Only Her (A K2 Team Novel)(2)

Impossible.

He’d served six tours and never once been spotted from whatever hidey-hole he was using. Shaking off the ridiculous notion that she knew he was there, he remained still. The dogs were alert, watching her, and he gave them a hand single to stay quiet. She shook her head, as if she must be imagining things. Cody let out the breath he’d been holding after she entered her house.

Long after she’d disappeared, he remained on the porch, his gaze focused on her windows as she moved around, his yearning for a drink forgotten. Although her blinds were closed, he could track her movements by the lights being turned on or off as she moved from one room to another. He hadn’t gotten a clear view of her face, only knew she had long brown hair and that she was sad. The dogs settled down again, and he picked up his guitar, softly strumming “Lonely Stranger.”



Was someone watching her? As she slid the key into the lock, Riley Austin glanced over her shoulder. The only unusual thing she noticed was a light on in the kitchen of the house across the street. Ah, so someone had rented the place. That hadn’t taken long, but she wasn’t surprised. It was a charming bungalow, with its two dormer windows, royal-blue shutters, and—her favorite feature—the wide front porch. Having nothing more than an overhang above her door, she coveted that porch.

The lock clicked open, and blaming her unease on the strange events of the past few days, she hurried inside before the cats reached her. Arthur, as usual, was the first to greet her, soon followed by Merlin and King Pellinore.

The kitten tried to climb her leg, his claws digging through the denim into her skin. “Ouch, Pelli.” Her latest acquisition, he’d been left at the no-kill shelter where she spent a few hours each week as a volunteer. Pelli’s original owner had shrugged when she’d dropped him off, saying, “I don’t want a cross-eyed cat. Creeps me out.”

Unable to resist the silly faced, talkative Siamese, Riley had adopted him. Arthur had immediately taken to the kitten, but Merlin, as he did most things new, had turned up his nose, refusing to acknowledge Pelli’s existence.

Holding the kitten, she dropped her purse on the foyer table, then shuffled her way to the kitchen, managing not to trip over the two adult cats winding themselves around her legs. At the sound of the can opener, Arthur and Pelli joined in a duet of cat begging. Merlin sat off to the side, his back to the other two as he washed his paws to prepare for dinner.

“I think you’re clean enough,” she told him, setting down his bowl last.

While the cats ate, she squeezed a slice of lime into a bottle of beer, and then put it in the freezer. In her bedroom, she unhooked her bra and slipped it out from under her T-shirt.

“Ahhh,” she moaned, once freed from the evil contraption. Tomorrow was garbage day, so she emptied her bathroom wastebasket and bagged it up with the kitchen trash. The cats were still eating, and she was able to slip out the kitchen door without Pelli trying to follow her. The other two had given up attempting to escape long ago.

After dropping the bag into the can, she paused and inclined her head as the sound of a beautifully played guitar reached her. She recognized the Eric Clapton song, “Bell Bottom Blues.” The music seemed to be coming from across the street, and she wondered if it was her new neighbor. The porch was still dark, and she couldn’t see anyone. The moment she began to roll the can down her driveway, the music stopped. A dog barked once from the direction of the bungalow, then all went quiet.

It was eerie knowing someone was there, watching her. Had that been what she felt on arriving home? “Hello?” she called. Nothing. So they—a him or a her?—weren’t the friendly type. Okay, no problem.

She headed back up the driveway, but paused at the edge of her carport. “You play beautifully. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Again nothing.

With a shrug, she went into her house. After retrieving her bottle of beer from the freezer, now slushy and just the way she liked it, she went into her bedroom, flipping the light switch down. The mystery person across the street had caught her interest. Better to wonder about her new neighbor than to dwell on losing another patient.

She pulled over a chair, eased up the window, sat in the dark, and waited. Five minutes passed before he started playing again. When had she begun to think of the person as a he? Maybe it was the way his music spoke to her, as if he were playing just for her. It was as if he stroked her with each pluck of a string. She wouldn’t feel that way if it were a woman, would she?

As she sipped her beer, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine his face, but all she saw was the poisoned cat dying on her, and she blinked her eyes open. Her mystery man played into the night so softly that she had to strain to hear him. She wished he would play louder, but then their neighbors likely wouldn’t appreciate it as much as she.