence, a whisper of fabric on air, a shift in the darkness to her right. She swung toward it, her heart stuttering as a black figure lunged from the shadows.

She screamed, sprinting toward the car, her purse falling from her hands.

Faster! her mind screamed, but her feet seemed to be moving in slow motion, the air behind her so charged with energy that she knew he was right there. A step away. Ready to....

An arm wrapped around her waist. A palm slapped over her mouth. She couldn’t scream. Could barely breathe.

God, help me!

“Where is it?” her captor growled, his hand tightening over her mouth, his grip so hard her teeth ground into her lips. She bucked, slamming her head into his chin.

He cursed, forcing her, one step after another, back into the diner. He shoved her into the kitchen, and she crashed into the center island prep area, pain shooting through her ribs. Then he was on her again. One hand on her throat, the other pressing her harder against the cold metal counter.

“I said, where is it?”

“Where is what?” she gasped, her fear so real, so sharp that she could feel nothing else, think of nothing else.

“The money!” he snarled.

She had three dollars in her purse. Maybe another dollar worth of change. She tried to tell him that, but he dragged her around, slapped her so hard she saw stars.

He was going to kill her. Simple as that. But she didn’t want to die. She swung her fist, connecting with a hard jaw. She felt a second of victory before he hit her again, this time with enough force to send her flying backward. She landed hard, her head smashing into the floor. Darkness edged in, but she scrambled to her feet, tried to run. He snagged the back of her hair, yanking so hard her eyes teared.

“Stop fighting me! I just want the money. Give it to me, and I’ll leave you be.”

She wanted to. She really did, but she had no idea what he was talking about. “My purse—”

Someone knocked on the diner’s front door.

Emma’s attacker froze, his hand still fisted in her hair.

The person knocked again, this time hard enough to rattle the doorframe.

“Who is it?” the man growled at Emma.

“I don’t know.”

He shoved her violently, and she stumbled forward, her knees hitting the tile floor. She felt no pain, felt nothing but the fear that coursed through her.

Balmy air lapped at her hot cheeks, and she realized she was alone, the back door open.

“Emma!” Someone called her name, and she tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat.

She had to get up, walk through the dining room and open the front door. Every movement hurt as she dragged herself upright and shuffled out of the kitchen.

“Emma!” The front door rattled, and she took a step toward it, dizzy, off balance. She tripped over something, her hands hitting the ground seconds before her head crashed into the tile floor.

TWO

Police Lieutenant Lucas Harwood rounded the corner of Arianna’s Diner, his K-9 partner, Henry, padding along beside him. The place had been closed down for eight months, and it had the lonely, empty feel of an abandoned building.

It had been an abandoned building.

That had changed, though. Emma Fairchild had bought the property. According to her aunt Bea, she should be there now, working to get the place ready for its grand opening. So far Lucas hadn’t seen any sign of her. The lights in the diner were off. No hint of activity inside the building.

It was possible Bea was mistaken. Emma was a grown woman. She might have gone out with friends or gone on a date. He had to be sure, though. He’d taken the report, and it was his job to follow up on it.

He walked through a small alley that separated the diner from the store beside it. Nothing unusual there. No sign of a struggle or trouble. No sign of Emma, either. The musty scent of dirt and garbage hung in the air, the shadowy alley the perfect place for transients to camp out for a night or two.

The alley spilled out into the diner’s back parking lot. One car was parked near a burned-out streetlight. No one in sight, but the back door yawned open, something lying on the ground in front of it. He approached cautiously, Henry whining beside him. Trained in apprehension and protection, the three-year-old German shepherd mix could sense trouble a mile away.

“What is it, boy?” Lucas murmured as he bent over a large purse, its contents spilled onto the ground. He lifted a wallet in gloved hands. Three dollars and a debit card. Massachusetts driver’s license issued to Emma Grace Fairchild. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Five foot two. One hundred and two pounds. Tiny, just as she’d been all through junior high and high school. They’d been friends then. Close friends. It had been years since he’d seen her, though.

Henry whined again, his nose raised to the air, his ears alert. He smelled something.

“Seek,” Lucas said, giving Henry the lead.

The dog ran through the open doorway, and Lucas followed.

“Police!” he called. “Anyone here?”

Silence, darkness. Still no sign that Emma was there.

Henry barked quietly.

“Seek!” Lucas commanded, and the dog nosed the ground, found a scent and followed it through the large room. Lucas had been in the diner quite a few times when he was a kid. The place had always been hopping with activity. Now it was dead quiet.

Someone was there, though. Lucas could feel it.

He pulled his service revolver and eased into the dining room behind Henry. Even in a city the size Sagebrush, there were plenty of criminals. The diner’s original owner had been one, working for a crime syndicate responsible for several bank robberies and murders. In the end she’d become a victim of the organization she worked for.

The inky blackness made it nearly impossible to see into every corner of the room, but the furniture had been removed. Not a lot of hiding places. He ran his hand along the wall, trying to find a light switch.

Henry barked twice. Anxious. Ready to go. Whatever he was trailing, it was close, but Lucas wasn’t going to walk into it blind.

He finally found the light switch, flipped on the lights. Saw Emma just a few feet away, facedown, blood on the floor near her head. It looked as though she’d been trying to get to the front door. She hadn’t made it. He knelt beside her, pushing back the heavy fall of her hair and probing her neck. Her pulse beat steadily beneath his questing fingers. Alive.

He called for an ambulance, then covered Emma with his jacket. Blood seeped from somewhere on the back of her head, pooling on the floor near her ear. He gently parted her hair, trying to find the wound, praying that it was superficial. He found a lump and a large gash, his fingers trailing over the swollen broken flesh.

“No!” She jumped up, screaming so loudly that Lucas thought she’d come pretty close to rupturing his eardrums.

“Em—” he started, but she was sprinting from the dining room as if a serial killer was after her. He just managed to snag the back of her bright pink coat before she reached the back door and ran out into the night.

She swung around, her fist aimed at his chin, her eyes wild with fear.

“Calm down!” he commanded, grabbing her hand before she could connect.

She blinked, her smooth brow furrowing. “Lucas?”

She knew him. That was good. Maybe she hadn’t taken as big a hit on the head as he’d thought.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

He would have answered, but she swayed, nearly collapsed. He helped her onto the floor, tucking his jacket around her shaking shoulders. She was in shock, her skin leached of color, dark bruises standing out on her cheek and jaw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, but he didn’t think she heard. Her eyes were closed, black lashes fanning across her cheeks. His heart jerked, his muscles tight with the need to take Henry and hunt down whoever had done this to her.

He’d seen women and men in worse shape. He’d tended victims of domestic violence, gang violence and accidents. In his years working on the Houston Police Force, he’d faced plenty of tragedy and dealt with plenty of drama, but he’d never tended a victim who’d been a childhood friend. Now he was back in Sagebrush. It stood to reason that he’d know some of the victims he helped.

He scrounged through a box of supplies that sat next to an industrial-sized refrigerator, found a set of plastic-wrapped cloth napkins and ripped it open. He didn’t have time to deal with personal feelings. Emma was still bleeding, a new pool of blood forming under her head. He snagged a napkin from the package and pressed it to her head, sirens screaming in the background as he tried to staunch the flow of blood.

Pain ripped through Emma’s head, and she moaned, trying to pull herself out of the darkness she’d fallen into.

Something pressed against the back of her head and white-hot pain seared through her. She jerked away, swinging her fist before she had time to think about what she was doing.

“Calm down,” someone said.

Not someone. Lucas.

She knew the voice as well as she’d known the face.

She forced her eyes open. Somehow she’d ended up on the floor again, a leather jacket thrown over her as Lucas pressed something against the lump behind her ear.

“I am calm,” she muttered, pushing his hand away and feeling as if she were back in grade school, fighting with the cutest boy in class. Not surprising. She and Lucas had spent most of fifth grade at each other’s throats. Up until middle school, they’d been as bitter as two enemies could be.

“I’m trying to stop the bleeding,” Lucas responded reasonably, pressing on the painful lump again.

Obviously, he’d matured in the decade since they’d last seen each other. He’d also become a police officer, if the dark blue uniform and shiny badge peeking out from beneath his coat were any indication.

“Thanks, but I’d rather bleed to death than have your hand pushing through the back of my head,” she managed to say past gritted teeth.

