The Hunk Next Door Read online

  “Too many,” he answered.

  That new urge to scream returned with a vengeance. She wouldn’t give the people behind these hateful acts the satisfaction. Whatever system she’d disrupted with the drug bust, the criminals were playing hardball now. She’d read the emails and threats in chat rooms about retaliation that involved taking out innocent civilians. Until now, she’d thought it was so much smoke and hot air.

  They were lucky Calder hadn’t been paralyzed or even killed.

  When she found the person responsible—and she silently vowed to do just that—she would see them rot behind bars.

  When an investigative team arrived, Abby relinquished the scene as soon as she brought them up to speed. With her head spinning, she would only impede their progress. Belclare deserved the best from their police department.

  Trudging back across the street, she could almost hear the gossip chasing her. The graffiti on the welcome sign was bad enough. As word spread about Calder she’d be lucky if Mayor Scott didn’t fire her at the next town council meeting.

  He didn’t exactly have the authority, but that wouldn’t stop the posturing. And the posturing would weaken her position. Reaching her front door, she glanced back over her shoulder one last time, but the view of Calder’s house was blocked by Riley’s wide shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “Relax.” He rubbed a hand gently across her shoulder, making her want to lean in for a hug. “I was going to help you clean up the kitchen.”

  “No, thanks. You’ve done more than enough to help me tonight.” This time she was praising him and he shuffled his feet, apparently uncomfortable with the compliment. Interesting.

  “Let’s try again tomorrow.” He signaled to the Hamiltons’ house. “At my place.”

  She sighed. Being around her wasn’t smart. The vandals and Calder’s attacker proved that. “I can’t tell if you’re brave or a glutton for punishment.”

  “A guy could say the same about you,” he replied with a grin.

  No. Most men said different things about her. Aside from Deke, Riley was the first man who seemed to see beyond her title and badge. She caught the flash of cameras across the street and hoped her detectives were coming up with something useful.

  “Tomorrow night I have plans.” If she had the courage to explore a new path in her relationship with Deke. She’d been looking forward to the potential with the artist. Now, with a new neighbor bent on hovering, it seemed she might have a choice. Did she want one?

  Right now she wanted some quiet. “Thanks for your help, Riley.”

  He nodded, gracing her with a slow smile she found so much more attractive than his grin. “Be sure to lock your doors.”

  “I think that’s my line.”

  “Not tonight, Abby. I’m right next door if you need me.”

  Baffled by the temptation he presented, she escaped into her house, throwing the dead bolt and security chain. She didn’t need to look to know he’d waited to be sure she locked up.

  In the kitchen, she checked the lock on the back door and pulled the curtains. As she cleaned up dinner, her thoughts wandered between Deke and Riley and she told herself it was an exercise in distraction. It would be years before that horrible image of Calder under the ladder faded from her memory.

  Ruthlessly, she forced her mind to lighter issues. As much as she enjoyed Deke, Riley stirred some new, previously undefined feminine flutter. Her girlfriends would blame it on the tool belt, and they might have a point. He had good hands, too, broad and strong.

  And warm, she remembered, thinking of how he’d touched her when the ambulance arrived.

  She was smart enough to know better, wise enough to look past the handsome face and sexy features to the man underneath. Yet she entertained a purely physical fantasy as she headed upstairs to bed.

  What in the world was going on with her? The man was a stranger....

  And, with an unknown enemy haunting her, a stranger was the last thing she needed in her life right now.

  Chapter Six

  “Sir, a call.”

  Deke set aside his novel. The sitting room where he chatted weekly with Abby had become his favorite place to plan and strategize. He watched the fire in the hearth, waiting until his assistant had pulled the door closed before dealing with the caller, “Yes?”

  “I went by, but she had company.”

  “Explain,” Deke replied. The news startled him at first. Abby never had company. He knew her habits as well as his own.

  “I drove by with the channel open and I heard voices.”

  This was no cause for alarm. Her company was likely just a brief visit with her neighbor. The older woman played mother to the entire block. She would have heard about the vandalism and come by to offer moral support.

  It couldn’t be allowed to continue. Deke needed Abby to come to him. He’d been waiting for hours for her to show up and cry on his shoulder—or in the manner more suitable to Abby—ask his advice. With the fear he’d incited among the citizens of her beloved town, he’d made himself her only friend in this dumpy, godforsaken place and his patience was growing thin.

  “I waited and then came in closer,” his employee continued. “Looks like the guy from one of those setup teams. The one who’s been working at the department. They looked pretty cozy.”

  The guy? Cozy? Deke’s hand clutched the upholstered arm of his chair. That couldn’t be possible. She wouldn’t take the risk. He’d thoughtfully and carefully nurtured her paranoia to the point that she didn’t trust anyone.

  “Find out who he is. I want everything you can find on him.”

  “I’m on it.”

  What could she be thinking? The idea of his trophy, his reward, spending her time with one of the temporary workers passing through town, set his temper blazing. He didn’t fight it, letting it burn, vaporizing the haze of his misplaced esteem and affection for Abigail Jensen. She was now his enemy with no potential for redemption.

