The houses around Emma Jeans are on three-acre lots. Mama told me her two closest neighbors are snowbirds. They leave for the North in June when it starts getting hot, and they dont come back until the end of November, when hurricane seasons over. Shes not close to anyone else out that way, which is one reason I came to get her cat.

I passed the Speckled Perch and thought about food. Two slices of pizza two hours ago wasnt going to hold me until morning.

We can check to see if Emma Jeans the registered owner, Martinez said. If she is, Ill have the information I need to put out a BOLO on the truck and tag number.

Bolo? Isnt that a Western-style string tie?

Be on the lookout. BOLO.

Gotcha, I said, feeling stupid. I dont watch as much Law and Order as Mama does. Id know the truck if I saw it again. It was old and beat-up. There were beer cans in the back of the bed.

Great. That describes half the vehicles up here, Martinez said.

Watch it, Mr. Miami. I can hear you sneering.

I remembered the feel of the worn tread on my fingers as I ran my hands over the tires. I didnt think about getting the tag number, but Donnie Bailey might have, I told Martinez. We both noticed the truck had bald tires, just like the one that ran me off the road. Donnie was awfully interested in that old truck.

___.

If ever five days felt like fifty, this was it. What a week. I was looking forward to a cool shower, a cold beer, and some hot salsa once I got Wila and her cat-related accessories settled into my house.

I smiled to myself as the VW jounced into my yard, illuminating the battle ring tucked off to one side. Looked like it was Mace 1; Wildlife 0 in this latest round of raccoon smack-down. The garbage cans were upright, lids still securely fastened with a collection of bungee cords. I might have feared the animals were lying in wait, prepared to punish the woman who shut down their nightly buffet. But the way Emma Jeans cat was caterwauling, any living thing within hearing distance had skedaddled.

I left the cat in the car as I got out. I wanted to prop open my front doors so I could more easily heft the carrier onto the screened porch and on inside. What I saw as I mounted the steps put the brakes on my victory-over-the-wildlife dance.

The resourceful raccoons must have busted through the screen to get onto my front porch. Theyd taken their revenge for my garbage-can offensive by overturning a flower pot. Trampled geraniums and big clods of dirt littered the wooden floor. The welcome mat sparkled in the dim moonlight with shards of broken glass.

And then I looked more closely. The screen was intact. The flowerpot had been used with just enough force to break the front window, next to the door. Someone had carefully reached past the broken glass to turn the key in the deadbolt lock on the inside of the front door. The door stood open a crack. The house was a dark cave beyond.

Ive seen raccoons turn a doorknob; even pull open cabinets in a kitchen. But using a flowerpot to break a window, locating a deadbolt key inside in the lock, and understanding what the key is used for? Thats different. Unless the raccoons had gained a hundred IQ points and opposable thumbs since our last encounter, this burglary was beyond their skill level. The intruder had to be human.

With my heart pounding, I backed slowly off the porch and down the steps. As soon as I felt grass beneath my feet, I spun around and took off at a run.

Martinez made it to Taylor Creek in thirteen minutes. There was hardly any traffic this far from town on a Friday night. Still, he must have beaten Jeff Gordons NASCAR time.

He was familiar with the location of the bridge on State Road 98, so when I called him from the safety of Pams car, thats where I told him to meet me. I figured that was easier than trying to explain how to find my cottage way out in the country. And, to be honest, I hadnt wanted to stick around alone without knowing what was in my house, on the other side of that open door.

I heard his siren a long way off, and then I saw him coming. I flashed my lights. He was going so fast, he flew right past me. By the time he stopped and backed up, I stood waiting for him on the shoulder of the deserted highway. He leaned over to open the passenger-side door.

Are you okay?

I nodded, surprisedand a tiny bit pleasedto see how worried he looked.

But when he spotted Wila in the carrier, the concern on his face changed to annoyance.

What do you think youre doing with that?

Im not leaving her out here alone, with no top on the VW. Who knows what might try to get at her? Shes already had enough trauma for one night.

He grimaced, but made room for us on the front seat. Just try to keep her quiet.

Yeah, right, I said, as Wila let out a long screech. Turn left about a half-mile up, at the sign that says High Horse Ranch.

I directed him the rest of the way in. Left at the last fence post. Right at the big oak tree. In no time at all, we were pulling up in my front yard.

Youre staying in the car. His tone offered no room to argue, not that I wanted to.

Dont worry. Im not stupid. Im not going up against the unknown, not when my only weapon is a noisy Siamese cat.

