“Are you okay?’’
I nodded, surprised—and a tiny bit pleased—to see how worried he looked.
But when he spotted Wila in the carrier, the concern on his face changed to annoyance.
“What do you think you’re doing with that?’’
“I’m not leaving her out here alone, with no top on the VW. Who knows what might try to get at her? She’s already had enough trauma for one night.’’
He grimaced, but made room for us on the front seat. “Just try to keep her quiet.’’
“Yeah, right,’’ I said, as Wila let out a long screech. “Turn left about a half-mile up, at the sign that says High Horse Ranch.’’
I directed him the rest of the way in. Left at the last fence post. Right at the big oak tree. In no time at all, we were pulling up in my front yard.
“You’re staying in the car.’’ His tone offered no room to argue, not that I wanted to.
“Don’t worry. I’m not stupid. I’m not going up against the unknown, not when my only weapon is a noisy Siamese cat.’’
As Martinez got out of the driver’s seat, his right hand slid across his chest, under his jacket. I knew he must have a shoulder holster there.
“Be careful, okay?’’ I said.
With a curt nod, he was gone.
He banged on my front wall and yelled Police! then edged the front door open with his foot. The longest five minutes in history elapsed after he disappeared inside. I watched as light replaced the darkened squares of my front windows. A dim glow spilled from the backyard. Martinez must have flicked the switch for the outdoor light at the kitchen door. I imagined him moving down the hallway into the bathroom and then on to my bedroom.
I suddenly flashed on all the housekeeping I hadn’t had time for in the last few days. It was ridiculous under the circumstances, but I hoped he wouldn’t notice the pile of dirty clothes and underwear I’d left on my bedroom floor.
Finally, I saw him walk around the house from out back. He holstered his pistol and patted its location over the outside of his jacket. I got out of the car to join him.
“All clear,’’ Martinez said. “Whoever was here is gone now. Things look fine inside.’’
“Let’s get poor Wila into the house.’’ I leaned into the car and picked up the carrier.
“Let me get that.’’ He grabbed it from me. I almost protested that I was strong enough to carry my own carrier. Then I remembered Mama’s admonition: flies, honey, vinegar.
“Thanks,’’ I said instead.
Stepping over the glass shards and through the front door, I did a quick survey.
“Aside from that broken window, everything looks okay,’’ I told him.
“Except that key in the inside deadbolt,’’ he said. “You know that’s a dumb place to leave it, right?’’
“Didn’t they teach you in police school not to blame the victim?’’ I snapped.
“Sorry. I just wish people wouldn’t invite the bad guys in.’’
I wondered whether he was talking about me or his murdered wife.
“Try not to disturb anything,’’ he said. “I’m going to bag that key. Whoever broke in had to touch it. We may still want to get somebody out here to dust for fingerprints.’’
I led the way into my bedroom. “You can put the carrier down right there.’’ I nodded toward the floor. I laid out Wila’s things—the litter box and food from Emma Jean’s, and a toy mouse I bought. Then I sprung her from her prison. She lit out, fleeing for cover under my bed.
“We won’t see her for a while,’’ I said.
“At least she’s finally quiet,’’ Martinez said.
Wila gave a short meow, just to prove him wrong.
“Why don’t you take a good look, see if anything is missing? All I noticed out of the ordinary is that pile of clothes.’’ He frowned at the floor. “Whoever broke in probably tossed your dresser drawers, looking for money or jewelry.’’
I felt my face flush. “Uhmm, that was me. It’s been a bad week for laundry.’’
In fact, I was wearing my last pair of clean undies, the ones with the droopy elastic waist and the hole in the seam by my butt. I didn’t share that detail with Martinez.
We left the scared cat in the bedroom and went into the kitchen, where I got a plastic sandwich bag from the drawer. Martinez used it to extract the key from the front lock. Then, he sealed it inside the bag.
I did a quick circuit of the rest of my house. A string of pearls from Daddy’s mother, my only jewelry, still nestled in my sock drawer. Change filled a brass spittoon by the front door, including a ten-dollar bill I’d left on the top. My computer was on my desk; my share of Grandma’s silver was still in the kitchen.
“Thank God they didn’t get the gator,’’ Martinez nodded toward my coffee table, a half-smile on his face.
“Yeah. I’d have to trap another one so I’d have a place to keep my car keys.’’
His eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me you killed that?’’
“Well, I had a little help. My cousin Dwight’s the one with the license, so he had to be there,’’ I said modestly. “Anyway, looks like nothing’s missing.’’
With Martinez on my heels, I returned to where I’d started. Suddenly, I was aware of being alone in my bedroom with a sexy, attractive man. He was close enough that I could smell his aftershave. Spicy cloves. My bed was just inches away, the same bed that had seen no action since the down in the feather pillows was still on the ducks.
He put a hand on my arm. “Are you really okay?’’ His voice was husky. “It can be traumatic to have your house broken into, even if they didn’t get anything.’’ His dark eyes searched my face.
Just one step, I thought. One step. Hell, I could just tackle him and toss him onto the bed. I’m almost as tall as he is. I wondered once we got down to it, where would he put his gun?
His gun.
“Oh, my God!’’ I crossed my bedroom in four quick steps and yanked open the closet door. “Paw-Paw’s shotgun.’’ I quickly scanned the small, crowded space. “It’s gone.’’
Nothing spoils a sexy mood like the notion that some maniac might be stalking you with your own granddaddy’s shotgun.