stairs. She walked over to the worn, faded office chair and sank down.
“Tara?” Jake prompted. He walked close to her chair. She kept her head down, staring at his black shoes. It was so tempting to ignore what had brought her back to town. All she’d done since Jake Vernelli had arrived in town was attract attention. Why on earth would she give him one more reason to wonder about her?
Because to do anything else would be careless. Stupid really. She needed to deal with what was happening at her house before it dealt with her. She tilted her head up and made eye contact. “When I got home after the picnic, I realized that someone had been in my house. Or maybe—” she swallowed hard “— is still inside? I don’t know.”
Jake’s brown eyes were bright, alert, already processing. “You didn’t see anybody?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t go inside?”
“No.”
“Was your door bashed in?”
“No.”
“Tara?” Jake scratched his head. “Then just how do you know that somebody broke in?”
“My screen door doesn’t latch. When you go through it, it partially closes but it never latches. You have to make an effort to pull the door and then turn it just so, so that it stays latched. The tension is wrong,” she explained.
He didn’t say anything but she could tell by the skeptical look on his face that he wasn’t convinced.
“I always latch my screen door. I check and double-check that, too. When I got home tonight, it was unlatched.”
Jake rubbed his jaw. “Tara, you no doubt left your house in a hurry this morning. You probably didn’t latch it.”
“I didn’t use that door this morning. I used my back door. I know the front door was latched. I know it,” she repeated. “I don’t forget details.” Not when her life might depend on it.
Jake stayed silent. “Okay,” he responded finally. “I’ll go take a look.” He reached for his keys on the desk and took two steps toward the door. He stopped and sighed. “You’re not going to stay here, are you?”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t think so. Just please don’t get out of your vehicle when we get to your house.”
* * *
J AKE STOPPED HIS CAR two hundred feet shy of her driveway. He pulled off onto the side of the gravel road. She pulled in behind him.
He got out and walked back to her van. “I need your house key.”
She pulled it off the ring. “This one unlocks both the door lock and the bolt lock. Front and back doors are keyed the same.”
“Okay. I’ll check it out. You stay here,” he said.
Tara didn’t answer.
“Tara, you will stay in this car, won’t you?” he asked.
She nodded. What choice did she have? Her legs were shaking so much that she doubted they would hold her.
The trees on the property were thick enough to offer cover for her car but sparse enough that she could still see him after he’d walked up the road and made the turn into her driveway. For a big man, he moved quietly. His right arm was raised, bent at the elbow, the barrel of the gun pointed at the sky.
Using his foot, he eased open the still-unlatched screen door. He pushed his foot against the wooden door but nothing happened. She waited for him to try the key but he didn’t. Instead, he backed away from the house and down the steps. Then, his body hugging the foundation, he edged around her small house.
When he disappeared from sight, Tara sucked in a deep breath. One one hundred. Two one hundred. Three one hundred. When she got to twenty, she gave up all pretense of waiting patiently.
She opened her door, cringing when it made a soft squeak. She moved cautiously up the length of driveway and across her small yard, sure she would be shot at any moment.
She was five feet from her front door when it swung open. There was a shadow of a man and Tara caught the glimpse of a gun.
“It’s me,” she squeaked.
It was more of a hiss than a sigh. “I told you to stay in the van.”
“I know. Is everything okay?” she
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