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“Left a few minutes after you did. I’m not far behind.”
“Okay.” She forced the word out past the tightness in her chest.
By the time she turned onto Daniel’s street—a narrow, tree-lined stretch of older homes and duplexes tucked into a quiet neighborhood near Gillham Park—the drizzle had thickened, spitting ice among the drops. His truck wasn’t there yet, but his porch light glowed like a small beacon through the mist. The rest of the house was dark.
Polly parked at the curb, heart pounding, and unbuckled with shaking hands. Luna whined softly, catching her nerves. “Come on, girl,” she whispered. “We’re almost safe.”
They sprinted up the walkway, her boots splashing through shallow puddles. The cold air stung her cheeks, but she barely felt it. When she reached Daniel’s porch, she turned immediately toward the adjoining unit. A brass plate beside the other door read B. Maynard in a neat, old-fashioned script.
She knocked once, hard enough to sting her knuckles.
The door opened almost immediately, spilling warm light into the damp night. A woman in her seventies or eighties stood there—white hair clipped back with a cheerful scatter of barrettes, a pair of turquoise glasses perched on her nose, hazel eyes sharp but kind behind the lenses. She wore a bright red sweatshirt and held a steaming mug in one hand.
“Mrs. Maynard?” Polly’s voice cracked.
“You must be Polly.” The woman’s smile deepened, softening the keen intelligence in her gaze. “Sergeant Travis said you’d be—”
Polly didn’t let her finish. She crossed the small step between them, and threw her arms around the woman in a desperate hug.
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Maynard murmured, steadying them both with surprising strength. “You’re all right now. You’re safe here. Your man will be here soon.”
Polly pressed her face against the older woman’s shoulder, breathing in the comforting scents of laundry detergent and a hint of arthritis cream. Luna nosed at her leg, whining softly as if asking for reassurance, too.
Mrs. Maynard kept a firm hand on Polly’s back. “Come inside, dear.”
“My dog—”
“She’s welcome, too.”
Polly nodded, still trembling, and let herself be guided into the warm, cozy room.
Outside, the drizzle deepened into sleet. The duplex door closed. And for the first time that night, Polly let herself breathe.
Chapter Thirteen
Burke’s headlights arrowed down the street, twin beams swallowed by sleet and shadows. Daniel stood on the porch beside Polly, the sting of the cold mixing with the weight of everything that had just happened. Burke had given Polly a long, fatherly hug, promising to personally keep watch over the neighborhood tonight, then turned to Daniel with a firm handshake that said more than words ever could—trust, gratitude and a silent warning to keep her safe.
His K-9 partner, Gunny, barked from the SUV idling at the curb. Burke lifted a gloved hand in farewell before climbing in, leaving the two of them in a hush that wasn’t quite silence—just the deep, powerful rumble of his SUV engine and the soft drumbeat of rain freezing against the gutters. Enzo would stay at Polly’s condo tonight, waiting to see if anyone came back—probably hoping he’d catch someone breaking and entering—and to preserve the crime scene. Stealing trash and a toothbrush wasn’t a major crime, but the perp who had gotten into her condo had certainly violated her mentally, destroying the sense of security she should have in her own home. Joel Standage had promised to send someone from the crime lab over to process her place for fingerprints and anything else that might give them a clue as to who had gotten inside and how. But for now, the world was reduced to this small, safe corner of Kansas City.
Polly’s shoulders drooped, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can we stay at Mrs. Maynard’s for a bit? She’s gone to a lot of trouble to serve us her buttermilk cake, spoil Luna and grandmother me.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, liking that she appreciated Barb’s efforts to take care of her. “I want to make sure she’s not spooked by what’s going on, either. Let’s go.”
Inside, warmth and the smell of coffee wrapped around Daniel like a quilt. Mrs. Maynard—Barb—was in her element, bustling between the kitchen and the living room with plates of cake and steaming mugs of decaf. Luna sat at her feet, tail sweeping the rug while Barb looped a measuring tape around the pup’s chest and jotted numbers onto a sticky note.
“Turquoise,” Polly said when asked her favorite color. Her voice was small but steady.
“Excellent choice,” Barb declared. “She’ll look darling. If you have a second favorite, I can knit another sweater for when she’s fully grown.”
“You’re going to spoil my pup,” Polly teased.
“Yes. But I love doing that. It makes me happy to take care of people.” She reached down to scratch Luna beneath her chin. “And pets.”
The domestic scene softened the edge of adrenaline still buzzing under Daniel’s skin. That creep had been in Polly’s private space today, and Daniel had been too caught up in his head to be there for her when she’d needed him. But no more. He wasn’t letting down the woman who filled up his heart and made him feel like a whole man once more. Not again. The soft lamplight, the clink of forks on plates, the sound of Polly laughing at Luna’s clear adoration for their elderly hostess—a real laugh, light and tired and human—made him ache in a way that felt almost good.
This could be his life. Quiet evenings with people he cared about. Pets to entertain him and keep him sane. Friends he could count on for backup when he needed it—when Polly needed it. Polly sneaking shy glances at him and gifting him with her smile. He just had to seize the opportunity. Then hold on tight with both hands.
And not let any damn stalker take her from him or kill her generous, loving spirit with his sinister mind games.