  “Updates every hour. I want pictures, as well.”

  “Already handled.”

  “Really?” Deke knew better than to ask how. It was satisfying to have something going right. The people he hired quickly learned about his zero tolerance for failure. He supposed he owed the man some encouragement. “This afternoon’s vandalism was good work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can trust them to keep quiet?” Deke wondered about the misfits the man had hired to deface the town’s historic welcome sign.

  “I don’t trust anyone that much.”

  “Good.” It was the tacit confirmation he wanted that the vandals were dead. Dead men didn’t tell tales. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  The call ended and Deke walked to the window that overlooked the water. It was a worthy view of the quaint little town when the moon was full. Tonight it was dull and gray, the sky full of clouds. Mother Nature seemed all too willing to accommodate Belclare’s hope for a fresh blanket of picturesque snow to kick off their annual event.

  The only good thing about the tourist season was the potential for more victims and even more suspects. The police department would have no rest until the next shipment was safely through. And when he was done with Abigail Jensen, when she was thoroughly ruined and dead at his feet, Deke promised himself he would move from this insipid place. He wanted to find somewhere with more space and more sunshine to go with his anonymity.

  With his endgame in mind, he called in his assistant and gave the next orders. Yes, a fresh blanket of snow would fit perfectly into his plan. That way the spilled blood would show up a vivid red.

  Chapter Seven

  Belclare Police Station

  Thursday, December 1, 9:15 a.m.

  Abby rushed through the back door toward her office, already an hour behind schedule and her mind a jumble of details that needed to be handled swiftly. Checking on her neighbor this morning had taken longer than she’d expected, but it had been necessary. Calder was a friend, and now, a victim. Learning w
ho might have wanted to hurt him to get to her was essential.

  Then she’d discovered someone had broken into her garage last night. Nothing appeared to be missing or damaged—except her pride, which was exactly why she had no intention of making a formal report on it. If the chief of police couldn’t protect her own home, how was she going to protect the town? She shook her head. The feds would holler again about protection and security. Maybe they had a point. The extra patrols would have to be enough—the people she was responsible for in this community took priority. With any luck they’d catch the troublemaker before a security system could be installed. Maybe she was losing it? Her mind and her ability to get the job done.

  No time to debate the latter. This morning’s delays had cost her valuable mental prep time going into today’s meeting with Mayor Scott and Martin Filmore. Sadly, she couldn’t put off this potential minefield. Both men were waiting for her and came to their feet as she walked in. Their easy presence in her office made her want to shoot something.

  “Good morning,” she offered, not even trying to smile.

  “You’re fifteen minutes late,” Mayor Scott said.

  “I hope the sergeant made you comfortable.” Based on the two cups of coffee on her desk, it looked as if they were comfortable enough.

  She put her coat on the rack and set her purse to the side before taking her seat.

  “Have you found the vandals?”

  She’d had the entire twenty seconds of walking across the police station to read that report. “Not yet. The team posted last night didn’t encounter any more trouble.” She shifted her full attention to Martin. “Have you come up with plan of action for restoring the welcome sign?”

  “I met with the decorating company, yes. They agreed to create a temporary sign while the original is removed and sent for restoration.”

  Mayor Scott cleared his throat. “The town council released the appropriate funds.”

  “That is good news,” Abby said. “My officers have reorganized their schedules and patrol routes to—”

  “Is that absolutely necessary?” Martin interrupted.

  “Yes, Mr. Filmore,” Abby replied, struggling for control. “As I explained yesterday, based on recent events, I believe the extra patrols are imperative to keeping this city safe. In fact, I was about to ask—” she glanced at the mayor “—for a small slice of the emergency funds to hire a few extra officers from Baltimore for the opening weekend.”

  “No.”

  She blinked at the mayor’s stern response. “Excuse me?”

  “We’ve had enough public attention of the wrong kind. The media has painted a target on Belclare. We’ll be lucky if we aren’t facing a ghost town this weekend. Are you trying to bankrupt our city, Chief?”

  Abby clamped her mouth shut, startled by this one-hundred-eighty degree turnaround from the man who didn’t believe in the concept of bad publicity. How had everything and everyone around her changed so suddenly? The answer followed hot on the heels of that question. Fear. The kind of fear her actions had brought to the citizens of Belclare changed people.

  Nothing she could do about that. Protecting the citizens was her job. Appeasing them—if it got in the way—was not.

  “I concur,” Mr. Filmore added with an arrogant tilt of his chin.

  Of course he concurred. These guys were the drama twins, each with a slightly differing agenda. She laced her fingers together, wishing for her own cup of coffee, but that would have to wait. “The town council will approve the overtime expenses for my officers.” It wasn’t a question. Fortunately for the mayor, he seemed to understand that, as well. A vague dip of his head showed acknowledgment even if he would never say as much out loud. She moved on. “My officers are not on patrol to threaten or interfere with anyone, but in our experience a vigilant, visible presence is its own deterrent.”

  “It didn’t deter more trouble on your street last night,” Filmore blurted out, his face turning red with frustration. “You all but sent out engraved invitations for every criminal to come test you. Belclare will pay the ultimate price.”