As Martinez got out of the drivers seat, his right hand slid across his chest, under his jacket. I knew he must have a shoulder holster there.

Be careful, okay? I said.

With a curt nod, he was gone.

He banged on my front wall and yelled Police! then edged the front door open with his foot. The longest five minutes in history elapsed after he disappeared inside. I watched as light replaced the darkened squares of my front windows. A dim glow spilled from the backyard. Martinez must have flicked the switch for the outdoor light at the kitchen door. I imagined him moving down the hallway into the bathroom and then on to my bedroom.

I suddenly flashed on all the housekeeping I hadnt had time for in the last few days. It was ridiculous under the circumstances, but I hoped he wouldnt notice the pile of dirty clothes and underwear Id left on my bedroom floor.

Finally, I saw him walk around the house from out back. He holstered his pistol and patted its location over the outside of his jacket. I got out of the car to join him.

All clear, Martinez said. Whoever was here is gone now. Things look fine inside.

Lets get poor Wila into the house. I leaned into the car and picked up the carrier.

Let me get that. He grabbed it from me. I almost protested that I was strong enough to carry my own carrier. Then I remembered Mamas admonition: flies, honey, vinegar.

Thanks, I said instead.

Stepping over the glass shards and through the front door, I did a quick survey.

Aside from that broken window, everything looks okay, I told him.

Except that key in the inside deadbolt, he said. You know thats a dumb place to leave it, right?

Didnt they teach you in police school not to blame the victim? I snapped.

Sorry. I just wish people wouldnt invite the bad guys in.

I wondered whether he was talking about me or his murdered wife.

Try not to disturb anything, he said. Im going to bag that key. Whoever broke in had to touch it. We may still want to get somebody out here to dust for fingerprints.

I led the way into my bedroom. You can put the carrier down right there. I nodded toward the floor. I laid out Wilas thingsthe litter box and food from Emma Jeans, and a toy mouse I bought. Then I sprung her from her prison. She lit out, fleeing for cover under my bed.

We wont see her for a while, I said.

At least shes finally quiet, Martinez said.

Wila gave a short meow, just to prove him wrong.

Why dont you take a good look, see if anything is missing? All I noticed out of the ordinary is that pile of clothes. He frowned at the floor. Whoever broke in probably tossed your dresser drawers, looking for money or jewelry.

I felt my face flush. Uhmm, that was me. Its been a bad week for laundry.

In fact, I was wearing my last pair of clean undies, the ones with the droopy elastic waist and the hole in the seam by my butt. I didnt share that detail with Martinez.

We left the scared cat in the bedroom and went into the kitchen, where I got a plastic sandwich bag from the drawer. Martinez used it to extract the key from the front lock. Then, he sealed it inside the bag.

I did a quick circuit of the rest of my house. A string of pearls from Daddys mother, my only jewelry, still nestled in my sock drawer. Change filled a brass spittoon by the front door, including a ten-dollar bill Id left on the top. My computer was on my desk; my share of Grandmas silver was still in the kitchen.

Thank God they didnt get the gator, Martinez nodded toward my coffee table, a half-smile on his face.

Yeah. Id have to trap another one so Id have a place to keep my car keys.

His eyebrows shot up. Dont tell me you killed that?

Well, I had a little help. My cousin Dwights the one with the license, so he had to be there, I said modestly. Anyway, looks like nothings missing.

With Martinez on my heels, I returned to where Id started. Suddenly, I was aware of being alone in my bedroom with a sexy, attractive man. He was close enough that I could smell his aftershave. Spicy cloves. My bed was just inches away, the same bed that had seen no action since the down in the feather pillows was still on the ducks.

He put a hand on my arm. Are you really okay? His voice was husky. It can be traumatic to have your house broken into, even if they didnt get anything. His dark eyes searched my face.

Just one step, I thought. One step. Hell, I could just tackle him and toss him onto the bed. Im almost as tall as he is. I wondered once we got down to it, where would he put his gun?

His gun.

Oh, my God! I crossed my bedroom in four quick steps and yanked open the closet door. Paw-Paws shotgun. I quickly scanned the small, crowded space. Its gone.

Nothing spoils a sexy mood like the notion that some maniac might be stalking you with your own granddaddys shotgun.

Martinez bustled around the house, re-checking everything wed already checked to see if we missed anything. He found a piece of plywood Id used as a shutter during the last hurricane, and nailed it over the broken pane on the porch.

