92 Pacific Boulevard

“But—”



“Faith, please! This is important.”



“All right,” she agreed, although he could tell how worried she was.



It wasn’t until after midnight that Troy’s hunch proved to be correct. He was sitting in the pitch-dark living room when he heard a slight commotion near the garage. Not wasting a moment, he contacted his deputies and had them surround the area.



“Troy?” Faith whispered from the hallway. “Did you hear that?”



Apparently she was a light sleeper or hadn’t been to sleep at all.



“Go back to your room and stay put,” he said, not hiding his annoyance. He enunciated each word as distinctly as he could, keeping his voice low.



She didn’t respond.



“Did you hear me?” he asked more loudly.



“Fine, fine. I’m on my way,” she muttered. “I never knew you were so bossy.”



Maybe he was but Troy refused to take any chances with her safety. He was the one paid to take risks, not Faith.



A louder commotion broke out in the garage, and Deputy Weaver gave a shout. Troy ran for the back door and opened it just in time to see a man dressed completely in black dash across the side yard.



Troy was long past his physical prime, but, junk food aside, he kept in shape. Racing after the man, he tackled him, landing hard on the wet grass. Weaver, who was directly behind him, grabbed the intruder by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to his feet. Troy slapped on the handcuffs he’d kept attached to his belt.



Deputy Johnson shined a flashlight into their prisoner’s face and Troy instantly recognized the man who’d been the source of all this trouble. He felt a sense of satisfaction.



“Take him to the station,” Troy said after Deputy Johnson had read the perpetrator his legal rights.



The two deputies led him away while Troy brushed off his uniform. He was getting way too old to be chasing felons, but he wasn’t about to let this one escape.



He returned to the house, turning on the kitchen light. “It’s safe for you to come out now,” he called.



Faith hurried in, wearing her housecoat. “Troy—oh, my goodness, what happened?” Without waiting for him to answer, she opened a drawer, retrieved a towel and dampened one corner. Standing close, she dabbed at his mouth.



“What?” He was surprised to realize he was bleeding. He hadn’t felt a thing.



“You got him?” she asked.



Troy nodded. “Sure did.”



Faith pulled out a chair and they both sat down. Her hands were trembling, and he reached for them, chafing warmth back into her cold skin.



“Did you recognize him?”



“I did.”



“Who is it?” she asked. “And why does this person hate me so much?”



“His name is Mark Schaffer.”



A puzzled look appeared on her face. “Who? I’ve never heard of him before. What could I possibly have done to make him target me?”



“This isn’t about you, Faith. I should’ve seen that much sooner. This has absolutely nothing to do with you.”



Faith stared at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”



“I haven’t got all the answers myself, but I’ll tell you what I think happened and why.”



“Please.” Her eyes implored him to make sense of it all.



“Schaffer was a friend of Dale and Pam Smith, who were the tenants before you. While they were living here, my office received a number of complaints about them. I spoke to Schaffer personally on several occasions. He’s involved with drugs and hangs out with a rough crowd.”



“But…he eventually moved away.”



“I don’t think it was by choice. I can’t say for sure exactly how they did it, but I believe Cliff Harding and Jack Griffin persuaded the Smiths and their gang, including Mark, to leave. They hadn’t paid rent in months and they were bringing undesirables into the neighborhood. Grace was afraid that if she evicted them, they’d trash the house.”



“And you figure Cliff and Jack convinced them to move?”



“True. But I don’t know how.” He gave her a half smile. “You’ll have to ask Grace about that and, when you find out, don’t tell me, okay?”



“Okay.”



“My guess is that Mark, or one of his cronies, left a stash of drugs behind in their rush to vacate the premises. He’s been coming back looking for that. Most likely drugs, but it could be money or something else of value. I assume it’s hidden somewhere in the garage, seeing he’s targeted that area.”



“But he broke into the house first.”



“Either he doesn’t remember exactly where he hid his stash or whatever it is—or he was hoping to get you to move so he’d have time to search after you left. When you didn’t turn tail and run, he had to take his chances, which is why he returned to the house. Then you got the alarm system and he was limited to the garage.”



“It’s over, then.” The relief in her voice was evident.



“I believe so. Ironically, I think there’s a good possibility that whatever was hidden inadvertently got tossed out when Grace and Cliff had the house cleaned and repainted.”



Troy stood up to leave. The cut on his mouth had started to throb and he needed to get to the station to deal with Schaffer.



She walked him to the front door, but stopped him before he could open it.



“You’re safe now,” he assured her.



“I know,” she whispered, then gently caressed his face.