“I’m not pushing that hard.”

“You’re pushing hard enough to hurt.”

“I wouldn’t be if you weren’t bleeding like a stuck pig.” Despite the words, his tone was gentle.

Her head hurt, but she’d had worse in the years before Bea had taken her in. She sat up, swiping at his hand again. “I’ll be fine. Just give me whatever you were using to sop up the blood, and I’ll try to stop the bleeding myself.”

He handed her what had once been a white linen napkin. Now it looked more like a blood-soaked washcloth.

“This was one of my good napkins,” she muttered, pressing it against her head anyway.

“It was all I could find.”

“Do you know how much a linen napkin costs?”

“Do you know how much a unit of blood costs?” he responded.

She didn’t, so she pressed her lips together and held the napkin to the bleeding lump. It hurt. A lot, but Lucas was right. She needed to get the bleeding stopped.

“You have a bruise.” Lucas touched her cheek, his fingers grazing tender swollen flesh above the bone. “What happened?”

“I was on my way to my car when someone attacked me.” She shuddered as images of the man who’d grabbed her flashed through her mind.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. He was wearing a ski mask. He asked for money.”

“Do you remember how tall he was? How big?”

She thought back, trying to picture the moment that the man had lunged from the shadows. “I...think he was tall. About your height. Broader, though. I wish I’d noticed more.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get it all figured out after the doctor takes a look at you.”

“Doctor?”

“I called for an ambulance. It should be here any minute.”

“I can’t go to the hospital. I have to get back home. Bea needs me.” She struggled to her feet, the jacket falling to the ground.

“Bea will be fine. I’ll have a patrol car head over to her place so she’ll have a ride to the hospital.”

“She’s going to be worried sick,” Emma mumbled, stars dancing in front of her eyes. She felt woozy and off balance, her ears buzzing and her heart beating an odd uneven rhythm.

She swayed, grabbed the closest thing to her. Found herself clutching Lucas’s arm. It was warm and firm and just a little too comforting. She wanted to step closer, let him wrap his arms around her the way he had so many times when they were kids.

Surprised, she released her hold, stepping back and nearly tripping over a large dog. Brown and black with thick fur and big dark eyes, it looked like an overgrown long-haired German Shepherd. She blinked, sure that she must be imagining things. The dog didn’t disappear.

“There’s a dog in my diner.”

“That’s Henry. He’s my partner,” Lucas explained.

“Partner in what?” She eyed the massive canine.

“Work, Emma. I’m part of the Sagebrush Police Department’s K-9 Unit.”

“I didn’t know they had one.”

“They do.” He took her arm, led her to the kitchen. Sirens were blaring outside, and lights flashed on the pavement beyond the open door. “Looks like the ambulance is here.”

“I really don’t want to go to the hospital,” she tried to protest as a crew of EMTs rushed in.

Too late.

They had her on a gurney so fast she barely realized what was happening.

She blamed it on her injuries. Any other day, she’d have adamantly refused to be transported to the hospital, but she didn’t have the energy to fight. She barely had the energy to keep her eyes open as she was wheeled outside. She managed, though, because she was terrified to close them. She was afraid if she did, she’d open them again and discover herself right back in the middle of the nightmare.

“Do you want me to ride in the ambulance with you?” Lucas asked.

She looked into his face. He’d changed, but he was still the same Lucas, his dark green eyes the color of the pine forests that dotted the mountains, his hair deep chestnut-brown.

“Em?” he pressed, and she shook her head, regretting the movement immediately. Her stomach roiled, and her vision blurred.

“I’ll be fine,” she managed to say, the words sounding thick and far away.

“You sure?”

Not really, but she’d been living on her own for years, doing everything for herself for so long she couldn’t remember what it was like to have someone along for the ride. “Yes.”

“All right. I need to process the crime scene. Then I’ll come to the hospital to finish our interview.” He hurried away, and Emma gave in and closed her eyes.

She didn’t need anyone, but it sure would have been nice to have someone traveling to the hospital with her. Someone who would take care of all the things that needed taking care of while she was there. A person or two or three who could finish painting the diner, put the furniture back inside it, do all the little things that had to be done before the place opened.

It would be nice, but God hadn’t seen fit to fill her life with the kind of people who stuck around when good times went bad. Camden was proof of that.

At least she had Aunt Bea.

For now. Eventually, the disease that was stealing her memories would steal her away.

Emma pushed the thought away, letting herself drift into the darkness and float on the waves of nauseating pain.

THREE

Lucas watched as the ambulance disappeared. He knew where Emma was heading, and he knew there’d be an officer waiting at the hospital for her arrival. He was tempted to head for the hospital anyway. It had been over a decade since he’d last seen Emma. He’d forgotten how full of life she was. Even wounded and bleeding, she had more energy than half the people Lucas knew. He’d found that fascinating when they were younger. His family had been academic and book smart. They hadn’t understood his love of the outdoors or his need for constant action. Emma had understood. She’d been the same way. It had taken them a couple of years to become friends, but once they had, they’d been inseparable. Until she’d moved away, he’d thought they always would be.

Of course, she hadn’t been the only one who’d left Sagebrush.

Lucas had gone to college, gotten a job with the Houston P.D., married Sarah. When she’d been diagnosed with cancer, he’d really thought she would beat the odds, really believed that God would heal her.

He’d been wrong.

It had taken two years to pull himself out of the dark hole he’d fallen into after her death. Another year to realize that Houston wasn’t where he belonged.

When he’d seen a job opening with the Sagebrush Police Department’s K-9 Unit, he’d jumped at the opportunity to return home. Six months later and he was just now finally getting into the swing of things, learning the small city again, the people again.

A police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, and Austin Black hopped out. Recently married and just back from his honeymoon, he looked happier than any man had a right to be. Lucas might have resented that if he didn’t like the guy so much.

“What’s the word, Harwood?” Austin asked, opening up the hatchback of his SUV and letting his bloodhound, Justice, out. The dog moved slowly, lumbering onto the ground with a quiet huff.

“The victim wasn’t able to tell me much. She didn’t see her attacker’s face.”

“Any witnesses aside from the victim?” Austin walked over to the purse that was still lying on the ground.

“No one has come forward.” And in this area of town at this time of night, Lucas doubted that anyone would. According to his coworkers, up until six months ago, the place had been the hangout for Dante Frears’s crime syndicate. Despite the fact that the syndicate had been shut down and the city cleaned up, people still whispered about Arianna’s Diner and the secrets that had died with its owner.

“How about a scent trail?” Austin asked.

“Henry caught the victim’s scent. He might be able to catch the perp’s, too.”

“Why don’t you see what he comes up with? I’ll see what I can find here. Was the victim inside or outside when you arrived?”

“Inside.”

“And the purse was here?” Austin snapped a photo of it, snapped another one of the open door.

“Yes. Aside from looking in the wallet, I left everything exactly the way it was when I arrived.”

“Good. I’ll start processing the scene. You start looking for our perp. Since he left her purse and wallet behind, I’d say he wasn’t after money.”

“I’d agree, but Emma said money was what he asked for when he grabbed her.”

“He might have been trying to make her think that’s what he wanted. Maybe, he thought she’d be more likely to cooperate with whatever he had planned if she believed he was only after cash.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that, Austin.” But he had the nagging feeling that there was more to the crime than simple theft. A thief would have grabbed the purse and run. Emma’s attacker had left it on the ground.

“Me, too. We’ve just got one group of criminals off the streets of Sagebrush. I’d rather not think we’ve got another wacko to track down.”

“One way or another, the sooner we get this guy, the happier I’ll be. Come on, Henry.” He led his partner to the purse. “Seek!”

Henry snuffled the ground, then ran into the diner and back out again. He circled the purse, took off toward Emma’s car. He stopped there, barking once before raising his head and sniffing the air. The parking lot was cut off from the busier street around the front. Buildings loomed to either side, their shadows creating dense, impenetrable darkness. Not a place he’d want his mother or sisters wandering around this late at night, that was for sure.

Henry stiffened, his muscles taut beneath thick black fur.

One more bark and he was off, racing across the parking lot and into the narrow alley between the diner and a bank. Lucas ran a couple of feet behind him, the lead loose, his eyes scanning the darkness as he followed. They’d been doing this together for two years. In that time Henry had never steered him wrong. He wouldn’t this time, either. Lucas was as sure of that as he was that he was following the path a criminal had taken.