I wavered between being grateful for his presence and annoyed that he thought I needed him. Even worse was the thought in my own mind that I did.

Im staying the night, he announced, as he hammered the final nail into the plywood.

I raised my eyebrows. I dont recall issuing an invitation to share my bed.

Dont flatter yourself. He smirked. Its purely a security measure. Ill bunk on the couch.

Damn!

Suit yourself, I said. Its your backache.

You shouldnt be out here all alone.

I wasnt about to admit I thought he was right. Im not accustomed to the damsel-in-distress role. But I was tired. And it was late: one fifteen am by the hands of the clock shaped like a large mouth bass on the living room wall. I had to meet Mama in less than five hours. Id promised to go with her to the sunrise prayer breakfast to help lend Delilah some moral support.

I went to the linen closet and gathered up some bedding for the sleeper sofa. Listen, I appreciate this, I told Martinez as he pulled open the couch. Theres no need. But I do appreciate it.

He grabbed an end to the sheet I held and tucked it under the mattress. Youre probably right, Mace. Still, better safe than sorry. Trapping a pillow with his chin, he started wriggling a floral case over it. I like a man whos not afraid to indulge his domestic side.

I handed him one end of a comforter from the closet. I mean, it could have just been kids, right? We dropped the spread over the sofa bed. The McPherson boys been running with a bad crowd. I wouldnt put burglary past those little juvenile delinquents. Maybe I scared them off when I pulled in with Wila, yowling in the car. Maybe they didnt get the chance to steal anything but the shotgun.

Martinez sat on the pull-out, testing the mattress with one hand. It was just as comfy as any other sleeper sofa, which is to say hed feel like he was resting on a sack of rocks.

Yeah, he said. Its not like the closet is an original hiding place. Any burglar worth his rap sheet knows to check high shelves and closet corners for homeowners weapons.

We each sounded like we were trying to convince the other there was nothing to worry about. It was becoming exhausting.

Listen, Ive gotta be up before the rooster crows. Ill try not to wake you when I leave. I yawned.

No te preocupes I mean, dont worry about it. Ill probably be awake anyway. I dont get much sleep as a rule.

I wondered whether those sleepless nights began in Miami, after his wife was murdered.

As I started for my bedroom, I spoke over my shoulder, Ive got an extra-large cotton T-shirt if you want something besides that dress shirt and blazer to sleep in.

Is it in that pile of filthy clothes you dropped on the floor?

I would have blushed, but I was too damned bushed.

Just for that remark, I said, I get to wash up first. I turned into the bathroom and slammed the door.

A half hour later, I was in bed, but nowhere close to sleep. Of course, I was worried about who took the shotgunand why. But I also kept thinking about the glimpse I got of Martinez in the hallway. Hed come out of the bathroom and was standing still, looking for a wall switch to turn off the hall light. His skin was the color of graham crackers, and I wondered whether it tasted as sweet. Hard muscle rippled along his abdomen. He had a smooth chest with almost no hair. He wore nothing but boxer shorts. Light blue; intact waistband; no rip near the butt.

Would he slip out of those boxers when he climbed between the sheets?

I glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed. It was scheduled to beep me awake in about four hours. I tossed to my right side, even though I normally sleep on the left. I made a quarter turn, plopping onto my stomach to try to get comfortable. Punching the pillow didnt work. It still felt wrong. Martinezs shoulder would have felt just right. Stop it!

I grabbed the pillows underside to toss it off the bed. Thats when I felt something I knew wasnt supposed to be there. I shot to my feet, turned on the lamp, and stared down at the pillow. Carefully, I lifted a corner to look underneath.

Detective? I called into the living room. Youd better come in here.

He was beside me in a flash, proof that he hadnt been asleep, either. I pointed at a sheet of folded notebook paper under my pillow. My name, misspelled, was printed in crude block letters between the wide blue lines: Mase. A love note from a demented fifth grader.

Should I pick it up?

Martinezs jaw was clenched. His eyes were dark, unreadable. Do you have any tweezers? he asked.

In the medicine cabinet. Be right back.

He used the tweezers to open the note, and then placed it on the nightstand. In the glow of the lamp, we read it together: You dindt stop. To many questons. See how easy I could kill you? Im coming for you. Your mama to The printing looked the same as on the note tossed on Mamas porch. The misspellings and bad grammar looked familiar, too.

Get me another plastic bag, would you? Martinez said.

What are you going to do?