Too bad.
Let James wonder if someone had been inside.
Served him right.
Mouth dry, starting to sweat despite the temperature, she pushed back the latch and opened the door, then stepped onto the porch.
All quiet.
Dark sky, falling snow, freezing temperatures, but noiseless.
Still, her skin prickled.
All she had to do was hurry down the lane and, at the road, make her way across the parking lot of the inn to the spot where she’d left her car. Another twenty minutes and she’d be home free—
Scraaape!
She turned toward the sound, a scratch that came from the spot where the porch wrapped toward the back of the house.
And saw nothing.
Just your imagination.
Pulse going wild, she scanned the snowy landscape more carefully, but found no one hiding in the shadows.
Just get out of here.
As softly as possible, she pulled the door shut behind her and started off the porch.
Scraaape!
Louder.
Just the wind, causing a branch to rub against the roof or—
Her heart was a jackhammer as she started across the lawn.
A deep growl rumbled from the porch.
She froze.
Turned.
Saw the dark figures on the porch. A man and a dog with a shaggy coat, pointed ears, eyes reflecting the eerie light.
Her stomach knotted, and she was about to run when an all-too-familiar voice stopped her cold: “Rebecca.”
Oh. God. James.
“You scared me! What’re you doing here—?” she started.
“I forgot something,” he said, but she looked to the parking area, where there was no vehicle. His friend must have dropped him off, and he’d returned to catch whoever was inside his house. She hadn’t fooled him at all.
“And I live here,” he went on. He’d been leaning against the siding but pushed himself away from the house and started slowly toward her. “So the question goes to you. What’re you doing here?” The dog walked at his side, its hackles up, its eyes focused on her.
“But you . . . I thought you were in the hospital.”
“Until I wasn’t.” He moved slowly down the steps. He was angry: she saw it in the shadowy light. “Why the hell did you break into my house?”
“I didn’t break into it.”
“It was locked.”
She knew she could outrun him. He wasn’t that steady on his feet, and he looked like hell, she saw as he got closer, his head still bound as it was, his skin pale in the wintry half-light. But she couldn’t outrun the shepherd, and he’d eventually catch her even if he didn’t sic the dog on her. The jig, as her father used to say, was up. “The dog door was open.”
“You crawled through the dog door? Jesus, Rebecca, what’s wrong with you?” Then as if he actually thought she might answer, he held up a hand and asked, “Why?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “I thought I might find something here that would help me find Megan.”
“By breaking into a house that had already been searched by the police?”
Even to her own ears, it sounded ridiculous.
He stared down at her, obviously angry. Not the first time, she reminded herself. “And what did you think you’d find?”
“I’m not really sure. Something. Anything. To help me find Megan.”
“In my house?”
“Yes!” she said, her own anger rising. “That’s where she told me she was coming from.” Rebecca pointed a finger at the house. “She said she’d had a horrible fight with you and that she had to get away. That she was afraid of you.”
“Afraid of me?”
“Why do you keep repeating everything? Yes. She was out of her mind—hysterical—and so I thought maybe coming here would help me get some idea of what happened. It’s not as if you’re filling in all the blanks.”
“I would if I could, but—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know! You can’t effin’ remember.”
His lips flattened as a gust of wind rattled through the branches of a nearby tree. “Come on, let’s go inside, it’s freezing.” Despite the anger radiating through him, he appeared a little unsteady as he walked up the steps to the front porch.
“I should go.”
“Not yet.” He was angry. “Where’s your car?”
“At the inn.” She glanced toward the empty parking area. “Where’s yours?”
He snorted. “With the police for now. They, like you, seem to think I did something to your sister.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not.”
“You remember,” she charged and took a step toward him.
“I wish.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I just know, okay,” he threw back at her. “I’m not violent.” But the pulse throbbing near his temple, at the hairline not covered by his bandage, said otherwise. “I would never hurt . . . anyone.”
“And this you know. This, you remember.”
The dog growled.
She didn’t break his angry gaze.
“I wouldn’t hurt her.”
He seemed convinced, but she knew how easily he could lie. She said, “You left in a van with that other man and then came back because you knew I was inside.”
“Ralph knew someone was.” He looked at her. “I don’t have rats in my attic.”
“And then you stood out in the freezing weather after just getting out of the hospital?”
“That’s right.” Now he pushed open the door and stepped into the vestibule, the dog with him. Just inside the door, he snapped on a light. “Take a look around. A good one. Instead of skulking with a flashlight or whatever. This is how I found my place, trashed by the police.”
“And whatever happened before,” she said, walking to the living room and staring at the stain on the raised hearth. “Is that blood . . . all yours?”
“Don’t know.”
“Another memory lapse?”
He glared at her, then looked away. “I figure the police will
