“Over the fence, from the back lot of the lumber place. But I went further down to the vacant lot at the corner, then cut back here on the pavement. I started to come to your front door, but then I figured they might have a car cruising the neighborhood by now, if they’ve stopped to think. So I went up your driveway, around your carport, and took the stepping stones to the back door.” He paused. “Oh, shit, the porch! Footprints!”
“I took care of it.”
I could sense his movement as he turned to stare in my direction. But all he said was “Good.” His eyes closed, I thought, and he shifted positions painfully.
My eyes had done some adjusting, enough to make him out. He hadn’t cut all his hair off, as it had looked at first. He was wearing a black knit watch cap and he’d tucked all his hair up under it. I eased it off. Of course the cap hadn’t done anything to keep his head dry. The released strands spread in rat’s tails across the white bedside rug.
He opened his eyes and regarded me steadily. I found myself running my fingers through my hair to fluff it out. Ridiculous. I couldn’t postpone dealing with the wound any longer.
“Let’s get your vest off,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. I scooted closer. “Hold out your hand. I’ll help you sit up.”
Jack had better night vision than I did. His hand was on mine instantly. I gripped and pulled, automatically giving the “Huh!” of heavy exertion. I leaned him against the side of the bed and unzipped the vest. I pulled it down his right arm first. I eased it across his back, leaning almost against his chest to accomplish the maneuver. I smelled the wet of his vest and his shirtsleeves, and the scent of his skin, the faintest trace of some aftershave. Then I scuttled over to his left side, held up his left arm with one hand while I tugged at the vest with the other. He gave a deep groan, and I sucked my breath in sympathetically. But I didn’t stop. The vest wasn’t actually stuck; it was the movement of his arm and shoulder that was causing him pain.
His flannel shirt, now,
With the slightly improved visibility I could just see enough to cut off the shirt without hurting Jack worse. He was leaning back against the bed with his eyes closed.
I wanted to call Carrie, but her arrival would be a dead giveaway. Jack was still shivering, but it didn’t seem to be as teeth-chattering a tremor as before.
There was a single loud knock at the back door. Jack’s eyes flew open and stared into mine, only a few inches away.
“They won’t come in,” I promised. I looked down at my robe. It was streaked with dirt and damp and blood. I unbelted it and draped it over Jack, wiping my hands on its hem. I went into the hall and up to the back door, as noisily as I could.
“Who is it?” I asked loudly. “I’m going to call the police!”
“Lily, hey! It’s Darcy!”
“Darcy Orchard, what the hell are you doing knocking at my door in the middle of the night? Go away!”
“Lily, we just want to make sure you’re all right. Someone broke in over at the store.”
“So?”
“He took off running across the back lot. He scaled the fence and went into the lumber yard lot. We think he climbed out and came across the tracks.”
“So?”
“Let us lay eyes on you, Lily. We gotta be sure you’re not being held hostage.”
That was clever.
“I’m not letting you in my house in the middle of the night,” I said baldly, figuring that would be congruent with my history and character. And it was the simple truth. They would not come into my house.
“No, that’s fine, honey. We just want to see you’re okay.” Darcy did a good job of sounding concerned.
I switched on the light above the back door, which I’d been hoping to avoid in case Jack had left traces I hadn’t anticipated. I stuck my head out the door and glared at Darcy up on my back porch and the group of men in my backyard. Darcy wasn’t dressed for the weather; he looked exactly like he’d run out the door in whatever he had on. His thinning hair was plastered to his head. His pale eyes glistened in the porch light. Darcy was enjoying himself.
I swept my eyes over the four bundled figures clustered together behind him, enduring the light rain and chill wind. I was trying to gather in a look at the posts supporting the little porch roof while I was at it.
Dammit all to hell. Jack had left a bloody fingerprint on one of them; but it was on the inside toward me, thank God.
To make sure their attention didn’t wander, I stepped out on the tiny porch in my nightgown, and five pairs of eyes bugged out.
I heard a reverent “Wow,” which Darcy instantly suppressed by turning to glare at the offender. Despite the fact that all the men had pulled up their collars and pulled down their hats, I could recognize the exclamation had come from the boy who worked at the loading dock of the lumber supply house. I wondered how they’d picked Darcy to be the one who got his name on the record, so to speak.
“See, I’m fine,” I said, not having to work at sounding furious. “I’m under no duress, and I could walk away from this house right now if I wanted to freeze. How come all of you are out in the rain chasing a burglar, anyway? Don’t you have an alarm system that calls the police?”
As I’d hoped, going on the offense made them begin to back away.
“We were having a little…” Darcy paused, clearly unsure how to end the sentence.
“Inventory,” said one of the men. His voice was oddly muffled since he was trying to keep his face buried in his collar. I was pretty sure it was Jim Box, Darcy’s workout buddy and coworker. Jim had always thought quicker than Darcy, but without the panache. Behind him, a figure crouched with a hood covering most of his features, but I would recognize that thin, mean mouth anywhere. Tom David Meicklejohn, in mufti. Hmmm.
“Right, we have to do pre-Christmas inventory,” Darcy said, relieved. “Takes all night. We’d turned off the alarm because we were going in and out.”
“Um-hmm,” I said, neutrally. As I’d anticipated, they began to back off even more quickly, though still keeping their eyes on my nightgown. I decided to burn it.
“Aren’t you going to go wake up Carlton, too?” I demanded, jerking my head toward Carlton’s little house, almost identical to mine. “Maybe
The bedraggled group began to herd toward Carlton’s house, where I’d noticed a light burning in the bedroom. I figured Carlton had company and would give them as warm a reception as I had. I slammed my back door shut, turned the locks as loudly as I could, and switched off the porch light quickly, hoping they would fall in a puddle in the sudden darkness.
Fools. Dangerous fools.
It made me sick that I had exposed myself to them. I crossed my arms over my chest, tried to feel warmer.
I went into my bedroom and padded past Jack to get to the window. Opening the shades a trifle, I peered out. Yes, Carlton was standing at his back door now, in an attractive velour bathrobe and nothing else, looked like. He was very angry.
Even as I watched, he slammed his own back door and switched out his light. I’d closed my eyes the second before, so when I thought my vision had adjusted, I peered into the darkness again. I could make out vague shapes, trailing back across my yard and up the steep embankment to the railroad tracks. They’d given up the chase.
“They’ve gone,” I said.
“Good,” Jack said. His voice was a little steadier, but hoarse with suppressed pain. I shut the shades again, tightly, and loosened the tiebacks on the curtains so they fell shut, too. Instead of switching on the overhead light, I used the bedside lamp. I knelt down by Jack again. His eyes had closed against the sudden light. I stared at him for a long moment. I was thinking that I’d better have put my money on the right horse, or the consequences would be too drastic to imagine.
I sat back on my heels. The shoulder wound was the only injury Jack had. It had stopped bleeding. It looked awful. I didn’t have any experience treating bullet wounds, but it seemed that the bullet had plowed through the top
