Jack Murray, Sheriff. Janice Kay Johnson

but now she said, “I’ll talk to him. I don’t mind.”

      “No!” Stephanie said with quick alarm. “You’ll tell Dad I think he breaks his promises. I don’t want him to know that.”

      “I won’t…”

      “Yes, you will! Don’t you dare say anything to Dad!”

      Lauren stuck out her tongue. “Well, then you do it.”

      They were off and running with the kind of bickering calculated to fray any parent’s patience. As she dealt with them, Beth reminded herself of how well they usually got along. And at least the quarrel was reassuringly normal. The day when neither wanted to talk about their father at all was the day when she really had to worry.

      As if she wasn’t worrying now.

      BETH ADDED PAPER to the copying machine, snapped the tray back into place and smiled at the customer. “All set.”

      “Thanks.” The woman, a volunteer at the local animal shelter, went back to copying fliers about a free spay/neuter day.

      Hearing her name, Beth turned. Maria Bernal, a friend who owned a women’s clothing store half a block away, was hurrying down the aisle between printer cartridges and pens. Hispanic, a little plump and very pretty, Maria took Beth’s arm and steered her into the back room. “Well, did he bring the kids home on time this weekend?”

      “More or less.” Beth automatically gathered up the remains of an employee’s sack lunch left on the one table and tossed it in the garbage. “He was only an hour late.” Her dry tone didn’t reveal how torturous that hour had been to Beth, who had come to dread every one of the girls’ visits to their dad.

      “You look tired.” Never less than blunt, Maria studied her with the practical eye she’d give a new clothing line. “Why no sleep? Is he still calling and hanging up?”

      Beth took a can of cola from the tiny refrigerator and, after Maria shook her head at the offering, popped the top. She needed the caffeine, although the artificial energy would do nothing for the weariness adding years to her face.

      “I don’t know that he…” she began.

      Her friend waved an impatient hand. “Okay, whoever. Is it still happening?”

      Beth’s voice went flat. “The past two nights it’s been the doorbell instead. The first couple of times, one of the girls answered and nobody was there. God, I was scared when I realized—” She broke off. “What’s horrible is that he must have been watching somewhere. The second time it was Steph, and she was scared to death. She had the sense to slam the door quick and lock it, but when I came running she was shaking. He must have seen.” Beth searched her friend’s face. “How could he do it to her, Maria?”

      “God, I don’t know.” Maria took her hand and squeezed. “The son of a… Well, you know what I think of him. And we’re not talking about ‘whoever’ here, are we.” It wasn’t a question.

      “I don’t know,” Beth said desperately. “It’s hard to believe Ray could be so cruel.”

      “A woman scorned is nothing on a man. You know, he may not let himself realize that Steph and Lauren are scared, too.”

      “It’s getting so I hate him.” Until she heard herself say the words, she hadn’t known her feelings were so caustic. “And what if it wasn’t him?”

      The question was unanswerable. Maria made a helpless gesture. “Have you called the police?”

      “What can they do?” Beth asked. “I’ve tried hiding by the window where I can see the front door, but then no one comes. If he’s able to figure out when I’m watching, do you think he’s going to come striding up on the front porch with a police car in my driveway?”

      “I think they can be more subtle than that.”

      “Maria, I can’t.” All Beth’s misery poured out. “This is Stephanie and Lauren’s father we’re talking about. What if I’m wrong?”

      Maria’s dark eyes were compassionate. “You’d still have a problem. Maybe a worse one.”

      She hadn’t thought about it that way. Was it scarier to think of a stranger persecuting them this way, or Ray?

      The question wasn’t one she could shake. It stayed with her long after Maria had bustled out.

      Usually Beth snatched a quick lunch in the back room, but she’d been so tired this morning she’d given the girls lunch money instead of sandwiches, and now she had to go out herself. The Bluebird Café three blocks away had good daily specials and the booths offered more privacy than the tiny tables at the deli around the corner, so she chose to go there. The walk would do her good.

      She’d barely taken a forkful of flaky crust from her turkey pot pie when she saw Sheriff Jack Murray enter, a big, broad man in another of those beautifully cut gray suits that hid the gun he undoubtedly carried. She should have sat with her back to the door, Beth thought belatedly, although she had no idea why she was so reluctant to face him again.

      Because he’d heard her screaming at her ex-husband?

      Six or seven booths were occupied, but his gaze went straight to her and he waved off the waitress, coming directly to Beth. “May I join you?”

      What could she say but “Of course.”

      The waitress followed, but he didn’t take the menu. “A cup of coffee and apple pie,” he told her, before he scrutinized Beth as directly as Maria had. “Your clerk said you were here.”

      Surprised, she said, “You came looking for me?”

      Justifiably, he ignored the question. “How are things going with your ex-husband?”

      Beth opened her mouth to say a bright “Just fine!” and found she couldn’t get the lie out. She closed her mouth, opened it again and finally sighed. “Well, we’ve had no repeat of the infamous temper tantrum. I guess I can deal with everything else.”

      That was a lie, too, of course; even at this moment, even when she was distracted by this blunt-featured man who knew too much about her life, her stomach churned and her chest was crowded with anxiety. What would tonight bring? A ringing telephone, with no caller on the other end? The chime of the doorbell, with no one standing on the doorstep? Or would something scarier yet happen?

      She met the sheriff’s eyes and had the unnerving feeling that he had read her mind. More roughly than her remark called for, he said, “You shouldn’t have to deal with anything. If he’s trespassing or violating his visitation rights—”

      “I should have him arrested?” How she wished she could! “I don’t think that would solve our problems.”

      “It might wake him up.” He stopped when a newcomer slapped him on the back and wanted to talk about a speech he’d apparently given the night before.

      Beth took the opportunity to eat, watching Murray respond with the easy geniality of a born politician. He had a reputation as a tough cop—too tough, according to his opponent in the last election. Beth had voted for him, anyway, liking the job he’d done as chief of the smaller Elk Springs city police force before he ran for sheriff.

      At the same time the waitress brought his coffee and pie, the other man moved on with apologies for interrupting their lunch, and Murray’s expression became grave. “Are you aware that your ex-husband was arrested for assault and battery over a week ago?”

      “Assault?” Staggered, Beth shook her head dumbly. The fork dropped from nerveless fingers. “No. No, I wasn’t.”

      “Got in a fight at the tavern. Not all his fault, apparently, but he broke the other man’s nose, really worked him over. According to the bartender, the fight was over you.”

      “Dear God.” Beth bent her head and pushed her plate away, struggling with her nausea. A fight