The alley emptied out onto Morris, the road dark and quiet, the air heavy with rain. The moisture was an advantage, the scent trail easier to follow because of it. The moon hung low, its yellow glow dimmed by thin cloud cover.

They crossed two intersections, moving into a more vibrant section of the city. Well-lit buildings stood side by side, their storefronts decorated for Christmas. A bookstore, a coffee shop, a department store—Lucas had spent his childhood wandering through downtown Sagebrush visiting the local businesses. They were like old family, familiar and comforting.

Henry turned left at the corner of Broadway and Main, his pace slowing as he moved past a group of pedestrians. He crossed the sidewalk, nose to the ground, ears alert, oblivious, it seemed, to everything but the scent he was following.

They walked through another intersection, sticking to the main thoroughfare. No side streets. No trips into local business. The person they were trailing had known exactly where he was heading, and he hadn’t veered from the course he’d been set on.

Henry jerked forward, running into an alley and barking frantically. Someone scrambled through the darkness in front of them.

“Police! Freeze!” Lucas called, pulling his flashlight and catching the suspect in its beam.

A kid. Skinny. Dirty. Long hair hanging limp to his shoulders.

“I said freeze!” Lucas repeated, and the kid froze, his hands shooting into the air.

“Don’t let the dog go, man! Don’t let him go.”

“Down on the ground. Hands where I can see them!”

“I ain’t done nothing,” the man protested, but he dropped onto the ground, his arms and legs spread out. He knew the drill and didn’t say another word as Lucas patted him down, snapped cuffs onto his wrists.

He called in for transport, eyeing the skinny, pockmarked young man. Hollow cheeks, bad skin, narrow shoulders that were all bone. He looked like a meth user and probably was one.

“What’s your name?” Lucas asked as he pulled the kid to his feet.

“Justin Forsythe, and I’m telling you, I ain’t guilty of nothin’.”

“Then why are you hiding in an alley?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m sleeping. Or I was trying to. Until people started running through here.”

His words made the hair on the back of Lucas’s neck stand up. “What people?”

“You and some other guy.” The kid’s expression changed from fear to calculation. “He’s probably the one you’re looking for. You should let me go so you can find him.”

Henry sniffed the guy’s shoes, then the ground. Hackles raised, eyes on the far end of the alley, he looked as if he was ready to go again.

“What did the guy look like?” Lucas pressed for more information.

“Can’t tell you. I just heard him running through my alley. Looked out of my bed. I think he threw something on his way past, though.”

“Yeah?” Lucas flashed the light around the alley. Too much junk to make heads or tails of what might have been thrown, but Henry would know if one of the items belonged to the perp.

A patrol car pulled up at the mouth of the alley, and an officer climbed out. Lucas let him deal with the kid. He had bigger fish to fry.

He tightened his hold on Henry’s lead, letting the dog crisscross the narrow alley. Henry froze about a foot from a Dumpster that blocked the alley’s exit and whined excitedly.

“What is it, Hen...?” Lucas’s voice trailed off. A knit hat lay on the ground.

He used the end of a pen to lift it.

Not a hat. A ski mask. Black.

Henry whined again.

“Good job, boy,” Lucas murmured. This had to be the mask the perp had worn.

Lucas pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the mask into it. There’d be evidence on it. DNA. Clues as to who had attacked Emma.

Henry yanked against the lead. He still had the scent trail. God willing, the mask wouldn’t be the only thing they found.

“Seek!” Lucas commanded, and Henry scrambled to the top of the trash bin, jumped to the ground on the other side and took off running.

FOUR

Emma woke to darkness, her head pounding, her ribs aching. At first she didn’t know where she was. The pillow, the bed, the light seeping in through an open doorway—none of it was familiar. Somewhere in the distance, Christmas carols were playing, the faint music more creepy than comforting.

She tried to sit, but pain shot through her side, the stabbing agony stealing her breath. She touched her ribs. Cotton. Bandages. An IV in her hand.

The hospital.

Memories flooded in. The trip to the hospital. Bea arriving frazzled and worried. Doctors, nurses, X-rays.

A sputtering snore broke the room’s silence.

Emma glanced to the left, wincing as pain shot through her skull. Aunt Bea sat in a chair a few feet away, her head back, her mouth open. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her feet pressed firmly together. She wore her favorite blue suit and one of her Christmas brooches—a wreath made of green and ruby crystals. Emma had picked it up at an antiques store in Boston.

Bea’s purple-white hair was in rollers, and Emma wasn’t sure if she’d left the house in a hurry or if she’d simply forgotten that she’d put them in. Bea had been forgetting more and more lately. The doctor had warned Emma that the disease would progress that way.

Alzheimer’s.

She hated the name, hated what it was doing to the only woman who’d ever really cared about her.

Emma frowned. Her aunt should be tucked in her bed at home, not sitting in a chair in the hospital. She needed plenty of rest, plenty of good nutrition and plenty of patience. That was what the doctor had said, and Emma had vowed that she’d provide every one of those things. Bea had always been stubborn though, and after she’d arrived with a bag of clothes and toiletries for Emma, she’d insisted on staying until Emma fell asleep. Apparently Bea had fallen asleep, too.

“Bea?” she called out quietly.

Bea didn’t move.

“Bea? she said again.

Still nothing.

She shoved aside her blankets and stood, her legs wobbling. She tried to take a step forward, but the IV pole was on the other side of the bed.

Not one of her best moments, but she’d make it work. She scooted back across the bed, the pain in her ribs so sharp her breath caught. Sweat beaded her brow, her stomach rolled and Bea just kept snoring.

A shadow moved across the doorway, blocking the light as she finally managed to get to her feet again.

She froze, her blood running cold.

She’d been trying not to think about the attack, trying not to remember the dark shadow lunging toward her, the fear, the panic as she’d been dragged back into the diner.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice wobbling.

“Lucas.” He stepped into the room, carrying the scent of balmy winter air with him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Trying to wake Bea. She needs to go home.”

“And you need to be careful.” He urged her back onto the bed, his hands warm on her arms, his eyes deep green. “You don’t want to hurt yourself worse than you already are.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, her cheeks hotter than they should have been. Because of Lucas?

Not possible.

Maybe she was feverish from the attack.

She touched her forehead, realized what she was doing and let her hand drop away.

“That bad, huh?” He settled onto the bed beside her, his long muscular legs encased in dark blue uniform slacks.

“It could be worse. I could be dead,” she murmured, looking at the wall, the floor, anything but his firm, muscular thighs.

“I’m glad you realize that, Emma.”

“What do you mean?” She met his eyes, felt something shiver to life inside of her. Memories of all they’d shared, maybe—long summer days spent hiking, biking, fishing. Long evenings spent on his parents’ front porch discussing life and goals and dreams.

“Henry and I lost his trail near a bus stop downtown. We were able to find his ski mask, but we couldn’t find him. Until we do, you’re going to have to take extra precautions.”

“He wanted money, Lucas. He didn’t find it. I’m sure he’s already looking for another victim.” That was what she’d told herself while the doctor stitched up the back of her head.

“He left your purse and wallet behind when he ran. Would someone who just wanted money do that?”

“Someone was banging on the door. It freaked him out.”

“I was the one banging, and he had plenty of time to pick up the purse when he ran past it.”

“He was probably too scared to stop.”

“I’ve been a police officer for a long time, Emma. I’ve worked hundreds of robberies, and I can tell you for sure, robbers don’t leave cash and wallets behind. Not if they can snag them during their escape.”

He was trying to make a point. The problem was, Emma’s head was pounding too hard for her to figure out what it was. “My brain isn’t functioning at full capacity, Lucas. What are you trying to get at?”

“He beat you up pretty badly, Em, for someone who was only after money.” He touched her cheek, his fingers trailing down a bruise that she knew was there.

“He kept insisting that I tell him where the money was. He hit me when I tried to run.” She eased to her feet, wanting to put some distance between them. She needed to think, needed to figure out exactly where he was going with his questions. “If money wasn’t his goal, then what was?”

“You?” He followed her across the room and stood so close that she could feel his warmth through the flannel pajamas Bea had brought for her. “I heard you broke up with your boyfriend a week before you left town.”

