any time of day, actually. The DuChaud’s home was eight miles from the town of Bonne Chance. Everybody knew where the beautiful hand-built house was, but the road from town turned from asphalt to shells and gravel about two miles away and ended at the DuChaud’s patio. It was not a road that invited casual drivers.
A different noise broke the silence of the early darkness, again faint, but recognizable. The sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves.
Whatever or whoever was out there was on the move and didn’t care who heard him. Sandy inched her way backward, away from the trees and toward her house, both hands cradling her tummy protectively. She ran through the French doors as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, locked them and set the alarm.
Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief. “Sorry, bean,” she muttered. “I know it’s silly, but I think I scared myself.”
All at once, her eyes began stinging. Blinking furiously, she tried to make the tears disappear, but they still welled and slipped down her cheeks.
“Damn it, I don’t want to be afraid in my house. But like it or not, you and I are here alone. We have to be careful. Besides, that’s our dock—your daddy’s dock,” she said, her voice tightening with grief.
“Oh, Tristan,” she whispered. “I need you so much. I’m doing my best to live without you. Why are you still. Right. Here?” She slapped her forehead with two stiff fingers.
“Right here in the very front of my brain. Why aren’t you fading, like a perfect memory should—” Her voice cracked and a couple of sobs escaped her throat. She pressed her lips together, hoping to hold in any more sobs. She didn’t want to cry. The more upset she got, the more restless the little bean.
In all the years she’d been married to Tristan, in all the years she’d known him before that—essentially their whole lives—she’d never been afraid of anything. But the sound of footsteps had spooked her.
“Don’t worry, bean. I’m not turning into a scaredy-cat. I came back here for the peace and quiet, and no alligator or poacher—or whatever that was—is going to scare me away.” Her brave words made her feel better, and as she relaxed, she realized how tired she was.
Yawning, she checked the alarm system and armed the doors and windows, then headed toward the master bedroom.
As she passed the closed door to her office, which they’d converted into a nursery, she realized she hadn’t even thought about checking her email. Too distracted by memories, she supposed.
When she turned on the light, the desktop was empty. Her laptop wasn’t there, where it always sat. Automatically, she glanced around as if it might have gotten set aside by someone during the time she’d been in Baton Rouge with her mother-in-law.
But by whom? And when? A chill ran down her spine at the thought of someone coming into her house.
No, she told herself. Don’t start panicking. Think rationally about who of all the people who must have had access to the house could have done it. Obviously Maddy Tierney or Zach Winter, but Maddy would have told her, right? So...people from the crime scene unit? But all the evidence of Maddy’s kidnapping by the captain of the Pleiades Seagull was in the master bedroom. Why would they need to take her laptop computer?
But if not them? Then she had a thought that sent her heart hammering. What if it had been Tristan? What if he was out there, hiding, and needed something from the laptop.
“Stop it!” she cried. “You can’t go there every time something odd happens or you hear a strange sound. He’s dead and nothing is going to bring him back to life!” Blinking, she forced away all her silly romantic thoughts of Tristan out there somewhere, alive and hurt.
Forget all the evidence about how he had died. Forget everything except one fact. He’d gone overboard into the dark, dangerous water and had never come out. That, if nothing else, told her he was really dead. If he were still alive, he would move heaven and earth to get to her. Tristan would die before he’d allow her to believe he was dead.
With a quick shake of her head, she forced away thoughts of Tristan and concentrated on the missing laptop.
Before she jumped to any conclusions, she should check with Maddy and Zach. They may have had to confiscate it so the hard drive and memory cards could be reviewed.
Maybe Homeland Security or the NSA had needed it for evidence. That made sense, except for the fact that there was nothing on her laptop that could possibly be interesting to anyone other than herself.
She checked her watch. It was just after ten. That was eleven Eastern time. She hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone. Maddy had told her to call anytime if she needed anything.
When her friend answered, she blurted out, “Maddy, did you or Zach take my laptop?”
“What? Sandy? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Did either of you take my computer, or see someone else take it?”
“It’s not there?”
“No. It always sits on my desk in the nursery. Always. And it’s not there.”
“No, we didn’t. We searched it. Remember, you gave us the password. We went through all the saved files, looking for anything that might have been related to Tristan’s death or the smuggling, but it was there when I left.” Maddy paused for a beat. “Have you seen any other signs that someone has been in your house?”
Sandy’s tummy did a flip, which woke up the baby. He wriggled and kicked. “I don’t think so. The nursery is the only room I hadn’t been in. You’re sure it was here when you guys left?”
“I am,” Maddy said. “Did you check with the crime scene unit or the sheriff?”
“No,” Sandy said. “I called you first.”
“Well, you need to call them. If they took it you should have gotten a receipt, but people forget things.”
“So it disappeared after you left.” She paused, thinking. “Wait. Come to think of it, the alarm wasn’t set when I came in yesterday. It didn’t beep.”
“So whoever took the laptop disarmed the alarm. Do a lot of people know the code?”
Sandy shook her head. “Just me and Tristan.”
“Maybe the crime scene team didn’t know how to arm it and didn’t realize you weren’t there.”
“So someone’s been in the house,” Sandy murmured.
“Listen to me, Sandy. It could be nothing, but just to be on the safe side, maybe you should go into town and stay at the hotel, or go back to Baton Rouge.”
“No,” Sandy said. “This was probably some kid.”
“Hold on a minute.”
She heard Maddy talking to Zach, then suddenly the phone went silent. Maddy must have put it on mute. It didn’t matter, because Sandy knew what they were saying. They were discussing whether there was still any danger to Sandy or anyone else in Bonne Chance.
“Maddy—” Sandy muttered. “Come on. Hurry up.”
Finally Maddy unmuted her phone. “Sandy, if anything happens, call us, okay? We’re not on the case anymore, but it hasn’t been closed. So either Homeland Security or the NSA might reactivate it.”
That quickly, the confidence that Sandy had in knowing that Homeland Security and the NSA had finished with Bonne Chance, the smugglers and Tristan’s death drained away. “Why would they do that?”
Maddy hesitated—not for long, but it was long enough for Sandy to notice. “Maddy? You told me all the smugglers were arrested and the captain was killed by Boudreau. I thought that was the end of it.”
“There are some things that we’re not allowed to talk about. There are some things we’re not even