“No problem,” I said, wondering what the situation was, but Dylan didn’t offer any more information. He’d gone real quiet, in fact. “Go through town, take the first left after the post office.”

He flipped a switch, and a flashing blue light on the dash came on. We sped through town, and speed demon that I am, I thought it was cool. It only took ten minutes to get to the address, but my excitement at racing through town died at seeing two other police cars and an ambulance parked out front.

“What’s going on here?”

Dylan parked on the grass in front of the house. “Don’t know yet.”

I was pretty sure he knew more than he was saying, but I let it go. Obviously something was seriously wrong, and I didn’t want to distract him.

“Wait here,” he said before jumping out of the car, then jogging up to Tommy Evans.

While they talked, Dylan kept glancing at the open door to the house. I craned my neck, trying to see inside, but the only view I had was of the foyer and what I assumed was a coat closet door. Neighbors were gathered on the street, and I turned on the ignition long enough to roll down my window.

“I heard two shots,” one of them said.

“I thought it was three,” another stated.

Someone was shot? I tried to think if I knew anyone who lived on Crooked Creek Road, but no one came to mind. It appeared that Dylan forgot I was in his car because he headed for the open door of the house without looking back. Was I supposed to go ahead and drive home? He’d told me to wait, so I didn’t know what to do. Finally I settled on waiting a little longer to see if he came back to the car.

The people on the street quieted as Dylan stood at the open door, talking to someone. I strained to hear him, but couldn’t. Why didn’t he go on in? Tommy, along with a female cop I recognized as Kim Payton, and two EMTs watched from the sidewalk leading up to the house.

Something was going on, and I tried to think of a reason Dylan wouldn’t go inside. Was there a hostage situation? That would explain what I was seeing. I already knew someone had a gun from what the neighbors had said. The idea of that made me nervous. What if Dylan got hurt?

Fifteen minutes passed and still Dylan talked. Then he disappeared inside the house. I wanted to yell at him to come back out. Tommy and the other cop approached the door, their hands on the guns still in their holsters. I put my hand over my chest, pressing it against my rapidly beating heart. My shoulders hunched, preparing to cringe at hearing gunshots.

There wasn’t a sound, not from the neighbors huddling nearby, not from the EMTs whose gazes were focused on the open door, the same as mine, and not from the two cops with their shoulders pressed against the doorframe. I’m not even sure any of us were breathing. Maybe another twenty minutes passed, and then the cops disappeared inside.

Not long after, Kim poked her head out, gesturing to the EMTs. They rolled their gurney into the house. I still wasn’t sure if Dylan had meant for me to go, but I couldn’t. Not without seeing him walk out, safe and whole. An SUV with a logo on the side identifying it as the county coroner pulled onto the driveway, parking behind the police car. A woman exited, a black bag in her hand.

Oh God, someone was dead. The only reason I was able to stay in the car and not run searching for Dylan was that there had been no gunfire since he’d walked into the house. Shortly after the coroner entered, the EMTs came out, rolling the gurney to the ambulance. Shocked, I stared at Gertie Jansen as they pushed her past me. I hadn’t known the Jansens lived here, but I did know her. She was in my mother’s book club and had been to my parents’ house on several occasions.

Her head was wrapped in gauze and one eye was swollen shut. She had obviously been beaten. Had her husband done that to her? I’d heard he had a hot temper, but to do that to his wife? Now I understood why Dylan had been quiet on the way here. Was Mr. Jansen dead?

The ambulance sped off, siren blaring. I should probably leave, but I couldn’t make myself do it. Dylan wouldn’t take this well if his officer was dead, and I wanted to be here for him. So I waited.

“I thought you’d left.”

I jerked awake at hearing Dylan’s voice. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring out the windshield. I hadn’t heard him get in the car. “You said, ‘wait here,’ so I did.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I should have told you to go home.”

I’m glad he didn’t. I think he needed me, even if he didn’t realize it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What I want to do is forget the last two hours.” He shifted in his seat, facing me. “Will you come home with me? Stay the night? No sex, just be with me.”

“I don’t—”

“Forget I asked.” He turned the key in the ignition.

I put my hand on his leg. “I’ll come home with you if you’ll tell me why you want me to.” His Mustang rumbled, vibrating under me, wanting to go do its job of carrying us away. “Why, Dylan?”

He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Because I can’t be alone with myself tonight.”

But why? I decided it didn’t matter why because I couldn’t leave him to face whatever demons were plaguing him. And he had demons. That I could plainly see. “I’ll come with you if you’ll promise to talk to me,” I said. Whatever was going on with him, he needed to get it off his chest. I knew all about holding things in. If not for Autumn and Savannah forcing me to talk about losing Natalie, I think I might have exploded from grief.

His eyes flared as he looked at me. “You drive a hard bargain, Red. Come home with me and maybe I’ll tell you why I need you tonight.”

It was like spinning the roulette wheel at Harrah’s in nearby Cherokee. You win. You lose. But what the hell. I was willing to gamble for the first time in my life. “Take me home with you, Dylan.”

He exhaled a long breath, and I had the thought that he’d believed I would refuse. I probably should have, but he needed me. Without another word he made a U-turn, heading back toward town.

“Would you like to make a detour to your place, get some things?” he said once we’d passed the shops and restaurants.

“Sure. That would be great.” He went silent again. It was killing me not asking any questions. What had happened in that house that had upset him? Without knowing, I had no idea what to say.

He didn’t get out of the car when we arrived at my apartment. It only took me a few minutes to throw a toothbrush and some makeup into a small case. I grabbed something to sleep in, a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and undies, stuffing them into a tote along with the makeup bag. When I came back to the car, Dylan was on the phone. I tossed my overnight bag into the back seat. It was impossible not to listen to his conversation.

“Get her a good lawyer,” he said.

Gertie? I’d come to the conclusion that Gertie had shot her husband.

“No, we’re not going to question her without an attorney present. You saw what he did to her.”

I found that interesting and insightful. Obviously he meant Gertie, and from watching police shows on TV, I would have thought he’d want to interrogate her as soon as she was able to talk, hoping that she didn’t ask for a lawyer. Instead he was protecting her.

Dylan intrigued me more every day. I was learning that he was a complicated man, which only made me want to peel away his layers, learn what made him tick. He rolled down the windows as we traveled to his place, leaning his face toward the opening as if he needed the fresh air in order to breathe.

Something was eating at him, something more than what had happened tonight. Why I felt that, I wasn’t sure, but I hoped he would open up when we got to his apartment.

The first thing he did when we walked inside was to go straight to the kitchen, where he filled a tumbler with scotch. I dropped my overnight case onto the counter and waited for him to tell me why he was pouring scotch neat straight down his throat.