“Heard from who?” It certainly hadn’t been Emma. She preferred to keep the details of her breakup with Camden to herself.

“My grandmother. She and Bea sing in the church choir together. Bea wasn’t happy with the way your boyfriend treated you, and she let everyone in the choir know it.”

“That’s...embarrassing, but I don’t see what it has to do with what happened tonight.”

“Is it possible your ex is upset? That maybe he wants revenge? Or wants to drive you back into his arms?”

She laughed, her breath catching as pain shot through her ribs. “Please! Camden is way too busy to chase me down.”

“He’s a lawyer, right? A very successful one, according to Bea. He could have hired someone to do his dirty work.”

“No way. He’s not an idiot. He’d know that he’d get caught.”

“Smart criminals often make the biggest mistakes,” Bea said suddenly.

“You’re awake!” Emma turned to her aunt. Aside from the curlers, she looked the way she had when Emma was a kid. Pretty and plump and lively.

“How could a person sleep with all the noise the two of you were making?” she responded, brushing wrinkles from her skirt and using her walker to stand.

Two months after she’d fallen and broken her hip, Bea still didn’t have all of her mobility back. Emma wasn’t sure if she’d ever regain it, but she brought her aunt to physical therapy twice a week anyway. “I’d say that I’m sorry we woke you, but I’m glad you’re up. It’s three in the morning. You need to be home in bed.”

“I’ll sleep in my own bed when you’re able to sleep in yours.” She patted her hair, frowned. “What in the world?”

“You have your rollers in,” Emma explained.

“Why didn’t someone tell me?” She shot a hard look in Lucas’s direction.

“You just woke up. Besides,” he said, “I thought it might be the newest fashion trend.”

Bea responded with a quiet humph.

“I need to make myself presentable.” She shuffled across the room, her walker tapping on the tile floor. Her shoulders were more stooped than they’d been when she’d visited Emma in Boston the year before. Age had carved deep grooves in her face, but she was still the woman who’d walked Emma through the rough teenage years, who’d cheered her on when she’d gone to culinary school, who’d believed in her even when she hadn’t believed in herself.

She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

Emma sat on the bed, refusing to give in to the urge to follow her aunt.

Bea might be slowly fading, but she’d told Emma that she didn’t plan to go down without a fight.

And, boy, had she been fighting lately.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas asked as he settled into a chair. He looked as if he planned to stay there awhile, his legs crossed at the ankles, his hands clasped behind his neck. He’d always been handsome, but time had refined him. He wasn’t a good-looking kid anymore. He was a very attractive man.

Too bad she was out of the dating market.

Not that she’d have looked in Lucas’s direction if she hadn’t been. He wasn’t her type. She preferred the more academic kind of guy. College professors. Lawyers.

Losers.

“Em?” He raised a dark brow, and she realized that he’d asked a question and that she hadn’t answered it. “You’re worried about Bea, aren’t you? Want me to get her a ride home?”

“I can call a cab for her.”

“Or you could let me call Slade McNeal. He’s on duty, and he’s your neighbor. I’m sure he’d be happy to give her a lift.” He pulled out his cell phone and made the call.

She let him because she didn’t have the energy to fight and because the only other way to get Bea home was to call her a taxi. She doubted a taxi driver would help her aunt up the porch steps or make sure she actually went inside the house.

She didn’t realize that she’d closed her eyes until someone touched her face.

“You in there, Em?” Lucas asked.

“Where else would I be?” She looked straight into Lucas’s eyes. Had they been such a dark green when they were kids?

“Someplace nicer than this hospital?” He leaned in, his hand sliding from her cheek to her nape, the warmth of his palm seeping into her cool flesh.

Her heart did a tiny little flip and her pulse jumped a notch. “Somewhere nicer than Sagebrush would be even better.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ve always loved this city.” He smiled.

“You moved away for a while, though, didn’t you?” Bea had once mentioned that he’d stayed in Houston after college. At the time, Emma hadn’t been all that interested in anything or anyone that had to do with Sagebrush. Since she’d been back in town, she hadn’t had time to think about old friends or to look up high school buddies. Between getting the diner ready and caring for Bea there hadn’t been room for anything else.

“I joined the police force in Houston after I graduated college. Came back to town a few months ago.” He patted the pillow. “Maybe you should lie down. You’re pale as paper, and I still have some questions to ask.”

“About my ex?”

“His name is Camden Maxwell, right?”

“Yes.”

Lucas jotted something in his notebook.

“What are you writing?” She leaned forward, then wished she hadn’t. Her head spun, stars dancing in front her eyes.

“Lie down, Em,” Lucas said, his voice sharp, his hands gentle as he urged her back.

She closed her eyes for a second, took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m fine.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he murmured, his gaze on the notebook and whatever he’d jotted there.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve always been tough.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I don’t think that I said there was,” he pointed out, looking up from the notebook. “So, let’s get back to the questions. Your boyfriend wanted you to stay in Boston. You wanted to come to Sagebrush. He wasn’t happy about your decision. Is all of that accurate?”

“You’re like a dog with a bone, Lucas,” she muttered. She didn’t want to discuss Camden’s ultimatum with anyone, and she especially didn’t want to discuss it when she was woozy from pain.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lucas responded easily.

“He might not have been happy, but Camden wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She didn’t add that he’d have been too afraid of ruining his designer suits to get into a physical altercation.

“I’d like to speak with him anyway,” Lucas said. No doubt he expected Emma to offer Camden’s contact information. She didn’t want to. The last thing she needed was a visit from Camden, and he’d been looking for an excuse to fly down and see her. Which she didn’t understand, since he’d hooked up with Leticia Anderson about three seconds after Emma had left Boston.

“Can I have his contact information?” Lucas prodded.

Emma rattled off Camden’s address and cell phone number. There was no sense fighting the inevitable. Lucas was like a force of nature when he got a thought in his head—completely unstoppable.

He scribbled the information in his notebook, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. He’d let his hair grow longer than when they were kids, and she had the absurd urge to reach over and brush her fingers over it just to see if it was as soft as she remembered.

“Is there anyone else who might have a grudge against you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m—”

A loud crash interrupted her words, the sound reverberating from the bathroom.

Bea!

Emma jumped up, the IV line ripping from her arm as she ran to make sure her aunt was okay.

FIVE

The night had been a disaster and the day wasn’t shaping up to be any better.

Emma had spent most of the early-morning hours sitting silently beside her aunt’s hospital bed. She’d spent the rest of them answering Lucas’s questions. Now, with the sun just passing its zenith, she and Bea had finally been discharged and could return home.

Unfortunately, home wasn’t where Bea wanted to go.

“You have to be reasonable about this, Bea,” Emma said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “You took a bad fall a couple of hours ago. There’s no way you should be walking around the mall.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, Emma. Do you expect me to not shop?” her aunt replied.

“That’s exactly what I expect. We’re both exhausted. I’m injured. We need to rest.” She tugged on the ends of her T-shirt. Or what had been her T-shirt about fifteen years ago. Thankfully Bea had managed to find jeans that Emma had brought with her from Boston.

“You need to rest, dear.” Bea patted her hand. “I’ll take the bus to the mall.”

“You can’t—”

“Everything okay in here?” Lucas walked into the room, his jaw shadowed with the beginning of a beard. He still wore his police uniform, the legs of his pants just a little wrinkled. Had he gone home? Or had he stayed at the hospital all night?

“Lucas Harwood? Is that you?” Bea used her walker to cross the room. “It’s been forever.”

Emma’s heart sank at the words, but she didn’t correct her aunt. Pointing out her memory lapses only added to Bea’s frustration and fear.

“It seems that way,” Lucas said with a kind smile. “I heard you two had been discharged. I thought I could give you a ride.”

“You can bring Emma home. I’m taking the bus to the mall,” Bea replied. “I have Christmas shopping to do.”

“That sounds like fun.” Lucas held the door open as Bea shuffled through, and if Emma had been close enough, she would have been tempted to kick his shin. Just to let him know that Bea going to the mall on a bus was not a good idea.

“Doesn’t it? There are a few children at church whose families are going through tough times. I plan to buy them each a gift,” Bea continued.

“They’ll appreciate that. I’ll just call my grandmother and ask her to stay with Emma while you’re gone.”

