Lyn Stone - In Harm's Way

She made a note to examine the small paintings hanging in the stairwell later when she could focus properly. They appeared to be very old pastoral scenes. Everything looked old. Ancient.

Again he unlocked a door and turned on the lights.

“Make yourself at home. There’s the bedroom through there. Since she took practically everything but the kitchen sink with her, Sandra’s things shouldn’t get in your way. I expect there are some nonperishables left in the kitchen, but we’ll get you supplied with whatever you like later today.”

He glanced at his watch as if he had somewhere else to be, but she didn’t want him to go yet.

“Exactly who is Sandra?” Robin thought he’d said a friend, another policeman, rented this place. She’d erroneously assumed it was a man.

“Sandra Cunningham,” he explained. “She’s at the FBI academy for a training course.”

He sounded terribly proud of this person. Robin made herself smile at him. “Are you sure this friend won’t object to my invading her space while she’s away?”

“Positive she won’t, but I’ll call her and let her know.” He backed out of the door. “Speaking of calls, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some. I’ll do it from my place.”

“You live close by?”

“Just next door.” He looked at his watch again. “Try to get some sleep this morning and I’ll check back with you around noon.”

Robin turned the dead bolt after the door closed and leaned against the solid panel. She listened for his footsteps on the stairs, but didn’t hear them. He must move like a cat.

She looked at the phone on the table by the window, then decided it might be best to wait until after she had slept to call her mother. Dealing with her would take energy Robin didn’t have at the moment. Exhausted beyond bearing, she went straight to the bedroom and stretched out across the big brass bed.

Usually she preferred being by herself, but now almost wished Mitch Winton had stayed. She suddenly felt too alone.

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