aine found herself studying every man she saw at work that day, wondering if he was the one. That one of them could be a killer was almost beyond belief. They all seemed so normal, or at least as normal as any other large group of men who worked in the computer industry. Some of them she knew and liked, some of them she knew and didn’t like, but she couldn’t see any of them as killers. A lot of guys, particularly the ones on the first two floors, she knew by sight but not by name. Had Marci known one of them well enough that she had let him into her house?

Jaine tried to think what she would do if someone she recognized knocked on her door at night, maybe claiming to have had car trouble. Until today, she probably would have opened her door without hesitation, wanting only to be helpful. The killer, even if he turned out to be some stranger, had forever robbed her of that trust, that inner sense of security. She had liked to think she was smart and aware, that she didn’t take chances, but how often had she opened her door at a knock without asking who was on the other side? She shuddered now to think of it.

Her front door didn’t even have a peephole in it. She could see who was at the door only if she climbed on her sofa and pulled back the curtain, then leaned far to the right. And the upper half of her kitchen door was nothing but nine small panes of glass, easily smashed; then all any intruder would have to do was reach in and unlock it. She had no alarm system, no means of protecting herself – nothing! The best she could hope to do if anyone broke into her house while she was there was escape out the window, assuming she could get it open.

She had a lot of work to do, she thought, before she would feel safe in her house again.

She worked half an hour later than usual, doing a little catch-up on the pile of paperwork that had accumulated during her absence. As she was crossing the parking lot, she noticed there were only a handful of cars remaining and, for the first time, realized how vulnerable she was leaving work late like this, alone. All three of them, she and Luna and T.J. should time their arrivals and departures with the crowd, to take advantage of the safety in numbers. She hadn’t even told them she intended to work late.

There was so much she had to think about now, so much inherent danger in things she had never before had to consider.

“Jaine!”

As she crossed the parking lot, the sound of her name broke into her consciousness, leaving her aware that someone had called her at least twice, maybe more. She turned around, mildly surprised to see Leah Street hurrying after her.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, though she wondered what Leah wanted. “I was thinking and didn’t hear you at first. Is something wrong?”

Leah stopped, her graceful hands fluttering, an uncomfortable expression on her face. “I just – I wanted to say I’m sorry about Marci. When is the funeral?”

“I don’t know yet.” She didn’t feel up to explaining again about the autopsy. “Marci’s sister is making the arrangements.”

Leah nodded jerkily. “Let me know, please. I’d like to attend.”

“Yes, of course.”

Leah seemed to want to say something else or maybe didn’t know what else to say; either condition was awkward. Finally she bobbed her head and turned to hurry to her own car. Her full skirt flew around her legs. Today’s dress was particularly hopeless, a lavender print that did nothing for her coloring and with a small ruffle around the neckline. It looked like a yard-sale reject, though Leah pulled down a good salary – Jaine knew exactly how much – and probably shopped at nice department stores. She simply had no fashion sense.

“On the other hand,” Jaine muttered to herself as she unlocked the Viper, “I have no people sense.” Her judgment must be seriously off, because the two people from whom she would never have expected sympathy and sensitivity – Mr. de Wynter and Leah Street – were the two who had gone out of their way to tell her they were sorry about Marci.

Mindful of Sam’s instructions, she drove to an electronics store and bought a Caller ID unit, signed up for cellular service, went through all the paperwork for that, then had to choose a phone. The selection engrossed her; did she want one of the little flip-tops or one that didn’t flip? She decided on the non-flipper, figuring that if she were running for her life from a crazed murderer, she didn’t want to have to deal with flipping up before dialing.

Next she had to decide on a color. She immediately dismissed black as too basic. Neon yellow? It would be difficult to misplace. The blue one was cute; she didn’t see many blue ones. On the other hand, there was nothing like red.

Once she selected the red phone, she had to wait for it to be programmed. By the time she left the electronics store, the late summer sun was almost down, clouds were sweeping in from the southwest, and she was starving.

Because a cool wind was blowing in off those clouds, promising rain, and she still had two more stops to make before she went home, she got a fast-food burger and a soft drink and gulped them down as she drove. The burger wasn’t very good, but it was food, and that was all her stomach required.

Her next stop was a firm that installed security systems, where she answered questions, selected the system she wanted, and wrote a large check. The system would be installed a week from the upcoming Saturday.