“I don’t need—” Emma began, but Lucas shook his head.

“Why would you do something like that?” Bea huffed, her blue eyes flashing with indignation. “I can certainly take care of my own niece.”

“You said you wanted to go shopping,” Lucas reminded her.

Bea frowned, her gaze jumping to Emma. “Well, I certainly don’t want to go if you need me, Emma.”

“I do.” Emma followed Lucas’s lead. That was so much easier than arguing with Bea.

“In that case, we’ll go home. I’ll make some of my chicken noodle soup and get a package of frozen peas for that cheek.”

“Thanks, Bea.”

“You don’t have to thank me, dear. I love taking care of you.” Bea smiled beatifically as the elevator doors slid open.

Emma stepped in behind her, pressing close to the wall as Lucas followed. He smelled like soap and sunshine, and he looked exactly as she thought a hero should.

Which was a problem, because she didn’t need or want a hero in her life.

He leaned toward her.

“You can thank me later,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. Warmth shot through her, and her heart jumped. She wanted to lean her head against his shoulder the way she had when they were teenagers, but they weren’t teenagers anymore. They were nothing more than strangers who’d once been friends.

“I’d rather do it now and get it over with,” she responded, bracing herself as she looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Lucas.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re welcome. Although I have to admit I was hoping you’d thank me with a meal. I hear you’re quite a chef.”

“Who’d you hear that from?” she asked as he led them off the elevator and into the hospital lobby. Watery sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, the parking lot beyond packed with cars and people. Nothing to be afraid of, but she felt a sharp zing of anxiety.

“Your ex. Camden had a lot to say about the wonderful meals you made for his family every Sunday.” His hand settled on her lower back, his palm warm. Emma’s breath caught, her nerves suddenly alive with longing.

She met his eyes, saw her surprise reflected in his gaze.

He’d been married and widowed. She was pretty sure of that.

Was he dating now?

It was a question she wouldn’t ask, because the answer shouldn’t matter.

“Camden?” Bea said as she shuffled out the automatic door, her walker tapping on the concrete sidewalk. “Is that the jerk who dropped you like a hot potato?”

“He didn’t drop me, Bea. I broke things off with him. Remember?” she responded, trying not to notice the way Lucas was watching her.

“Here’s our ride.” He gestured to a black four-door sedan parked in the loading zone. Not what she’d have expected from him. When they were kids, he’d loved old cars and trucks. The older, the better, according to Lucas. He’d spend hours taking apart old motors and putting them back together.

She wanted to ask him how he’d ended up with such a modern and boring vehicle, but that was another question she didn’t need to know the answer to.

He opened the front and back passenger doors, gesturing for Emma to climb in as he helped Bea get settled. “Go ahead and get in, Emma. The less time you spend out in the open, the happier I’ll be.”

His words got her moving, and she slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed.

Lucas wanted to hurry Emma’s great-aunt into the car, but there was no hurrying a woman in her eighties. Especially not one who was recovering from a broken hip. She held on to his arm as he helped lower her into the car he’d borrowed from his grandmother. His personal vehicle was an old Ford truck, and he hadn’t thought either woman in good enough condition to climb into it.

He’d had no intention of letting Emma and Bea find their way home on their own. The evidence team was working to collect DNA from the ski mask he’d found, and they were looking through security camera footage from businesses near the bus stop where he and Henry had lost the scent trail. So far there was little to go on. No leads. No witnesses. Nothing but the nagging feeling that money wasn’t the only thing the perpetrator had been looking for.

He glanced at Emma as he pulled away from the hospital.

Aside from the bruise on her cheek and a smaller one on her jaw, she was colorless, her dark hair scraped back from her face and held in place by a pink rubber band.

She looked scared.

She should be.

She’d been accosted and beaten. Only the fact that he’d shown up had kept worse from happening. The need to protect her mixed with the desperate fear that he wouldn’t be able to save her any more than he’d been able to save Sarah.

His fist tightened on the steering wheel, and he glanced in the rearview mirror. Traffic was light, and the afternoon sun reflected off the cars and trucks that were behind him. No sign that they were being followed and no reason to believe anyone would bother. Unless there was something Emma wasn’t telling him.

“You didn’t ask me what else Camden had to say,” he mentioned casually, wondering if there was more to the ex-boyfriend than she wanted him to know.

“Because I don’t really care what he had to say. He’s not part of my life anymore,” she responded.

Lucas had been a police officer for seven years, and he knew the truth when he heard it. She was telling the truth. At least, her version of the truth. It was possible Camden’s version of the truth was different. “He might like to be.”

“I told you last night, Camden had nothing to do with what happened. He enjoys his job, his reputation and his money too much to risk it. Besides, he wasn’t sorry to see me go. He’s already dating someone else. As a matter of fact, he’ll probably get engaged to her on Christmas Eve and give her the ring he planned to give me.”

The guy sounded like a real winner. Lucas kept the thought to himself. “You’ve been back in Sagebrush for how long?”

“Two months.”

“He had a pretty quick recovery time if he’s already planning to marry someone else.”

“Exactly my point,” she said. “I wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of his life. Certainly not important enough for him to follow me or send someone else after me.” She sounded unaffected, but her hands were fisted in her lap, her knuckles white.

He lifted one, running his thumb over the deep grooves her nails had gouged into her palm.

“He’s not worth it,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

“Worth what?” she murmured, pulling her hand away and rubbing it against her thigh.

“Any time or energy you might spend wishing that things had worked out.”

“I don’t wish that. I just...”

“What?”

“Thought I was going to have the dream. The house and the white picket fence. The career. The kids. The husband who adored me.”

“You still might have all those things.”

“I’m nearly thirty.”

“Ancient,” he joked, and she rewarded him with a smile.

“You’re six months older than me,” she pointed out.

“Some people might argue that that makes me six months wiser.” He turned onto Oak Street, the sound of her soft laughter ringing in his ears. It pleased him more than it probably should have, but he couldn’t make himself care. It felt good to be around Emma again. In some strange way, it felt like coming home.

He frowned, pulling into Bea’s driveway and parking the car. Her little house sat neat and tidy in the center of a perfectly manicured lawn. Two large mature trees stood at the edge of the yard. Years ago a tire swing had hung from one of the branches.

He got out of the car, scanning the yard and the street. No sign of danger, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t trouble lurking nearby.

“Ready?” he asked as he opened Bea’s door.

“I’ve been ready, son.” She let him help her out of the car, smiling as Emma handed her the walker that he’d stored in the trunk. “You come on in and have some coffee. If you play your cards right, Emma might even make you a snack.”

“Sounds good.” He followed the two women up the porch stairs, nearly walking into Emma’s back when she stopped short.

“The door’s open,” she whispered, stepping back so quickly that she bumped into Lucas. His arm wrapped around her automatically, his fingers resting against velvety skin as he looked over her head, saw that she was right.

The door was open. Just a crack. Barely enough to let light through.

“Go back to the car,” he ordered, nudging Emma out of the way.

“What do you thi—?” she started, but he cut her off.

“Take Bea and go. Lock yourself in the car. Don’t get out until I tell you different.”

She looked as if she was going to argue, but she glanced at her aunt, her expression tightening for just a moment.

Finally she nodded. “Okay.”

She helped Bea maneuver back down the porch stairs.

He waited until they were in the car, then pulled his service revolver from its holster and opened the door.

SIX

The door swung open easily. Just as Emma had known it would. She watched as Lucas disappeared into the house.

“What’s going on, Emma?” Bea asked. “Why are we back in the car?”

“The front door was open. Lucas wanted to...” What? Make sure a killer wasn’t lurking inside? She couldn’t say that to Bea. “Do you think you forgot to close the door last night?”

That was the easiest explanation, the most palatable one.

“Of course not!” Bea exclaimed. “I’d have been afraid that Fluffy would get out. You know how she is. Always wanting to wander the neighborhood.”

Actually, Bea’s dog was more likely to curl up on the couch and sleep, but Emma didn’t point that out. She was too busy staring at the open front door.

“Maybe it just didn’t close tightly,” Emma said. “It was damp and cold yesterday. That door is always tricky in the winter.”

True. All of it. But Emma still couldn’t shake her fear.

