Jack Murray, Sheriff. Janice Johnson Kay

tell anybody, but everybody says he really scared them. I bet he could help you.”

      Her open admiration made Beth grit her teeth. It also hardened her sagging resolve. She was not interested in a man who scared anybody—even teenage boys who probably deserved it.

      “Thank you for your suggestion, Tiffany,” she said, in a tone that she hoped was both pleasant and dismissive. “I’ll watch until you get home.”

      “Thanks, Mrs. Sommers.” Her feelings apparently not hurt, Tiffany bounded down the porch steps with all the grace of a puppy, and cut across the lawn. In the middle of the street she turned and cheerfully waved.

      Beth waved back, waiting until the girl disappeared inside the brick house kitty-corner to her own. Only then did Beth close and lock the front door, her hand still fumbling on the unfamiliar brass dead bolt.

      Every time she touched the shiny new locks, Beth was reminded of Ray. As she made her way up to bed, she acknowledged the sharp feeling of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. This was Thursday night; tomorrow evening Steph and Lauren’s weekend with their dad began.

      She lay in bed, sleep hours away, and prayed: Please let him be in a good mood. Please please please let him bring them home on time.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      STANDING IN the living room where she could keep one eye on the clock, the other on the empty street, Beth clutched the cordless phone in a grip so tight she felt as if the plastic case should crack.

      Ray was now four hours and thirty-two minutes late bringing the girls home. Call the police, everyone had said. Finally, in terror, she’d known she had no other choice.

      And look what good it had done her.

      He’s how late? they’d asked. Only a few hours? Perhaps car trouble…

      “Ma’am,” the officer on the other end of the line said patiently, “has your ex-husband threatened to take the children?”

      Any other time, Beth would have been annoyed; tonight, his condescension only quickened the panic beating in her breast. He wasn’t going to help her. She could tell already.

      “Not…explicitly.” She explained about the other weekends, when he had kept her waiting and laughed at her fear. Swallowing her shame, she told the officer about the shouted voices and the flowerpots shattering against her front door.

      He listened, she had to give him credit for that much, but at the end he explained, “It doesn’t sound to me as if kidnapping is a real concern at this time.”

      Kidnapping. The very word sent a shudder through her.

      “When will you consider it a real concern?” Beth asked sharply.

      “After twenty-four hours…”

      “They’ll be long gone.” Through the state of Washington across the Canadian border. Down I-5 to Mexico. Would Ray be able to take the children out of the country without identification of any kind? A memory flickered, from long ago when they had been a family who took vacations together: a customs guard bending over to glance incuriously in the driver’s side window as he asked by rote how long they planned to stay in Victoria, B.C. Would he have asked any more questions if Ray or she had been alone with the children?

      Oh, God.

      Beth ended the call hastily and probably rudely; she didn’t care. She only knew that another ten minutes had passed, and Ray’s pickup hadn’t appeared. He’d had the girls for two nights this weekend, and was supposed to have had them home at one this afternoon. It was now…5:42. Dinnertime. She hadn’t even started the chicken casserole she’d intended to make tonight. Hadn’t thought of it. Didn’t know whether the chicken was spoiling on the kitchen counter or whether she’d put it back in the refrigerator.

      What now?

      She could drive over to Ray’s apartment. She’d done that once, two and a half hours ago, but his pickup hadn’t been in the slot and nobody had answered the doorbell.

      He wouldn’t take the girls, Beth told herself for the hundredth time. The thousandth time. He couldn’t go and keep his job. He loved long-haul trucking; he owned his own rig, a huge investment. What would he do? Leave it? Anyway, he didn’t want to be a full-time parent.

      No, he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Pacing, wringing her hands, Beth tried to convince herself that he wanted to upset her, but he hadn’t become unbalanced enough to destroy his own life just to destroy hers.

      What were a few hours? If he’d asked, she wouldn’t have minded if he took the girls somewhere special this afternoon. If, when he brought them home, he saw that she wasn’t scared, only irritated, he’d quit doing this. Her fear fed him. She had to—somehow—hide it.

      The old-fashioned mantel clock ticked, the tiny sound magnifying the silence, italics emphasizing a stark word. The tick was like her heartbeat as she tried to sit but somehow ended up standing at the front window again. How could it beat so hard and fast and yet the minutes pass so slowly?

      Jack Murray would do more than listen. The thought tapped insidiously on her consciousness, a temptation so great she almost groaned aloud.

      He’d told her to call if she needed him. She remembered his patience, his solid presence, the way he had so effortlessly cowed Ray. He hadn’t had any obligation to stop that night, or come to see her later. He did seem to sympathize.

      Beth pressed her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes. Ray would be so angry if Jack Murray were here when he brought the girls home. She might as well wave a red cape.

      But it wasn’t her fear of angering Ray that kept her from snatching up the phone again and dialing. It was the fact that the sheriff had asked her on a date….

      No. Her breath clouded the windowpane. She had to be honest with herself. What really bothered her was the expression in his dark eyes when he looked at her, and the way that made her feel. She was bruised inside by her marriage and divorce. She didn’t want to be aware of a man. She wasn’t ready.

      Would never be ready for the Butte County sheriff, a man who had to be as capable of violence as Ray was.

      Beth held out for another fifteen agonizing minutes. She called Ray’s apartment and listened to his curt message: “If you want me to call, leave your number.”

      “Ray,” she said, “I expected Steph and Lauren home some time ago. Please phone me.”

      When the clock chimed softly six times, Beth knew she couldn’t bear the silence anymore, the relentless tick of the second hand, the empty street. She reached for the phone. Only then did it occur to her that Jack Murray might not be at home waiting for her call.

      Painful relief surged through her when he picked up after the third ring and said brusquely, “Murray here.”

      “Sheriff, this is Beth Sommers. Your neighbor. Um, the one who…”

      “Has troubles with her ex-husband. I know who you are, Beth. Is he there now?”

      “No.” Her chest felt as if it were being crushed. “Ray had the girls this weekend. He was supposed to bring them home at one today. He’s…he’s five hours late. I called the Elk Springs police, but they can’t do anything until twenty-four hours has passed. I could tell they thought I was being hysterical. Maybe I am….” Her voice was rising and she had to swallow a sob.

      “I’ll be right over.” She heard a click and more silence, but a different brand this time.

      He was coming. He would find Ray and the girls. Her anger had long since been swamped by fear, but tears hadn’t threatened until this minute, when she no longer felt so helpless and alone.

      The sheriff arrived in an unmarked dark blue sedan. Beth rushed to unlock the front door. At the sight of the tall, dark man striding up her walkway, she was shocked by her desire to throw herself into his arms and cry against