“But that’s ten days!” Jaine said, frowning.

The beefy man consulted an appointment book. “Sorry, but that’s the earliest we can get to you.”

Deftly she reached over the desk and plucked her check from where it lay in front of him. “I’ll call around and see if someone else can get to me sooner than that. Sorry I wasted your time.”

“Hold on, hold on,” he said hastily. “Is this some kind of emergency? If someone is having trouble, we move them to the top of the list. You shoulda said so.”

“It’s an emergency,” she said firmly.

“Okay, let me see what I can do.” He studied the appointment book again, scratched his head, tapped his pencil on the book, and said, “I can work you in this Saturday, since it’s an emergency.”

Careful not to let any triumph show in her expression, she returned the check to him. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

Her next stop was a building materials store. It was a huge place, with everything one would need to build a house, except the money. She bought a peephole for the front door – the instructions said “Easy to install” – and a new kitchen door that wasn’t half glass and two new deadbolts. After making arrangements for the door to be delivered on Saturday, and paying extra for the privilege, she heaved a sigh of relief and started home.

Rain began splattering on the windshield just as she turned onto her street. Darkness had fallen, deepened by the cloud cover. Lightning flashed briefly in the west, lighting up the belly of the storm system, and thunder rumbled.

Her house was dark. She usually got home well before dark, so she didn’t leave any lights on. Normally she wouldn’t worry about stepping into a dark house, but tonight she felt a chill creep up her spine. She was edgy, more aware of her vulnerability. She sat for a moment in the car, reluctant to turn off the motor and go inside. No vehicle was parked in Sam’s driveway, but there was a light on in his kitchen; maybe he was at home. She wished he would leave his truck in the driveway instead of parking it in the garage, so she could tell when he was there and when he wasn’t.

Just as she turned off the headlights and ignition, she saw movement to her left. Her heart jumped into her throat, then she realized it was Sam, coming down his front steps.

Relief flooded through her. She gathered her purse and plastic shopping bags and got out of the car.

“Where the hell have you been?” he shouted, looming behind her as she locked the car door.

She hadn’t expected him to start yelling; startled, she dropped one of the bags. “Damn it!” she said as she leaned down to pick it up. “Do you have to make a career out of scaring me?”

“Someone needs to scare you.” He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her up to face him. He was shirtless, and she found herself nose-to-pectoral-muscle with him. “It’s eight o’clock, you may have a killer stalking you, and you don’t bother to call and let anyone know where you are? You deserve more than just being scared!”

She was tired, nervous, the rain was getting heavier by the minute, and she was in no mood to be yelled at. She lifted her head to glare at him, and water trickled down her face. “You told me to get Caller ID and a cell phone, so if I’m late, it was your idea!”

“It took you three goddamn hours to accomplish what a normal person can do in half an hour?”

Was he saying she wasn’t normal? Incensed, she put both hands on his bare chest and shoved him as hard as she could. “Since when did I start answering to you?”

He staggered back maybe an inch.

“Since about a week ago!” he said furiously, and kissed her.

His mouth was hard and angry, and his heart pounded like a sledgehammer beneath her hands. As always when he kissed her, it was as if time spun away, leaving only the here and now. The taste of him filled her; his bare skin was hot to the touch, despite the rain beating down on them. He locked her against him, his arms so tight she couldn’t draw a deep breath, and against her belly she felt the thrust of his erection.

He was shaking, and suddenly she realized just how scared he had been on her behalf. He was big and rough-looking, and strong enough to hold his own with an ox; every day he probably saw, without flinching, things that would make the average person cringe in horror. But tonight he had been afraid – afraid for her.

Her chest ached suddenly, as if her heart squeezed. Her knees wobbled and she sank against him, melting into him, rising on tiptoe to meet his lass with equal force, equal passion. He groaned, deep in his throat; the kiss changed, the anger fading, to be replaced by violent hunger. She had surrendered totally, but that didn’t seem to be enough for him because he sank his hand in her hair and pulled her head back, arching her neck and exposing her throat to his mouth. Rain spattered in her face, and she closed her eyes, helpless in his iron grip and not wanting to be anywhere else.

After the emotional upheaval of the past three days she needed to lose herself in the physical, to push all the grief and fear away and feel only Sam, think only of Sam. He lifted her off her feet and began walking with her, and she didn’t protest except when he stopped kissing her, didn’t struggle except to get closer.