“Not so tricky that I can’t manage it. Besides, I locked the door when I left. I remember that clear as day,” Bea insisted. That didn’t mean she actually had locked the door or even shut it. Bea’s memory was about as reliable as the old car she used to drive.

Lucas appeared in the open doorway, a squirming white dog in his arms.

“There he is! Stay here, Bea.” Emma jumped out of the car, her head throbbing with the sudden movement.

“Slow down, Em,” Lucas jogged toward her, grabbing her arm when she would have sprinted up the porch steps. “You just got out of the hospital.”

“Was someone in there? Were we robbed?” She tried to pull away, but his fingers were like silken vises.

“How about you let me get rid of this dog before we discuss the open door, okay?” He walked her back to the car, passed Fluffy to Bea.

“Can you hold her for a few minutes, Bea? I want to bring Emma in the house, make sure nothing has been moved or touched.”

“Of course,” Bea murmured. “You’re such a kind and responsible young man, Lucas.” She glanced at Emma and smiled. “Isn’t he kind and responsible?”

“Sure,” she muttered, and Lucas laughed.

“Thanks, Em. I’m glad you think so.” He closed the car door and led her back to the house. “I checked all the rooms. It doesn’t look like anyone has been inside the house, but I thought I’d get your take on it.”

“Bea said that she thought she closed and locked the door when she left the house last night.” Emma hesitated in the threshold. The place looked the same—dusty wood floor that Emma really needed to dry mop, peach-colored walls that she was determined to paint as soon as she got Bea’s permission, big bulky furniture.

“It’s okay,” Lucas murmured near her ear. “I’ve checked every room. You’re not in any danger.”

She forced herself to walk inside. The living room was untouched, the book Bea had been reading sitting on the coffee table. The kitchen was spotless, the new appliances Emma had had installed gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the back window. The dining room table had been set for two, the old sideboard Emma had found in the diner matching Bea’s eclectic style. The bedrooms were empty and silent, untouched as far as Emma could tell.

She opened the door that led to the attic conversion that Bea and her husband had made years before Emma was born. Narrow steps led to a spacious room that had once been the master bedroom. Bea couldn’t use it anymore. Emma had moved her into one of the main-level bedrooms so that she wouldn’t have to navigate up and down the stairs. Bea thought she’d move back into the room eventually. Emma hadn’t had the heart to tell her it wasn’t going to happen.

“You okay?” Lucas asked as he followed her up the stairs.

“Fine.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Because I always am.” She glanced around the room, swallowing down a lump of sadness. She’d spent a lot of time in this room when she was a girl, lying on Bea’s queen-size bed and staring out the small dormer windows. Bea had always been there, bustling around the room, ironing shirts or skirts, talking about everything and nothing. More of a mother than Emma’s mother had ever been.

She walked to the rolltop desk she’d found in the diner’s office, touched the smooth old wood. When she’d brought it to the house, she’d imagined it lined with old photographs, imagined Bea sitting at the desk, writing letters to all her choir friends. It wouldn’t fit in Bea’s room downstairs, though, and there was no room for it in the rest of the house. Emma was going to move it back to the diner, put it back in the office where she’d found it. Forget the idea of Bea enjoying it.

“Em?” Lucas turned her so that they were face-to-face, his hands warm on her shoulders.

“Everything looks just the way we left it,” she said, her gaze on the old desk, the floor, the dormer windows. She didn’t want to look into Lucas’s eyes. She was afraid he’d see all the sadness and fear she was trying to hide, but she couldn’t not look. She met his gaze, felt the hot hard knot of grief pulsing behind her eyes.

He touched her uninjured cheek, his fingers lingering as he studied her face.

“It’s going to be okay,’ he said, his breath ruffling her hair.

“How do you know?” she said, her hands moving of their own accord, sliding around his waist and settling on the small of his back. She felt taut muscle and warm skin and the strange feeling that she was finally where she should have been all along.

She would have stepped back, but he wrapped her in a gentle hug.

“Faith. I believe God is in control and that He’s going to work everything out the way it should be,” he said simply.

“Faith is easy, Lucas. It’s trust that’s hard.”

Lucas eased back and looked into Emma’s face. She was the same Emma. Striking rather than beautiful, her cheekbones high, her eyes large and tip-tilted at the corners, her dark hair contrasting sharply with her fair skin. The same but different, too. No more colorful streaks in her dark hair. No more nose ring or multiple ear piercings. She looked grown-up, mature. Breathtaking. “I guess that depends on who you’re putting your trust in,” he said.

She nodded, stepping away, running her hand over a large rolltop desk. “I trust God. It’s people that I struggle with.”

“That’s not surprising. Your parents weren’t overly concerned about you or your well-being. I don’t think your boyfriend was any better.” He was blunt because that was the way it had always been between the two of them.

She stiffened.

“How about we change the subject?” she asked coolly.

“Sure. Let’s talk about the diner while we go get Bea,” he responded, and she finally met his gaze, her eyes the deep blue-purple of the sky at sunset. He’d forgotten what a dark blue they were. Forgotten how easily a guy could get lost in them if he let himself.

“What do you want to know?”

“You’re opening next week, right?” He pressed a hand to her lower back, urging to the stairs.

“Yes. Two days before Christmas. Bea chose the date. It would have been her sixtieth wedding anniversary.”

“Is there anyone who would want to keep that from happening?”

“No.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “The community has been really supportive. The local paper even did a feature article on the diner reopening.”

“When was that?”

“Last weekend. It ran in the Saturday edition of the paper,” she said as she walked down the stairs and into the hallway.

Lucas filed the information away, his mind racing with possibilities. Anyone who’d read the article would have known when the diner was set to reopen. Any predator looking for an easy victim might have kept watch, waiting for an opportunity to attack Emma when she was alone.

“You’re looking at me like I’m a bug under a microscope,” she muttered, swiping at a stray lock of hair that fell across her cheek as she led the way into the living room.

“You’re an attractive woman. It’s possible someone saw your picture in the paper—”

“He asked for money, Lucas. Clear as could be. So I’m pretty sure he didn’t see my photograph, fall into some mad frenzy of longing and decide to kidnap me.”

The front door swung open and Bea walked in, her little white dog prancing at her feet. “Emma! What’s going on, dear? Why are you two in here while I’m waiting out in the car?”

“We were just coming to get you, Bea.” Emma nearly ran to her aunt’s side.

Lucas crossed the room more slowly.

In the years since Sarah’s death, he hadn’t dated much. A dinner here or there, a movie or two. Nothing that mattered. Nothing he cared much about. He’d loved Sarah. He hadn’t thought he’d ever find that kind of love again.

He’d forgotten about Emma, though. Forgotten how good it felt to be in a room with her, to talk to her, to look into her eyes. Forgotten how right it felt to spend time with her.

Now that he’d remembered, he wasn’t sure he wanted to walk away again, wasn’t sure he wanted to say goodbye and forget all the moments they’d shared.

He frowned.

There’d be time to think about that after he found the guy who’d attacked Emma. And he would find him. It was just a matter of time. Unfortunately, Lucas had no idea how much of that he’d have before the guy struck again.

SEVEN

Fourteen hours stuck in Bea’s house when there was work to be done at the diner was thirteen hours too long!

Emma pulled eggs from the fridge and did her best to ignore her aunt’s questioning gaze.

She knew what was coming.

The same question she’d been asked a dozen times in the past few hours.

Patience, she thought. She needed God to give her a bucket-load of it.

“Aren’t you going to get ready for church?” Bea asked.

“It’s not Sunday, Bea,” Emma responded with the same answer she’d given a dozen other times.

“Are you sure?” Bea walked over to the wall calendar and squinted at the numbers.

“Yes.”

“It’s not Sunday?”

“It’s Saturday. We’ll go to church tomorrow.”

“Are you making something for the potluck?”

“The potluck isn’t for another week, Bea. I’m making scones.” Because cooking is the only way to maintain my sanity.

“Lovely! You should invite that nice young man over and give him one.”

“What young man?” Emma asked, making sure that there wasn’t a bit of impatience in her voice. It wasn’t Bea’s fault she was going stir-crazy. Working as a sous-chef meant long and active days. It meant dealing with stress and chaos in a calm and efficient way. It did not mean sitting in a quiet old house for hours on end, nursing aching muscles and ugly bruises.

“The one you used to hang out with all the time. What was his name?” Bea frowned. “I should know it. He was here almost every day.”

