Without waiting for her reply, he continued, “Is this something to do with Cole? Did he upset you today? Because if he upset you, I’ll make sure he never bothers you again.”
“No, Chad,” she said. “Can we stop talking about Cole, please?”
“Sure we can. Sorry. Listen, I’d love to come over any other time, but I can’t tonight. Call one of your friends or Mom. Don’t be alone, okay?”
“Okay, Chad. Don’t work too hard.”
He laughed. “I never do.”
After hanging up, she started to punch in her parents’ number. Her mom or dad would surely be able to stay with her tonight. Then she thought of all their questions, their interest in Cole, their desire to defend her against her ex-finance’s intrusion back into her life. She simply didn’t know if she had the emotional energy to cope with Cole Strachan being the number one topic of conversation. She placed the phone on its base and stood in her living room, contemplating her options. Her house was pretty secure, with strong locks on all points of entry. She would be safe here alone for one night. She could make a plan tomorrow after a good night’s rest.
She pushed down the feeling of guilt at breaking her word to Cole. After all, he had broken the biggest promise of them all.
* * *
Cole snatched his cell from the nightstand, checked the time on his clock: 3:00 a.m.
He answered it with just one word: “Deborah.”
Her garbled voice was fast and difficult to understand.
“Slow down,” he said calmly. “Take it nice and steady.”
“I hear noises,” she said. “I think somebody is trying to get in.”
“Where’s your brother?”
Her silence was the answer she clearly didn’t want to give.
“You’re alone in the house, aren’t you?” he asked as his irritation at her obstinacy was quickly replaced by concern for her well-being.
“Yes.”
He grabbed his keys from the dresser and pulled on a sweater.
“What do you hear?” he asked.
“It sounds like someone is turning a key in the lock of the front door, but the chain lock is stopping it from opening.” She gave a cry. “How could they have a key?”
“Did you go downstairs?”
“No.”
He slipped his feet into sneakers and holstered his gun. “Good. Stay out of sight until I get there. I can reach you quicker than the police.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He took the stairs in his home two at a time and headed for the front door. “What for?”
“I promised I wouldn’t stay in the house by myself tonight,” she said.
Cole broke into a run on the walkway, unlocking his vehicle with the button along the way. Was she really apologizing for breaking a promise? To him of all people. It made him realize what a good woman he had let slip through his fingers. And now it was too late.
“I’ll be there soon,” he said. “Just sit tight.”
He uttered a prayer while racing to the house. He felt God’s guiding hand upon him, giving him the strength to face up to his past so that he could help shape Deborah’s future. If he was going to defeat the danger in her life, he had to accept her occasional harsh words, her resentment toward him and her instinct to push him away. It was his responsibility to take all of that and more.
He screeched to a halt outside her house. It was shrouded in darkness, and as he slipped from the driver’s seat, the scent of calming lavender came to him on the breeze. Yet the calm was instantly broken when he saw a masked man standing on the porch watching his approach. Cole reached for his gun and the man began to back away, quickly swinging his legs over the porch rail and disappearing under the cover of the trees in the backyard.
Cole gritted his teeth and gave chase.
Cole scrambled over the fence that partitioned Deborah’s yard from her neighbor’s, in pursuit of the man in black. He landed in a child’s sandbox and almost lost his balance as the silky grains slid beneath his feet, but he managed to stay upright, holding his gun close to his shoulder. The yard was small but with plenty of nooks and crannies and overhanging trees.
He stepped carefully out of the sand and stood in the middle of the lawn, turning in circles to scan the area, noting the patio furniture, a large barbecue beneath a tarpaulin and fishing equipment leaning against the fence. He was well used to working under the cover of darkness and his vision had been specially trained to spot movement that others would not detect. His last overseas assignment, the code-named Dark Skies mission in Afghanistan, had taken place under almost total darkness and had honed his skills to such a high extent that he often didn’t need the infrared goggles supplied by the SEALs. Dark Skies had taught him to refine his steely focus, and for this situation it was the best skill he had.
He continued to turn in circles, certain the culprit was still in the yard, but confused as to why there was no sign of his presence. Then it occurred to him. He lifted his head to the branches of a mature sycamore tree in the corner. Hidden among the leafy boughs was the figure of a man, inching his way along a branch that hung over the next yard. The wood drooped with the weight of his body, and his position looked precarious.
Cole raised his gun. “I’d strongly advise you to stay right where you are, sir,” he called. “I can hit a target a lot smaller than you with my eyes closed.”
The man froze, gripping the branch tightly with his arms and legs. The bough continued to bend, creaking loudly.
Suddenly, the yard was flooded with light, and a man’s voice boomed through the night. “Who’s there?” Cole heard the click of a gun’s safety catch, and the voice said, “Drop your weapon!”
Cole could see the home’s occupant in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t take his eyes off the man tucked away in the branches of the sycamore tree. The house owner was wearing a robe tied at his bulging waist and white socks. And he was holding a black handgun out front, using both hands to steady his grip. He looked scared.
“My name is Cole Strachan,” Cole called out, not turning from his position. “I’m a retired navy SEAL. I live on Franklin Street and I’m here because of an attempted break-in at a neighboring house. I have my weapon trained on the suspect, who’s hiding in a tree in your yard.”
The man stepped out onto his deck, continuing to hold his gun defensively. “I don’t know you, mister,” he said. “And I don’t care who you are. I just want you outta my yard.” He called behind him. “Carol, call the police, honey. Right away.”
“Yes,” Cole said with force. “Please call the police. I’ll stay here until they arrive.” He saw the man in the tree inch closer to the edge. The creaking grew louder.
“Stay where you are,” Cole called again, emphasizing each word. The man froze.
Cole felt the tension of the situation mount as the seconds ticked by and the standoff continued. With a gun trained on his back, he knew that firing his weapon would be dangerous and likely to result in him being shot by the petrified owner of the house. Scared people and guns were an explosive combination.
The man in the tree started to move again and the wood gave way with a mighty snap as the branch cracked and splintered beneath the weight. The masked man fell, still clinging to the broken branch, and landed on the other side of the fence. He bellowed as his body smacked hard on the ground. The owner of the house raised his gun into the air and shot a bullet into the