On many occasions, the neighbor's cat yowled in the night, an eerie cry. Or the animal rooted around in the garbage, dropping a trash can lid to the ground from time to time. Her heart leapt every time. Over the years, she realized her mind sometimes played tricks whenever Tony wasn't home. Her first reaction was to chastise herself for being foolish, but tonight was different.
Quickly making the sign of the cross, she closed her eyes and prayed she'd been mistaken. But her only answer was the ugly truth. A red laser pierced the night and cut through the blackness like a knife. A hideous Cyclops with a bloody red eye glared directly at her, finding her peeking through the window.
Damn it all! This was no cat.
Racing to the phone near the kitchen counter, she grabbed the receiver to her ear. With trembling fingers, she punched the buttons, dialing 911. All she heard was her quickening breaths. She tried again. Nothing. No dial tone.
The phone was dead.
Her hand tightened on her gun as Raven stepped through her house. With every room she entered, her arms rigidly extended in a two-fisted grip, aiming the weapon into every corner in search of the intruder. Between rooms, she held her Glock with bent elbows as she made her way to the next room. She left the kitchen for last. A glimpse down the hallway revealed the source of the cold air. In the kitchen, the side door off her carport was flung open.
Still, it could be a trap.
The man might be clever enough to open the door, hoping she'd let her guard down. And the outside light was out, no doubt disabled on purpose. As she entered the room, her eyes peered anywhere someone might hide. So far, she was alone.
But more evidence of the intruder was plain to see. Her stovetop had been wrecked, spotted with sauce as if the pot had boiled over. Yet it was obvious what had happened. The man had made a contribution to her recipe.
A framed photo of her father in uniform poked out from the bubbling sauce. It'd been ripped from the wall and thrown into the saucepot, splattering a mess across her white stove. Maybe it had only been a diversion. Stay alert, Mackenzie!
Raven shifted her gaze to the opened doorway. She aimed her weapon into the void. For all she knew, the man stood just outside in the shadows. She wouldn't be able to see his silhouette.
"You'd better be long gone, you son of a bitch!" her voice was stern, so contrary to how she felt.
She slid out the door into the night. On the cement of the carport, her damp feet ached with the cold. In an instant, winter's chill seized her. She gasped, sucking icy air down her throat. Then a vapor steam billowed from her lungs. Keep moving!
In the distance, she heard a droning sound from a television. Her neighbor's house. The sights and sounds of her childhood suburb filled her senses. Even after someone had broken into her home, the rest of the world went on in blissful ignorance.
Damn it! Slowly, she let her guard down.
But just as she lowered her gun, a noise came from the front of her house. Her body tensed again. The sound had been faint. A scuff of a shoe? Racing around the corner, she brushed past an evergreen. Bounding up the step, she reeled her shoulders, trying to aim her gun. But her arms struck something immovable—the dark shape of a man.
A loud pop. Shattered glass.
Cold as she was, pain shot through her joints when the man grabbed her in a viselike grip. He pulled her off the ground. She felt his warm breath against her neck. With elbows pinned to her chest, all she could do was flail her legs, kicking at her attacker.
She shrieked, not from fright, but from anger and frustration. A low, guttural sound. Writhing and twisting, she felt blood rush to her face. Her heels jabbed at the man's legs, striking without mercy. If she hurt him badly enough, he'd drop her. Only a matter of time before she found the sweet spot. With his grunt, she ramped up her assault.
"Damn it! Let me go, you bastard!"
The man had his hand on the barrel of her gun, trying to wrench it free.
"Hey, hey, stop it! Ow!" he protested. "Is this how you greet all your guests?"
Raven stopped. Ob, my God! She knew that voice. The man's hand pried the weapon from her grasp— only after she let him win.
"Christian? I thought—" She didn't bother to finish. Her heartbeat still hammered her eardrums.
He loosened his grip and stepped aside, setting her near the step to the front porch. "Be careful. I dropped the wine bottle. Glass is everywhere." Looking down at the robe and her feet, he asked, "Are you barefoot?"
Ignoring his question, she turned toward him. "Someone broke into my house."
A fleeting and cynical notion took hold, her cop instincts hard to deny. What if Christian had been the one in her house, then conveniently pretended to have just arrived? Her brow furrowed as she gave the idea shape, staring at him in the dark. Yet even with his face in shadow, she heard the concern in his voice.
"Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?" After brushing back her damp hair, he reached for her shoulders. "You're wet. You must be freezing."
God, how she wanted to believe in Christian. Being right about him meant her trust barometer was fully functional. But even now, she heard Tony's voice in her head, reminding her how dangerous this man was. Raven loved being a cop, but at times, she hated how it'd changed her over the years. Had she grown so jaded that she couldn't trust her own heart?
Before she delved deeper into that thought, he handed her the gun, then scooped her up in his arms, lifting her without effort. Stepping around the corner, he carried her through the kitchen door and slammed it shut with an elbow. With all his fussing, she felt ridiculous. But as she relaxed into his shoulder, smelling his subtle cologne mixed with the leather of his jacket, everything felt right. She'd been on her own for so long, it felt good to be taken care of for a change.
"Bedroom?" he asked.
Still stunned by his bold gesture, all she could do was point down the hall, eyes wide. Then her damned cop brain took charge.
"Christian. Please, I'm fine. You don't have to—"
Before she finished her objection, he'd yanked back the covers of her bed and set her down. She began to thaw the instant he pulled the quilt to her chin, more a reaction to him than the fine insulating capabilities of her comforter. But as he stared down at her, his confident expression melted like the chill from her skin.
Suddenly realizing where he was, he stood abruptly, then shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Christian's sudden uneasiness surprised her. She fought back a smile. Before now, "cute" was not a word she would've ever associated with Christian Delacorte. But damned if he didn't have the word stamped across his forehead. In blaze orange!
He made her feel safe again. It felt good not to be alone. And by the way he avoided her gaze, she knew he felt awkward with the unexpected intimacy. So, you're human after all, Delacorte!
"I'm gonna look through the rest of the house, if you don't mind, make sure we're alone." He narrowed his eyes. "Can I make you some hot tea? Or something?"
"Please. The teapot is on the stove," she called down the hall after he'd slipped out. The cop in her added, "And be careful what you touch. I'm gonna call for a team to dust for prints."
Raven couldn't just sit, like some grand queen bee. Sliding from bed, she tightened her robe around her waist and gave the sash a tug. She picked up the phone from her nightstand and called the station house. A long shot, but maybe the bastard had left some fingerprints. Raven ended the call, knowing a team would be arriving soon. She had to get dressed.