“Lucas?” Just saying his name made a hundred butterflies dance in Emma’s stomach.

“That’s right. Lucas. Call him up and tell him to come for scones.”

“I don’t think so, Bea.”

“Why not?”

“He’s busy.”

“How do you know that he’s busy if you haven’t called him?”

“I—”

The doorbell rang, interrupting the argument. Thank goodness.

“I’ll get it.” She ran to the front door, pressing her eye to the peephole. The police hadn’t found the guy who’d attacked her. She didn’t expect to see him on the other side of the door, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

A man stood at the far corner of the porch, his face hidden by a Stetson, what looked like a very big dog at his feet.

“Who is it?” she called, but she knew. She recognized the breadth of the shoulders, the easy way he held himself. She even recognized the fuzzy outline of the dog at his side. Lucas.

“It’s me.” He stepped in front of the door, and her heart leaped. He looked good. Better than good. He looked like everything any woman could ever want in a man.

She fumbled with the lock, her fingers tripping all over themselves. It seemed to take forever, but she finally managed to open the door.

“Lucas! What are you doing here?”

“I’m working your case, remember?” He smiled, taking off his Stetson. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

“Do you mind if Henry comes, too?”

“As long as he doesn’t eat my aunt’s dog, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Henry only takes chunks out of bad guys who refuse to cooperate.” He patted the big dog’s head and stepped into the house.

She closed the door, catching a whiff of spicy cologne and chilly winter air.

Bea shuffled out of the kitchen, her walker tapping on the floor. “Lucas Harwood!” she exclaimed. “Is that you? And you brought a dog! Fluffy! Come quick. You have a visitor.”

Bea’s little white puffball of a dog had probably seen her “visitor,” because she refused to make an appearance.

“How are you, Mrs. Daphne?” Lucas grinned at Bea, his dark hair ruffled. He had grown into his height, his shoulders filling out and his face losing the almost-too-pretty look of his youth. Now he had an edge of hardness and strength that Emma had to admit was appealing.

“It’s been too many years, young man,” Bea chastised, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d seen each other.

“It has been too long,” Lucas agreed before Emma could remind her aunt that they’d seen him the previous day.

His gaze shifted from Bea to Emma. He took in everything with one long sweeping look. Her hair...which she knew was sticking out in a million different directions, her faded oversize sweats and baggy T-shirt, her bruised and swollen cheek.

If she’d been a different kind of woman, she might have cared that she was a mess. She didn’t. Much. She touched her hair but resisted the urge to smooth down the wild strands.

“I’m making tea and scones. You want to come in the kitchen while I work? We can talk there.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, just hurried into the kitchen. She felt comfortable there. At home. She knew what to do with eggs and flour and sugar. She knew how to cook a roast and fry an egg. What she’d never been very good at was dealing with emotions and people and all the stuff that went with relationships.

Lucas followed Emma into the kitchen. She looked tired, her eyes deeply shadowed, her skin pale, the bruise on her cheek deep shades of purple and red. She’d left her hair loose and it fell to her shoulders in wild waves and curls, covering the stitches he knew were behind her ear.

“You should be lying down, not making scones,” he commented.

She looked up from the counter she’d been sprinkling with flour. “I tried that. It didn’t go well.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to rest when your brain is going a hundred miles an hour.”

“What’s on your mind, Em?” Lucas asked as he pulled a stool over and perched on it, watching while she measured flour into a bright yellow bowl. Henry raised his nose, sniffing excitedly.

“Down, Henry,” he commanded, and the dog collapsed onto the floor in a pile of lush soft-looking fur.

“What isn’t on my mind? Every time I close my eyes, I think about the guy who attacked me. The diner. I’m supposed to open soon, and I’m stuck here.” She gestured around the large kitchen. “With the way things are going, I’ll probably be stuck here for the rest of my life.”

“The rest of your life is a long time.” He grabbed a raisin from a box she’d opened, and she swatted his hand.

“Those are for the scones!”

“Sorry.” But he wasn’t really. He’d been at the office almost all day, tracking leads, looking through surveillance footage. He hadn’t eaten lunch, and all he’d had for breakfast was a bagel and a cup of coffee.

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right.” He laughed. “How about I make it up to you?”

“How?”

“The diner has been cleared as a crime scene. My boss gave me permission to let you go back there.”

“Really? That’s fantastic!” She looked up from the bowl she’d been scooping sugar into, a hint of color in her cheeks and a broad smile on her face.

“Yes.”

“Great!” She whirled away from the counter. “I’ve got to get cleaned up so I can go over there. The scones will have to wait.”

She darted toward the kitchen doorway, but he snagged her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Hold on, Emma.” His palm rested against the smooth, warm skin of her forearm, heat racing through his blood at the contact. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m already a day behind myself. I have a schedule, and—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off the words. “We have video footage from a surveillance camera near a downtown bus stop that Henry tracked your attacker to.”

The excitement faded from her eyes, and she tensed. “Do you think the guy is in it?”

“It’s possible. Three men boarded the bus about ten minutes after you were attacked. One looked too old to be our guy. The other two fit the description you gave me. Tall. Muscular. If you’re up to it, I’d like to take you to the station and have you view some still photos we pulled from the tapes.” If she wasn’t, he planned to bring the photos to her.

It was imperative that she see them soon. Lucas’s boss had recognized one of the men. The guy had a criminal record and had served jail time. He’d also worked for Arianna when she’d owned Emma’s diner. Lucas didn’t tell Emma that. He didn’t want to influence her perception, taint her view of the photos.

“I’m up to it,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll get changed and then we can head out.”

She walked out of the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, and Lucas hated that he couldn’t change that. He’d wanted to come to Bea’s place with good news, but all he had was more questions than answers.

Hopefully, the video stills would yield more information. If Emma positively identified her attacker, they could get his picture out to the public and offer a reward for information leading to his arrest. If the guy was smart, he’d turn himself in. If he wasn’t, he’d try to hide. Either way, he was going to be found and he was going to be thrown in jail.

Lucas would make sure of it.

He snagged another handful of raisins and walked into the living room to wait with Bea.

EIGHT

Emma grabbed a pair of dark jeans and a thick sweater from her dresser and changed quickly, her heart beating a hard, heavy rhythm. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look at the video stills. It was more that she didn’t want to be reminded of what she’d gone through. It was bad enough that every time she closed her eyes, she saw her attacker lunging from the darkness. She didn’t want to go through pictures, hunting for him.

She’d do what she had to, though, because she wanted the police to catch him and throw him in jail.

When she was done, she’d go to the diner, put in a few hours of hard work. That would clear her head, get her more focused.

“Emma?” Bea called from the hallway. “Are you almost ready? Your young man is waiting.”

“He’s not my young man!” she called. “And I’m coming!”

She grabbed her purse and cell phone and opened the bedroom door, nearly running into Lucas’s muscular chest.

“Oops! Sorry!” She backed up, stumbling a little in her haste.

He put a hand on her waist, holding her steady. “Careful, Emma. You don’t need any more injuries.”

“Not with everything I have to do in the next couple of weeks. It would be really difficult to run a diner from a hospital bed,” she joked, sidling past him, her cheeks hot for reasons she refused to acknowledge. After she’d broken up with Camden, she’d told herself she was done with men. Finished. Forever. No more relationships. Nothing was going to change her mind about that.

No one was going to change it.

Not even Lucas.

“We’re not going to let it come to that,” he responded as they walked into the living room. Henry was lying on the floor there, nose to nose with Fluffy. Apparently, the little dog had decided she wasn’t going to be eaten by the giant beast of a dog.

“We?” she met Lucas’s gaze, her breath catching as she stared into his dark green eyes.

“You. Me. The two of us,” he clarified, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering.

“I—”

“Are we ready?” Bea walked into the room, her coat on, an old leather handbag clutched in her hand.

“For what?”

“Church.” Bea smoothed her white hair and smiled. Obviously, she’d forgotten that it was Saturday. Again.

“It’s not Sunday,” Emma said wearily. “I have to go to the police station, Bea. Lucas needs me to look at some pictures so I can identify the guy who attacked me.”

“They have pictures?” Bea exclaimed. “I hope that means the police will find him soon. I’ll feel so much safer when they do.”

“We both will. Do you want to come with us?”