“Damn it, would you stop wiggling?” he growled in a strained tone, shifting her to one side as he climbed his front steps.

“Why?” Her voice sounded smoky, sexy. She hadn’t known her throat would do that.

“Because I’m going to come in my jeans if you don’t,” he half-shouted in raw frustration.

Jaine thought about his problem for maybe half a heartbeat. Since the only way she could be certain not to overexcite him was to tear herself out of his grip and not touch him at all, that meant she would be depriving herself.

“Suffer,” she told him.

“Suffer?” He sounded outraged. He wrenched open his front door and carried her inside. It was dark in the living room, the only light filtering through from the kitchen. He smelled of heat and rain and wet hair. She tried to run her hands over those broad shoulders and found herself still encumbered by purse and shopping bags. Impatiently she dropped them to the floor, then attached herself to him like a limpet.

Cursing, he staggered a few steps and pinned her to the wall. He tugged at her slacks with rough hands, attacking the button and zipper until the button flew off and the zipper yielded. Her slacks slid down her legs and pooled around her feet. She kicked off her shoes, and he lifted her out of the circle of fabric. Immediately she wound her legs around his hips, feverishly trying to get closer, to meld their bodies and ease this wildfire of need that was burning her up on the inside.

“Not yet!” Panting, he leaned his weight against her to keep her in place against the wall and unwrapped her legs from his waist. Her ribcage depressed by his weight, Jaine could manage only the first protesting moan before he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and tugged them down her thighs.

Oh.

She tried to think why she had been going to make him wait another couple of weeks, at least, maybe even a whole menstrual cycle. Nothing reasonable came to mind, not when making him wait also meant making herself wait – not when she was so scared that the same person who had killed Marci might also be targeting the rest of them and she would kick herself if she died without knowing what it was like to make love with him. Right here, right now, there was nothing more important than trying this man on for size.

She kicked her panties away he lifted her high once again, and she coiled her legs around him. His knuckles brushed between her legs as he unfastened his jeans and let them drop. She caught her breath as the last barrier fell from between them and his penis pressed against her, naked and hot, searching. Pleasure zinged through her, making her nerve endings sizzle. She arched helplessly seeking more, needing more.

He swore softly, under his breath, and hitched her just a little higher to adjust her position. She felt the head of his penis probing at her, smooth and hard and hot, then an almost incredible sense of pressure as he eased his support and let her weight sink down on it. Her body resisted at first, then began to stretch and admit him, inch by searing inch. She felt everything in her begin to tighten as sensation roared through her –

He stopped, breathing hard, his hot face buried against her neck. His voice muffled, he said rawly, “Did you go on the pill?”

Jaine dug her nails into his bare shoulders, almost sobbing with need. How could he stop now? Only the thick head of his penis was inside her, and it wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough. Her inner muscles clenched around him, trying to draw him deeper, and an explosive curse tore from his throat.

“Damn it, Jaine, did you go on the pill?”

“Yes,” she finally managed to say, and her tone was just as raw as his.

He braced her against the wall and with one rough thrust pushed his entire length inside her.

She heard herself cry out, but the sound was distant. Every cell in her body focused on the thick shaft pounding back and forth inside her, his rhythm hard and fast, and she climaxed the same way. Sensation exploded in her, and she bucked against him, screaming, her hips jerking and her entire body shuddering. The rest of the world spun completely away.

He came a second later, driving into her with almost brutal force. She thudded against the wall with each deep thrust, her weight sliding down and forcing him even deeper, so deep that she stiffened convulsively and climaxed again.

Afterward, he rested heavily against her, his skin damp with sweat and rain. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as he sucked in air. The house was dark and silent except for the rain drumming on the roof and the gasping sounds of their overtaxed lungs. The wall was cool against her back, but uncomfortably hard. Jaine tried to think of something clever to say, but her mind refused to work. This was too serious, too damn important, for quips. So she closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his shoulder while her galloping heartbeat slowly began to calm and her loins relaxed around his shaft.

He muttered something unintelligible and tightened his grip on her, holding her with one arm around her back and the other under her bottom as he stepped out of his jeans and unsteadily walked to the bedroom. He was still inside her, her body anchored to his, as he lowered them to the bed and settled on top of her.

