Friend, Lover, Protector. Sharon Mignerey

In her room Dahlia emptied the pockets of her shorts, discovering that she still had his pocketknife, which she had forgotten to give back to him. Her imagination took off at a gallop, with thugs breaking into her house, chasing her down the way they had this morning, following her in the supermarket, making her a prisoner of her own fear. Jack had to be wrong. She set the knife down with a thump and stalked to the closet to change into her pajamas.

      When she settled into bed, Boo was there to curl against her side. There in the dark she could almost believe this night was like all the others of the last two years. Just her and the dog, rebuilding a life where she focused on her work and came to grips with the fact that she no longer trusted her instincts about men.

      Everything about Jack proclaimed him as one of the good guys. Even if she had met him under more ordinary circumstances, she would have noticed him, been drawn to him. In her book that automatically made him off limits. The ultimate Catch 22. If she was attracted, he had to be bad for her. If she wasn’t attracted, he’d probably be an okay guy—who she wouldn’t give the time of day.

      On that disturbing thought she fell asleep.

      Jack awoke instantly. He remained stock-still, listening for whatever it was that had brought him out of a fitful sleep. Then he heard it—the barely perceptible sound of someone walking across the grass. Without moving his head he looked toward the back fence that separated Dahlia’s yard from a bike path that ran alongside a canal, remembering the invisible path of scent that Boo had followed from the far corner of the yard to the base of the tree. The dark form of a man emerged out of the night. He moved purposefully toward the tree that would give him access to the porch roof and to Dahlia’s bedroom.

      Jack had worried about the front porch, which had been black as a cave when he’d checked it before coming back here. He had settled on the lounge, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood and attuned to Dahlia’s movement inside. He had lain there a long time thinking about how he’d like to be sharing that big bed with her. A stupid fantasy to torture himself.

      Now he thanked the instincts that had made him choose sleeping under Dahlia’s window. The mere thought of this creep getting into Dahlia’s room made Jack’s blood boil. He would bet everything he owned this guy wasn’t here to steal the TV.