“Okay. I’m ready.”
“You’re something, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. She wouldn’t admit to him that she’d momentarily forgot where she’d put her bag. She’d been barely out from hiding and checking out the damage to the place when Joe, the official hunk, showed up. The kitchen had been shot up by a tsunami of bullets. She knew it was more than a simple robbery. Joe was right. Bullet holes were very telling.
He took her arm and led her behind him through the back door and then he pushed her against the wall of the house.
“Wait here.” He scooted to the corner of the house and took a look toward the front. The neighborhood sounded quiet. Normal. Why had no one called the cops? Hadn’t any of the neighbors heard the commotion, the shooting? But then she supposed there wasn’t anyone home. They were all at work.
She glanced back to the patio where they’d come outside to see the broken glass, the cut wires, the hole where her security alarm used to be. Reassured that it hadn’t been all her imagination, some horrible nightmare that she’d woken up from, it still felt surreal. The cognitive dissonance was damned disconcerting.
The blue-eyed devil waved for her to follow him. Crouched low, she followed his posture and his movements to the black Land Rover that sat in her driveway, engine still running. She was surprised that he’d bothered to open the passenger door for her, but realized he was shielding her from the street as he did. Then he ran around the front and jumped into the driver seat and pulled out of the driveway of her once lovely home. It hit her then how lucky she was that she didn’t keep her precious vintage clothing collection here.
The damn collection that had gotten her into this mess.