The room was dark and cool, the bed wide. He stripped off her silk shirt and unzipped her bra, tossing both garments to the floor. Now they were both totally naked, his chest hair rasping her nipples as he began to move again. His rhythm this time was slower but no less powerful as each thrust took him in to the hilt.

To her surprise, the fever began to build again. She had thought she was too exhausted to be aroused again, but she found out differently. She hooked her legs around his and ground her pelvis up to meet each thrust, clinging to him, pulling him even deeper into her, and when she came, the paroxysm was even stronger than the others. He made a guttural sound, climaxing while she still shuddered beneath him.

A long time later, when pulses had slowed, sweat had dried, and muscles had become halfway responsive again, he levered himself off her and rolled onto his back, one arm draped over his eyes. “Shit,” he said under his breath.

Because the room was so quiet, she heard him. A tiny flare of temper made her eyes narrow. She still felt like a limp, overcooked noodle, so a tiny flare was all she could manage. “Gee, that’s romantic,” she said sarcastically. The man hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her for a week, and now that they had finally made love, “shit” was the best comment he could make, as if the whole experience had been a mistake?

He lifted the arm covering his eyes and turned his head to glare at her. “I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you.”

“What do you mean, trouble?” She sat up, glaring back at him. “I am not trouble! I’m a very nice person except when I have to deal with jerks!”

“You’re the worst kind of trouble,” he snapped. “You’re marrying trouble.”

Considering three men had already found better things to do than marry her, that wasn’t the most tactful comment he could have made. It was especially hurtful coming from a man who had just given her three explosive orgasms. She snatched up the pillow and whacked him on the head with it, then bolted out of bed. “I can take care of that problem for you,” she said, fuming as she searched the dark bedroom for her bra and shirt. Damn it, where was the light switch? “Since I’m so much trouble, I’ll stay on my side of the driveway and you can stay the hell on your side of the driveway!” She was shouting by the time she was finished. There – that white blur might be her bra. She swooped down on it and picked it up, but it was a sock. A smelly sock. She threw it at him. He swatted it aside and lunged out of bed, reaching for her. “What did you do with my damn clothes!” she bellowed at him, evading his outstretched hand and storming around the room in the dark. “And where’s the damn light switch?”

“Would you settle down!” he said, sounding suspiciously as if he were snorting with laughter.

He was laughing at her. Tears stung her eyes. “Hell, no, I won’t settle down!” she shouted, and swung toward the door. “You can keep the damn clothes, I’ll walk home naked before I stay here with you another minute, you insensitive jerk – ”

A hard-muscled arm locked around her waist and sent her airborne. She shrieked, arms flailing; then she bounced on the bed and the air left her lungs with a “whoof.”

She had time to suck in just a little air before Sam landed on her, his heavy weight flattening her and forcing another exhalation. He was laughing as he subdued her with ridiculous ease; in five seconds flat she couldn’t wiggle anything.

To her astonishment and rage, she discovered he had another erection; it throbbed against her closed thighs. If he thought she would open her legs for him again after –

He shifted, expertly pressed with his knee, and her legs opened anyway. Another shift and he slid smoothly inside her, and she wanted to scream because he felt so good and she loved him and he was a jerk. Her lousy luck with men was still holding.

She burst into tears.

“Ah, babe, don’t cry,” he said soothingly, moving gently inside her.

“I will if I want to,” she sobbed as she clung to him.

“I love you, Jaine Bright. Will you marry me?”

“No way in hell!”

“You have to. You owe me your next paycheck for all the cussing you’ve done tonight. You won’t have to pay up if we get married.”

“There’s no rule like that.”

“I just made one.” He framed her head with his big hands and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away the tears.

“You said shit.”

“What else is a man supposed to say when he sees his glorious bachelor days coming to a swift and ignominious end?”

“You’ve been married before.”

“Yeah, but that didn’t count. I was too young to know what I was doing. I thought fucking was the same as loving.”

She wished he would be still. How could he carry on a conversation while doing what he was doing to her? No – she wished he would shut up, and keep doing exactly what he was doing, except maybe a little faster. And a little harder.

He kissed her temple, her jaw, the almost-dent in her chin. “I always heard that sex was different with a woman you loved, but I didn’t believe it. Sex was sex. Then I got inside you and it was like sticking my cock in an electrical outlet.”

“Oh. Was that what all that shaking and yelling was about?” She sniffled, but she was paying attention.