“I think I’ll just stay here and read.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “Actually, I may have a meeting tonight.”

“Meeting?” It was the first Emma had heard of it.

“The knitting club at church. They make hats for the premature babies at the hospital. I haven’t been able to attend since my accident, so the ladies decided to come here this month. You did say it was Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Then we must be having the meeting. I’ll just call Edna to be sure.” She lifted the old-fashioned rotary phone that hung from the wall near the kitchen, her brow furrowing. “I’m sure I know her number.”

“Hold on, Bea. I’ll get it.” Emma grabbed the church directory from a drawer in the coffee table and found Edna’s number. It only took a few minutes to confirm the knitting group meeting, another few minutes to make sure that the neighbors knew that Bea was going to be home alone. She helped Bea find reading glasses, handed her the book she’d been reading, let Fluffy outside and then back in. All with Lucas following her around, trying to help, making himself a part of what she was doing.

“Okay. I’m ready. Finally,” she said as she grabbed her coat from the closet.

Lucas took it from her hands, helped her into it. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve been doing a lot, Emma. Probably too much.”

“What choice do I have? I have to make sure Bea is okay. I’m the only family she has.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing. Unless you’re good at painting. The diner still needs another coat on the walls,” she said only half kidding.

“I’m a fair hand at painting,” Lucas replied. “I still paint my parents’ front porch every spring.”

“Do you really?” She smiled, remembering the times when they’d worked together, whitewashing the porch posts and splattering paint all over each other in the process.

“Sure.” He called for Henry and opened the front door. “Keeps my paint arm in practice, so when emergencies come up, I’m ready.”

Emma walked outside, cool clean evening air filling her lungs. It felt good, and she wanted to stand on the front porch for a while and just...breathe.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Lucas said. “There’s nothing quite like Sagebrush in December.”

He flashed a smile, and Emma found herself returning it. Lucas had always had that effect on her. It had never mattered what kind of mood her parents had put her in or how difficult things had been at home; when she was with him, she’d felt happy.

“Come on. Let’s head out.” His fingers curved around hers. They were warm, the skin calloused and rough. He probably still hiked and climbed and did all the outdoorsy things they’d enjoyed when they were kids.

She’d given most of that up when she’d moved to Boston. Her schedule had been too hectic, her life too busy. The weather had played into it, too. Frigid temperatures for too many months. Mostly, if she were honest with herself, all the outdoor activities she’d loved hadn’t been as enjoyable without Lucas. She’d tried for a while. She’d even convinced Camden to take her hiking a few times. He’d spent most of the trek tracking their coordinates and spouting information about the local flora and fauna.

Fun times.

“You’re deep in thought,” Lucas said as he ushered her down the porch steps. “What’s on your mind?”

You, she almost said, but she was afraid of how that would sound and of what it might mean.

“Hiking and rock climbing and camping,” she said instead. “All the things I used to do before I moved to the frigid Northeast.”

“You missed those things, huh?” He opened the hatchback of a rusty old Ford and unlocked a dog kennel that had been secured to the bed of the truck. Henry jumped in, circling once before settling down.

“More than I realized.”

“Then we’ll have to do them again. Once you’re healed up.” He opened the passenger door, lifting her into the seat before she realized what he was doing.

“I could have gotten in myself,” she protested, her cheeks blazing.

“True, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.” His hands rested on her waist, his face so close she could see gold flecks in his green eyes. “Sorry about the ride, by the way. My grandmother needed her sedan back.”

“Is that who the car belonged to? I didn’t think it was yours.”

“You know me well, Em.” He smiled, skimming a knuckle down her cheek.

“I knew you well.”

“I haven’t changed that much. I still love hiking, camping and rock climbing. I still love old cars and trucks.”

“You still love playing cops and robbers,” she added, and he laughed.

“That, too.” He closed the door, sealing her into the old truck. It smelled like leather and sunshine and something warm and wonderful that reminded her of Lucas.

When he got in the car, she wanted to tell him that. She wanted to say that she hadn’t ever forgotten the years they’d spent as best friends or the way he’d always been there for her. She’d lived through some of her toughest times in Sagebrush, but maybe she’d lived through some of her best, too.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the Stetson hat shadowing his face. “It shouldn’t take long to look through the stills. When we’re finished, I’ll take you to the diner if you want.”

“If I want? There isn’t much I’d like more, but you don’t have to take me there. Just drop me off back here. I’ll drive over myself.”

“I don’t think so, Emma,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you shouldn’t be at the diner alone. Not after what happened there.”

“You don’t really think he’ll go back there, do you?”

“Until I know what his motive was, I can’t say, but I’d rather you be safe than sorry.”

He had a point, and with evening pressing in on the windows and darkness edging at the horizon, she didn’t think she wanted to be there alone. “You’re right.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” He patted her knee, his hand settling there.

She didn’t pull away, but maybe she should have.

No men ever again. That had been her motto, but being around Lucas made her wonder if it was a motto she could live by. “You didn’t tell me what the evidence found on the ski mask was.”

“Because they didn’t find anything. Aside from the photos from the surveillance videos, we don’t have much to go on.”

“Maybe it was just a random crime. Maybe nearly getting caught scared the guy enough to keep him from committing another one.”

“Anything is possible,” he said. “But that’s not the way things usually work out.”

“Are you going to tell me how they do work out?” She stared out the side window as he drove through Sagebrush, watching as trees and houses zipped by. If Lucas was right, the guy that had attacked her was out there somewhere just waiting for another chance to strike.

“A person going after money is going to keep going after money. Someone out for revenge will keep looking for it. A criminal is going to keep committing crimes.”

“That’s a pleasant thought.”

“I don’t want it to be pleasant. I want it to be disturbing, because until you’re disturbed and worried, you’re not going to be careful.”

“Trust me. I’m going to be careful. I don’t want a repeat of what happened the other night.”

“That makes two of us,” he muttered as he pulled into the parking lot of the Sagebrush Police Department and parked near the building.

“Stay put until I come around,” he said as he got out of the truck.

She wasn’t one to wait for someone else to open doors for her, but dusk had fallen in deep shades of purple and blue and the corners of the parking lot were shadowy and dark. It reminded her of the parking lot behind of the diner. Anyone could be lurking in the darkness.

She shuddered, slouching down in the seat as she waited for Lucas to round the truck.

NINE

He’d scared her.

Good. That was what Lucas had been trying to do.

It wasn’t that he liked the idea of Emma being terrified. He didn’t. What he liked was the idea that she was going to be a little more cautious, play things a little safer.

She was silent as he led her into the police department, the bruise on her cheek a stark reminder of all she’d been through. He’d seen other bruises. When they were kids, she’d always been covered with them. Welts, bumps, deep contusions. She’d offered a million excuses, but he’d known the truth. Her parents were as abusive to her as they were to each other, their wild fights legendary in the trailer park where they’d lived.

“This way,” he murmured, leading her through a lobby and into a hallway. “I’m going to put Henry in the kennel while we look at the photos. They’re in Slade’s office. You know him, right?”

“Slade? He’s Bea’s neighbor. We’ve said hello a couple of times,” she said, her voice trembling just a little.

“Are you nervous about seeing the photos?”

“No. Yes.” She shrugged and offered a sheepish grin. “Maybe. I want to help find the guy who attacked me, but I’d like to forget him, too.”

“You think that’ll happen anytime soon?”

“Probably not. Every time I close my eyes, I can see him lunging out of the shadows.” She shuddered.

“I’m sorry, Em,” he said as they walked into the kennel.

“It’s not your fault.” She glanced around the small area. “Does Henry stay here when you’re off the clock?”

“He stays with me 24-7. I keep him in the kennel when I’m in the office.” He opened Henry’s kennel and the dog trotted in.

“And he’s happy there?” She looked dubious.

“As long as he knows that I’m coming back. Right, boy?”

Henry wagged his tail in agreement, woofing quietly.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“A shepherd mix. He looks an awful lot like a king shepherd, but I don’t think his bloodlines are pure,” Lucas responded as he ushered Emma back into the building. He knocked on Slade’s door, waiting impatiently for an invitation to enter. He wanted to find the guy who’d hurt Emma. He wanted to book him and toss him in jail and make sure he wasn’t released for years. The sooner he accomplished that goal, the happier he’d be.

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