“Yeah,” Izzy said. “Those pregnant lady hormones are so strong, they came through the phone and zapped me, too.”
Lindsey laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
“You know it.”
“If you see or talk to the lieutenant, tell him I’m trying to reach him. That name he gave us—Daryl Middleton, the friend of Maddie’s friend Dingo? I just got a call from my friend in the PD. She told me that a Daryl Middleton popped up as a possible assault victim in the hospital ER.”
“Possible?” Izzy asked. “Like, he’s not sure he was assaulted?”
“Like he’s still unconscious, in ICU. Serious head injury. Beat cop found him bleeding on the sidewalk, with the shit kicked out of him. It was a stretch of road without any traffic cams so we can’t look back and see what happened—I’m betting that’s not an accident. Whoever did this to Daryl is not your run-of-the-mill jealous ex-boyfriend, that’s for damn sure.”
“Fuck,” Izzy said. “Grunge is gonna hate this news.”
“Yup.”
“I’ll swing past his place,” Izzy told her. “Give it to him face-to-face.”
“Thanks,” Lindsey said. “If I get more info, like if Daryl wakes up? I’ll pass it along to both of you.”
“Roger that.”
“Hey, Iz?”
“Yeah?”
“Eden wants to try again,” Lindsey told him. “She’s scared, but I think she’s ready. Just FYI. If you can, be super-low-key when she tells you. You know, don’t go rushing out to buy everything in the zero-to-three-months toy aisle at Babies “R” Us, because that’ll scare the crap out of her.”
“Super-low-key is my new middle name,” Izzy said as he silently high-kicked with joy around the living room.
Lindsey snorted. “Yeah, that’ll be the day. Just do your dancing and hoo-yahing in private until the baby’s born.”
Until the baby’s born. As Izzy ended the call, he realized that Lindsey had just zapped him with more of her pregnant lady hormones. Yeah, that must’ve been why he was misty-eyed.
The moment that Pete stepped into the kitchen, he knew something was seriously wrong.
His house was in the middle of being robbed.
Drawers and cabinet doors hung open, and it was only because he hadn’t yet accumulated a lot of crap that it hadn’t been tossed out onto the floor.
He kept his voice low as he told Shayla, “It’s not Maddie who’s in here, get outside and stay outside, call nine-one-one.” She, too, apparently recognized the signs of a burglary-in-progress from her writing research, because she nodded, her phone already out.
But then she caught his arm. “Do you have a handgun in the house?” she whispered.
He noddedyes, but then shook his headno. “It’s locked up, in the bedroom closet. I seriously doubt I can get to it before they see me.”
“I’m not saying that you should….No, I’m asking if it’s securely locked,” she said. “Don’t you dare go back there and get killed with your own weapon. Also? If there’s even a chance that whoever’s in there is armed, I’m thinking this might best be handled like coming home to find a squirrel in the kitchen. You open all the doors and windows so it’s got an easy escape route, and then make a lot of noise.”
“But I don’t want to let whoever’s in there escape,” Pete told her. “Go outside, call nine-one-one—”
“Holy fuck!”
While they were arguing, the burglar had come back down the hall and had been startled when he saw them standing in the kitchen. Pete leapt in front of Shay, pushing her back from the man, who was dressed in all black—including black gloves on his hands. His face, however, was white, but Pete only caught a glimpse of a stubble-covered chin as the man fumbled to pull a ski-cap down over it.
The man bolted for the front door, shouting, “Go, go, go!”
“Stay here,” Pete ordered Shay, and took off after him.
Shayla put her phone to her ear—it was ringing; the emergency dispatcher had not yet picked up—as she hurried over to the living room door to watch as Peter tackled the man in black, bringing him down to the lawn.