“Smart-ass. Yeah, that’s what it was about, not that I was the only one doing some shaking and yelling. It was different. Hotter. Stronger. And when it was over, I wanted to do it all over again.”

“You did do it all over again.”

“That proves it, then. For God’s sake, I’ve already come twice and here I am hard again. That’s either a fucking miracle, no pun intended, or it’s love.” He kissed her mouth, slowly and deeply, using his tongue. “Watching you throw a temper tantrum always gets me hard.”

“I don’t throw tantrums. Why is it when a man gets mad, he’s aaangry, but when a woman gets mad, it’s just a tantrum?” She paused, struck by what he’d said. “Always?”

“Always. Like when you knocked over my trash can, then yelled at me and poked me in the chest.”

“You were hard?” she asked in astonishment.

“As a rock.”

She said wonderingly, “Well, son of a b – gun.”

“So answer my question.”

She opened her mouth to say “yes,” but caution made her remind him, “I don’t do really well with engagements. Gives the guy too much time to think.”

“I’m skipping the engagement part. We’re not getting engaged; we’ll just get married.”

“In that case, yes, I’ll marry you.” She turned her face into his throat and inhaled the heat and scent of his body, thinking that if the perfumers of the world could bottle whatever it was Sam had, the female population would be in perpetual heat.

He growled in frustration. “Because you love me?” he prompted.

She smiled, her lips moving against his skin. “Crazy, wild, absolutely, insanely in love with you,” she affirmed. “We’ll get married next week.”

“I can’t do that!” she said in horror, drawing back to stare up at him as he loomed over her, slowly moving back and forth, back and forth, like seaweed floating on the tide.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because my parents won’t be back from vacation for… I’ve lost count of the days. About three weeks, I think.”

“Can’t they come home early? Where are they, anyway?”

“Touring Europe. And this is Mom’s dream vacation, because Dad has Parkinson’s, and even though the medication really helps, he’s gotten a little worse lately and she was afraid this would be their last chance. He was always too busy before he retired to get away for that length of time, so this is special to both of them, you know?”

“Okay, okay. We’ll do it the day after they get home.”

“Mom won’t even be unpacked!”

“Tough. Since we aren’t getting engaged, we can’t do the big church wedding thing – ”

“Thank God,” she said feelingly. She had gone through that experience with number two, the bastard, with all the expense and planning and trouble, only to have him back out at the last minute.

He heaved a sigh of relief, as if he had been afraid she would say she wanted a big wedding. “We’ll have everything ready to go. All your parents will have to do is show up.”

Jaine had been doing a really good job concentrating on the conversation while he was doing what he was doing, and she was impressed out of her skull that he could keep up his side of the conversation under these circumstances, but her body suddenly reached the point of no return. She gasped, her hips rising convulsively against him.

“We’ll talk later!” she said hoarsely, grabbed his butt, and pulled him hard into her.

They didn’t talk at all for quite a while.

Jaine stirred, yawning. She would have been content to lie in his arms all night long, but a sudden thought made her bolt upright. “BooBoo!”

Sam made a noise halfway between a grunt and a groan.

“What?”

“BooBoo. He must be starving! I can’t believe I forgot about him.” She scrambled out of bed. “Where’s the light switch? And why don’t you have any bedside lamps?”

“Beside the door, right side. Why would I need bedside lamps?”

“For reading.” She swept her hand along the wall, found the switch, and flipped it up. Bright light flooded the room.

Sam shielded his eyes, blinking, then flopped over on his stomach. “I read in the living room.”

Her own eyes took a minute to adjust. When they did, her pupils widened at the wreck they had made of the bed. The covers were twisted and hanging off, the pillows were – where were the pillows? – and the bottom sheet was pulled free at one corner and wadded in the middle of the bed. “Holy cow,” she said in astonishment, then shook herself and looked around for her clothes.

Sam opened his eyes and propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes both sleepy and intent as he watched her search the room. She found her shirt tangled in the bedcovers. She got down on her knees to peer under the bed for her bra; he scooted closer so he’d have a better view of her backside waving in the air.

“How on earth did it get under the bed?” she fussed, dragging the bra out of its hiding place.

“Crawled,” he suggested.

She gave him a quick grin and looked around. “And my pants are…?”

“In the living room.”