  She bit back the sharp retort dancing on the tip of her tongue. “What would you have me do differently, Mr. Filmore?”

  His mouth flapped like a fish for several seconds. “I’m not qualified to say, but I have gumption enough to know what you’ve done so far isn’t working.” He turned to the mayor. “All I know is that what you’re doing is ruining the most important time of year for our town.”

  Gutless wonders, both of them, she thought. Their support for her success with the drug bust had shifted with the arrival of the very first federal agent. The instant the first threat hit the airwaves she was public enemy number one with these two men.

  “Well, I must admit the generous promotional spots Deke Maynard provided should go a long way to salvaging opening weekend,” Mayor Scott allowed, smoothing a hand over his glaring holiday-plaid tie.

  Ghost town or a decent turnout? She wished he’d pick a theory and stick with it.

  On the short drive into the office, she’d only caught a teaser about Deke’s upcoming call-in interview on the radio. The man rarely bothered with publicity and she knew it made him uncomfortable, but if he was in her corner, urging people to attend the Christmas Village, she owed him a big thank-you.

  “Will you at least decorate the police cars?” the historic society’s president asked.

  “That’s a favorite tradition around here, Mr. Filmore,” Abby agreed. “I’ll make sure someone takes care of that right away.” She’d already assigned Danny to follow up on that detail, but she didn’t see the need to let Filmore know she’d had the idea first. Maybe appeasing was necessary at this point.

  “Thank you,” he allowed.

  Never an easy person to be around, Filmore fidgeted more than usual today. She chalked it up to distress over the ruination of the heirloom welcome sign on top of his disapproval of her new patrol protocol.

  Both men stood. Finally. With handshakes and an exchange of “Merry Christmas,” they left her alone in her office.

  Turning to her computer, she found websites for the local television and radio stations. The impromptu media junket Deke had managed this morning was getting an outpouring of positive responses. The man had single-handedly muted the negative press regarding the crime wave in Belclare. Offering an additional painting for the silent auction that benefitted the Belclare Food Bank was a lure that would bring in serious tourist traffic. Maynard rarely sold his original paintings, though he displayed new work in the local gallery and occasionally chose pieces for limited commercial print runs. Abby was overwhelmed with gratitude for the man who seemed to be her only ally in town. She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.

  His assistant answered in his typical muted monotone and, moments later, Deke’s voice filled her ear.

  “Darling, how are you today?”

  Better than Calder, she thought with no small measure of guilt. While the officers who’d taken over the search had found tracks in the snow behind the house, they’d lost the trail at the next street. “At the moment I’m out of the mayor’s doghouse,” she replied. “Thanks to you.”

  “Anything for a friend. We can’t let something as silly and petty as vandals get in the way of a good tourist season.”

  She wished petty and silly crimes were all she had to think about. “Well, once more you’ve put your support into action and I’m immensely grateful.”

  “Does that mean you’ll skip your meeting and join me this evening?”

  She hesitated. Was that what she wanted it to mean? Sharing dinner with Deke would be a marvelous escape from a typical evening. She indulged in the fantasy, imagining the balm of excellent food paired with the perfect wine and intelligent conversation in front of the fireplace in his dining room. Would anything be better?

  An image of those threats on the welcome sign and then on her neighbor’s house blotted out her fantasy. She tried to shake it off, but the m
emory of Calder pinned under the ladder shivered through her.

  “Abby? Are you there?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her palms went clammy. Calder was a good neighbor. He’d made minor repairs around her house, sometimes in exchange for only a six-pack of beer. It helped to have a neighbor like him when she didn’t have time for a man in her life otherwise. Was time really the problem or was it just another excuse? She pushed the thought away and answered Deke’s question. “Yes. Sorry, I’m here. As much as I’d like to join you, I’m afraid I will have to pass on dinner.”

  She pressed her thumb to the point between her eyebrows, hoping to ease another wave of tension. Putting off Deke after he’d done so much for her felt like an insult. At the very least it felt like she was taking him for granted. She didn’t want to visit him in the hospital, either. Someone out there had made a public vow to hurt her and the people she cared about. The threats weren’t going away and the problem was escalating. Whoever put the vandals and assailants in motion knew how to get under her skin. Injuring her neighbor and going through her garage were way too close for comfort. She didn’t dare consider what might be next.

  “Are you sure?” he pressed.

  She’d offended him. “I value you, Deke,” she confessed, hoping he’d understand. “As a citizen and as a friend. Whoever wants me out of here is willing to hurt those around me to make a point. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

  “I’m quite capable of watching out for myself,” he assured her.

  The tension in his voice had given way to something gentler. She could picture that barely there smile on his face. “You’ve done a fine job.” Abby rocked back in her chair. “Will you give me a rain check on dinner?”

  He sighed. “Tonight, tomorrow, next week. Whatever best suits your crime-fighting schedule. Consider the invitation open.”

  “Thank you. That means a great deal.” And when this was behind her, she’d make up for lost time.

  “Is that just the chief of police talking?”

  “No.” Was he flirting with her? “True friends seem hard to find under the current circumstances.”