Lethal Legacy. Carol J. Post

and knees.

      And she hadn’t expected him to look like he did, all buff and mature. Though common sense told her he would’ve changed, she’d somehow held on to the image of the smiling teenager she’d fallen in love with at age fourteen.

      Last night, he hadn’t been smiling. And he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He’d radiated confidence, maturity and a sense of power that was mesmerizing, standing above her, a pistol at his hip.

      What was it about a man in uniform that women found so irresistible? Whatever it was, Bryce definitely did the Cherokee County garb justice.

      Andrea swallowed the last of her tea and held the empty cup, drawing the heat from the porcelain. A wind gust swept along the back of the house, and a shiver shook her shoulders.

      She stood to go back inside, then hesitated. Had she seen a glow deep in her woods? She waited for several more moments.

      There, near the left-hand edge of her property. Or maybe it was coming from the Langman place and wasn’t even in her woods.

      The glow moved rightward in an erratic path, as if someone was walking with a flashlight. Whoever was prowling the woods was definitely on her property now. Was it the men who’d been in the house last night, coming back to finish their search?

      She pulled her phone from her rear pocket and stared at the screen. If she called the police, it would take a unit twenty minutes to arrive. If the prowler was still there, he’d take off as soon as he heard sirens.

      There was another option. Bryce had said to call if she needed anything. He was right next door. And he was law enforcement. Based on what he’d told her, so was one of his friends. They could be there in less than a minute, both armed.

      She went back in to retrieve the business card Bryce had left on the rolltop desk and punched the number into her phone. The decision was a no-brainer. Looked like she was going to meet Bryce’s friend after all. If she had cell service.

      Though the phone showed one bar, the call wouldn’t connect. She returned to the deck and squinted into the woods. The light was still there. When she checked the phone, the screen showed “dialing.”

      “Come on, connect already.”

      She moved across the back of the house toward Bryce’s property. If the signal didn’t get strong enough soon, she might as well go knock on his door.

      She’d just reached the corner of her house when she heard the first ring. Bryce answered two rings later. There was no background noise on his end of the line. He’d either paused the movie or left the room. She told him the reason for her call. His next words were obviously not for her.

      “Grab your weapon. The neighbor I told you about has another prowler.”

      The neighbor I told you about? What did he tell them?

      Probably that someone had broken into the house next door. Even if he’d said more, what did it matter? Tomorrow she was heading back to Atlanta to be ready for Saturday’s funeral. She had no intention of hanging out with Bryce and his friends, even if she kept the place and used it as an occasional retreat.

      She disconnected the call, then made her way to the back door. She’d stay locked inside until Bryce and his friend arrived.

      When she swung the screen door open, the outer edge dropped a half inch. The hinges needed longer screws. Something else that would have to be done.

      The property wasn’t in total disrepair, but since her dad had inherited the place, he’d done the bare minimum to keep it from crumbling to the ground. That was easier than listening to her mother carry on about how he was spending their hard-earned money on something he should have unloaded long ago.

      Andrea frowned. Their hard-earned money was a misnomer, since her mother hadn’t done the actual earning. With a father who was a senior partner in a huge personal-injury law firm, Margaret Cunningham-Wheaton had grown up spending money without having to worry about where it came from. And her family had made sure she could continue the habit. Going to college and falling in love with an accounting major hadn’t been in anybody’s plans.

      Andrea paced the floor while she waited. Her one-minute estimate was overly optimistic. One minute stretched into two, then three and eventually ten. What were they doing, waiting till the movie was over?

      When someone finally knocked on the back door, she flipped the exterior light on and looked out the dining room window. Instead of two men on her deck, three were lined up side by side. She swung open the door.

      Bryce and a man she didn’t know kept a tight grip on the one in the center. Although she hadn’t recognized Bryce, Matt Langman, her other neighbor, was easily identifiable.

      His face had aged, more than it should have in the past twelve years. He’d lived a rough life. According to her father, he spent half his time in jail and the other half hatching up new ways to get into trouble. There was likely plenty of drug use involved, too.

      But a lot hadn’t changed. He still wore his hair in the same shaggy style and maintained that signature air of indifference. The cockiness hadn’t lessened one iota. He was too thin to be the one who’d slammed her into the doorjamb. But the accomplice could have been Matt. Their sizes were similar.

      “What are you doing on my property?”

      “Being held against my will by your boyfriend and his goon.” His eyes narrowed in the same malicious glare he’d always given her.

      She crossed her arms. She’d never done anything to him, had hardly spoken to him over the years. But he’d always hated her. He despised her for her privileged upbringing and the fact that Bryce’s relationship with her and her father had ended his friendship with Matt.

      But the bad blood went back further than that. Three generations, actually. Their great-grandfathers had been in business together and ended up with some irresolvable differences. Her great-grandfather had bought Matt’s out at a price the Wheaton clan insisted was generous and the Langman clan swore was highway robbery. The Langmans were still holding a grudge.

      “What were you doing on my property?”

      He tried to jerk away, but Bryce and his friend tightened their hold. “Going for a walk.”

      “At nine thirty at night?”

      He lifted his chin. “Cherokee County doesn’t have a curfew.”

      “Doesn’t matter. You’re trespassing.”

      “Not if there aren’t any signs.”

      Maybe he had her there. Before heading back to Atlanta, she’d stop by Tractor Supply and pick up a couple, along with a handheld staple gun. “I’ll have that remedied tomorrow.” Whatever Matt’s reasons, he was up to no good. “In the meantime, I’m giving you verbal warning. Stay off my property, or I’ll have you arrested.”

      “It’s not yours. It’s your dad’s.”

      “Since my dad’s dead, it’s mine.”

      For a brief moment, the cockiness fell away and his eyes widened. “Are you going to live here?”

      “I haven’t decided what I’m doing with the place yet.”

      His lips curled back in a sneer. “You need to take that snooty car of yours and go back to your fancy place in Atlanta. You don’t belong here.”

      Fire sparked inside and spread. Before she could formulate a response, Bryce gave him a shake.

      “That’s not for you to decide. You heard what Andi said. If you step foot on this property again, I’ll arrest you myself.”

      Matt opened his mouth but then apparently thought better of it. Instead, he shook off the hands that held him and sauntered toward the trees separating their two properties.

      Before leaving the circle of light emanating from the deck, he cast a glance over his