She went into the living room, turned on a lamp, and was in the process of untangling her pants when Sam wandered in, stark naked and carrying a pair of sneakers. Jaine didn’t bother with her bra, but slipped into her panties, then pulled on her shirt and pants. Sam stepped into his jeans and pulled them up, then sat down and put on the sneakers.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Walking you to your door.”

She opened her mouth to say that wasn’t necessary; then she remembered it was necessary, at least for now. She put on her shoes, stuffed her bra in her purse, then gathered up her shopping bags. Sam slid his pistol out of its holster, holding it in his right hand. “Give me your key and stay behind me,” he said.

She dug her key chain out of her purse, selected the house key for him, and handed it over.

The rain had stopped, leaving the night warm and humid. Crickets chirped, and at the end of the street the corner light wore a misty halo. They crossed both driveways and went up the steps to the kitchen door. Sam tucked the pistol in his waistband while he unlocked the door; then he returned the keys to her and drew the pistol once more. He opened the door, reached inside, and flipped on the light switch.

He uttered a vicious curse. Jaine blinked at the destruction illuminated by the overhead light, then she screamed, “BooBoo!” and tried to lunge past Sam.

He blocked her with an out-thrust arm, turning so that his big body barred the entrance. “Go to my house and call nine-one-one,” he barked. “Now!”

“But BooBoo – ”

“Go!” he yelled, giving her a shove that almost sent her flying off the stoop. Then he wheeled and stepped into the house.

He was a cop; she had to trust him in this. Her teeth chattering, she ran back to his house and into the kitchen, where she knew he had a cordless. Grabbing it up, she punched the talk button, then 911.

“Where are you calling from?” The voice was impersonal and almost uninterested.

“Uh – next door.” Jaine closed her eyes. “I mean, I’m calling from my next door neighbor’s. My house has been ransacked.” She gave her own address. “My neighbor is a cop, and he’s going through the house right now.” Carrying the phone, she walked out on the front porch, staring across the driveways at her little house, where lights now blazed from two of the windows. As she watched, the light in her bedroom came on. “He’s armed –”

“Who is?” The dispatcher sounded suddenly alarmed. “My neighbor is! Tell the police if they see a half-naked man with a gun, don’t shoot, he’s one of them!” She took a deep breath, her heart pounding so hard she thought she would be sick. “I’m going over there.”

“No! Ma’am, don’t go over there. If your neighbor is a policeman, stay out of his way. Ma’am, are you listening?”

“I’m here.” She didn’t say she was listening. Her hand was shaking, clattering the phone against her teeth.

“Stay on the phone, ma’am, so I can keep the responding officers up-to-date on the status. Units have already been dispatched to your address; they’ll be there in a few minutes. Just be patient, please.”

She couldn’t be patient, but she could be sensible. She waited on the porch, tears tracking down her face as she stared unblinkingly at her own house, where Sam was methodically searching it and putting his life in danger every time he entered a room. She didn’t dare think about BooBoo. The dispatcher said something else but she had stopped listening, though she did make a noise to let the woman know she was still there. In the distance she could hear the shrill of sirens.

Sam stepped out on the kitchen stoop, BooBoo cradled in his left arm.

“BooBoo!” Jaine threw down the phone and ran across to them. Sam let her take the cat from him, then he tucked the pistol in his waistband.

“Whoever did it didn’t hang around,” he said, putting his arm around her and urging her back toward his house.

With BooBoo safe and disgruntled in her arms, she dug in her heels. “I want to see – ”

“Not yet. Let the techs do their job first, maybe find something that will give us a clue who this bastard is.”

“You went in – ”

“And I was careful not to disturb anything,” he said, exasperated. “Come on, let’s sit down. The guys will be here in a minute.”

She remembered that she had thrown the phone aside. She picked it up and handed it to him. “Nine-one-one is still on the line.”

He put it to his ear, but kept a firm grip on her while he succinctly outlined the situation and said the house was clear, then disconnected. He put both arms around Jaine – and BooBoo – and held her close.

“Where did you find BooBoo?”

“He was hiding under that shelf thing in the hallway.”

She stroked the cat’s head, so grateful he was all right that she almost cried again. Her mom would never forgive her if anything happened to BooBoo.

“Do you think it was him?” she asked Sam, her voice low.

He was silent for a moment. The sirens were much closer now, the sound growing louder and louder in the still night air. As two cars turned the corner onto their street, Sam said, “I can’t afford not to think it.”