He caught her hand and held it to his cheek. Every instinct he had told him to stay.



She smiled at him. Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, careful not to touch the injury. He could feel the swelling in his lip but it didn’t impede their kiss.



Troy stepped back to keep himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her the way he had earlier.



He released her, reluctant to let her go. “We need to talk. Soon.”



“I agree.” There was a warmth in her eyes, an openness in her expression.



As he walked away, he noticed that the pain he’d felt just moments earlier had disappeared.



Thirty-Four



Gloria Ashton sat in her patrol car with the radar gun in her hand. This spot on Harbor Street was notorious for speeders. Writing tickets was the least favorite aspect of her job, but a necessary one. As the most recently hired deputy, she had her dues to pay. She hoped it wouldn’t be long before she had the opportunity to work directly with Sheriff Davis, the way Weaver and Johnson had on Wednesday night.



Mark Schaffer had been placed under arrest and was currently being held at the county jail. The Cedar Cove Chronicle had done a write-up on the incident. Needless to say, the entire Rosewood Lane neighborhood had heaved a collective sigh of relief.



She was on the last stretch of her seven-to-three shift. A car rounded the corner and, seeing her patrol vehicle, automatically slowed. Gloria didn’t bother to check its speed. Whoever was driving hadn’t gained enough momentum after clearing the corner to reach the legal limit. To her surprise, the car pulled in and parked behind hers.



She wondered if the driver was in some kind of trouble. She set the radar device aside and climbed out of her patrol car. When she recognized Dr. Chad Timmons, she stopped abruptly.



“Do you have a problem, Dr. Timmons?” she asked in her most professional voice.



He’d lowered his window. “Can I talk to you?”



“About what?” she asked, although she was pretty sure the subject matter wouldn’t be to her liking.



“I’d rather do it over a coffee.”



“I’m on duty.”



“Afterward, then.”



She shook her head.



Obviously frustrated, Chad sighed. “I’d like to clear the air between us.”



“No. Our…encounterwas a long time ago and, from my point of view, highly embarrassing. I prefer to forget it.”



“Unfortunately, that isn’t the case for me.”



“It’s over.”



“Apparently it was over before it could even start,” he said. “If you don’t want to have coffee with me, then—”



“I don’t.”



“Okay, but give me a chance to settle this in my own mind. That’s all I’m asking. Some closure, much as I hate the word.”



Gloria sighed, unsure what to do.



“Ten minutes, fifteen,” he said, no doubt sensing her indecision. “Is that too much to ask?”



“I don’t see what purpose it would serve. From what I heard, you’re dating Sarah Chesney now.”



That she was aware he was seeing another woman appeared to please him immensely, because he broke into a wide grin. “Sarah and I are friends, nothing more. What’s this I hear about you and Zack Birch?”



“Are you keeping tabs on me?” she demanded angrily.



“No more than you are on me,” he countered.



She couldn’t argue with that, so she said nothing.



“Ten minutes, Gloria. You name the time and place.”



She glanced at her watch. “All right, meet me in two hours. That’s when I get off.”



He smiled in triumph and she wanted to wipe off his smug grin. “Where?”



She was going to suggest the Pancake Palace but changed her mind. Someone might overhear their conversation and she’d rather not risk that. “Meet me at the marina by the totem pole,” she said. “Ten minutes. That’s it.”



“Fine. Do you want me to bring a stopwatch?”



Despite her irritation, she grinned. “That might not be a bad idea.”



Two hours later, Gloria had changed out of her uniform and parked in the lot next to the library. The foot ferry from Bremerton was just getting in, and the first wave of shipyard workers disembarked. Her hands clenched the steering wheel. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d regret this.



Waiting until the last possible moment, she left her vehicle and walked toward the marina. Chad was already there, waiting for her. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of months and was struck, once again, by his classic good looks, which were precisely what had attracted her the first time they met. That night had been a disaster, one she had no intention of repeating.



Chad leaned against the railing, exuding confidence and poise. Where she’d once found that appealing, now it annoyed her.



As she approached, he handed her a coffee. Wordlessly she accepted it and looked at her watch. “Your ten minutes are ticking away.”



To her surprise, he turned toward the railing, resting his arms on it as he held his coffee and watched the gently bobbing boats in the marina. “I never thought I’d enjoy living in a small town,” he said. “You didn’t either, did you?”



“Are you going to waste your ten minutes with chitchat?”



He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I took this job at the clinic thinking I’d give it six months.”



“And move on.”



“Right.”



“You should have.” It would’ve been a relief to her if he had. Then she wouldn’t risk seeing him—and remembering.