parents, who were getting crazier and crazier in their old age. Without complaint, he even slept on the lumpy sofa in her dad’s small study—in their stuffy, sultry, mothball-scented retirement village condo. Susan and Mattie shared the guest room. During that trip Allen asked her parents if he could marry their daughter.
That had been five weeks ago. Susan didn’t want him spending money on an engagement ring, and they still hadn’t set a date. She wasn’t in any real hurry. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she still had two framed photos of Walt on display in her living room.
Allen didn’t ask her to put them away, nor did he pressure her about setting a wedding date. So when he’d started pushing for this trip to Cullen a few days ago, she couldn’t very well refuse. Allen didn’t ask for a lot.
Half sitting up in bed, Susan groped around in the darkness until she found the lamp on her nightstand. She switched on the light, then picked up her wristwatch and squinted at it: 2:50 AM. She gazed at the vacant spot beside her on the bed. There was a noise downstairs; it sounded like the sunroom’s glass door sliding open.
Susan crawled out of bed and threw on her bathrobe. Pushing her hair back from her face, she padded down the corridor and checked in on Mattie in his bedroom. He was sleeping. From the top of the stairs, she could see a light was on—probably in the kitchen or the sunroom. Susan crept down a few steps. “Allen? Honey?” she called softly.
No answer.
From the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t see anyone in the first-floor hallway. “Honey?” she called again—a little louder. “Allen, are you down here?”
She poked her head in the kitchen. Only the stove light was on. She heard water steadily dripping from the faucet—and then, outside, a rustling noise. In the window above the sink, she spotted someone—or something— darting past the house outside. Susan gasped. “Allen? Allen, where are you?”
She retreated toward the sunroom, where she saw the sliding glass door halfway open. A chilly night breeze drifted into the house. Susan felt it kissing her bare feet. She clutched her robe at the neck. There was a light on by the sofa—and a small glass, half filled with bourbon on the end table. The Robert Dugoni book she’d given Allen was open, pages facing down, on the sofa cushion.
Susan heard floorboards creak on the porch outside. She swiveled around toward the glass door and gaped at the shadowy figure standing there.
A hand went to her heart. “Oh, Lord, Allen, you scared the hell—”
She fell silent as he stepped inside. He wore sneakers, sweatpants, and a Rainier Beer T-shirt. Allen looked frayed, and he had a gun in his hand.
“Where did you get that?” Susan murmured, staring at the gun. “I didn’t know you had that. What—”
“I thought I saw someone out there,” he said. He glanced outside again before sliding the glass door shut behind him. “But it’s okay now….”
Dumbfounded, Susan stared at him. “Was that you I saw running past the kitchen window?”
Nodding, he adjusted the safety on the gun. “If someone was out there, he’s not coming back.”
“Where did you get the gun?”
“I’ve had it for years,” he answered. “I just didn’t mention it because I knew you’d freak out if I told you I owned a gun.”
“Well, you were right,” she replied. “I
“Relax, I’ve never smuggled any firearms inside the Blanchette duplex,” he said wryly. He set the gun on the end table and then picked up his glass of bourbon. “Just be glad I brought it along for this trip—what with that creepy son of a bitch following you here and probably giving you that flat tire.” He took a gulp of bourbon.
“I had it in the glove compartment of my car,” Allen assured her. “I only took it out about an hour ago when I heard a noise outside. I’ll put the gun back tomorrow morning. Until then, I’m holding on to it, okay? I’ll make sure it stays out of Mattie’s reach.”
With a sigh, she leaned against the sunroom doorway. She still didn’t feel very reassured. “I don’t understand why you felt you needed to bring a gun along this weekend. I mean, were you expecting trouble?”
He wandered over and rested his arms on her shoulders. Then he leaned in to kiss her.
Susan kept her arms folded in front of her. She could taste the bourbon on his lips.
Allen touched his forehead against hers. “Please, don’t freak out about the gun, okay? I’ve had it for years, and I know how to handle it. I’m just looking out for you and Mattie. Why don’t you go back upstairs and try to sleep, babe? I’ll be up in a little while—as soon as I’m sure we’re all safe and sound here.”
Susan still felt uncomfortable. Her eyes wrestled with his. “Listen, do me a big favor and don’t have any more to drink, not while you’re toting that gun.”
He smiled and kissed her again. “No problem, point taken. Besides, believe me, I don’t want to be hungover while we’re sailing tomorrow—” he glanced at his wristwatch, “or today, rather.” He chuckled. “Yikes, he’ll be up in about four hours. You better go to bed, Mommy. Get some shut-eye.”
He kissed her again, and this time, Susan kissed him back.
Heading up the stairs, she nervously rubbed her arms. She thought she knew everything about Allen, but until a few minutes ago, she had no idea he owned a gun. And it still seemed odd that he’d brought it along on this carefree weekend retreat, which he’d planned. He’d never really answered her question. Had he come here expecting trouble?
She stopped by Mattie’s room again and peeked in on him. He was still asleep, undisturbed. Susan moved on to the master bedroom.
Shedding her robe, she draped it over a chair. Then she crawled under the covers, reached over, and switched off the light. Allen had told her to get some sleep. But she knew it wouldn’t come easily, not while he was downstairs keeping watch—
Her head on the pillow, Susan took a few deep breaths and tried to relax. But she knew—as much as she tried—she wouldn’t fall asleep.
It would be hours until morning.
CHAPTER SIX
At first, Jordan didn’t pay any attention to the other customer who walked into Rosie’s. From where he stood by the refrigerated foods and drinks section, Jordan briefly glanced at the guy—a good-looking man in his late thirties with wavy, silver-black hair and a cocky manner. Except for Rosie, behind the counter, they were the only ones in there.
Jordan was on a mission. He’d already driven into town and picked up the birthday cake he’d ordered for Leo. Just for kicks, he’d told the bakery it was for a young boy, so the cake had Speed Racer’s likeness in the multicolored frosting and a miniature plastic race car by the
Leo would definitely like his birthday present. He’d flipped over a leather aviator jacket they’d first seen at Nordstrom about six weeks ago. Leo had gone back on two separate occasions to try it on again—even though he couldn’t afford the damn thing. Now it was wrapped and hidden in the back of Jordan’s Honda Civic. It cost three hundred and ninety-nine bucks. But that didn’t break the bank for Jordan, not at all. His dad was rich, and he’d also inherited a ton of money from his mom.
While in town, he’d also picked up birthday candles, streamers, and balloons. The plan was Moira would go for a walk with Leo in the woods. By the time they returned at one o’clock, Jordan would have the cabin decorated and the cake on display.
It wasn’t even noon yet, plenty of time. So, Jordan had stopped by Rosie’s for some Tim’s barbecue-flavored potato chips and Cheetos, and—after Leo’s diabetic episode last night—they also needed to restock on OJ.
Jordan opened the refrigerator door and reached for a big glass jug of orange juice. He heard the other customer talking to Rosie: “Say, listen, do you sell sunscreen here?”
