The paper bag that held the squashed remains of her hamburger rested in the corner, ketchup and chili oozing in grease slicks on the paper. Yeah, that would make a wonderful meal. She made a face and leaned down to scoop up the dinner that was now destined to feed the trash can. A ketchup smudge a few feet from the bag caught her eye, and she swiped it with her finger.
The spot smeared and Cassidy froze, her stomach twisting. Blood. Two droplets splotched the vinyl between the closet and the door to the garage. Narrowing her eyes, she backtracked, eyes scanning the linoleum as she went. There. Several long smears streaked the floor in the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room.
She gulped back nausea and leaped up to yank open the door to the garage, sudden panic fueling her desire to see with her own eyes Shane wasn’t somewhere bleeding to death. “Shane!” Her shout fragmented against the garage door and shattered against her eardrums. Silence followed. Easing down the steps, she flipped on the light. Her numb fingers fumbled with the door that led to the backyard before she managed to unlock it and step out. Wet grass clung to her bare feet. The gate to the privacy fence hung open, but the yard was still. No shadows shifted. No leaves rustled in the stagnant air behind the earlier rainstorm.
Cassidy clicked the gate shut and wandered into the house, wondering where Shane had gone and just how badly he was injured. Securing the garage door behind her, she tried to shake off the image of him in this kitchen. It was clear he was gone again. She needed to forget him.
But some small corner of her soul still cared enough to worry. The image of his face, illuminated by her flashlight beam, froze on the movie screen in her mind.
Cassidy shook her head. No. He’d left. And she had no way to find him, no idea who to contact. She hadn’t even realized he was stationed at Bragg. It would only make her look foolish if she called the police and said her bleeding ex-husband had vanished from her coat closet. Maybe she’d hallucinated the whole thing. Gripping her forehead between her thumb and index finger, she stared at the floor and tried to beat back the headache that pounded behind her left eyeball.
Food. She needed to eat something.
She glanced at the linoleum. No, first she needed to clean the tile. Then she could eat something. Why had she stored the floor cleaner under the bathroom sink? She fluttered on the edge of weariness before pivoting on one heel and heading for the stairs in the den. As her foot landed on the bottom step, she paused, head tilted to one side.
A shoe print tattooed the carpet pile of the third step.
Cassidy rested her left foot beside the imprint. Much too big to be hers.
Her hand felt for the gun holstered at her hip, and she bit back a groan. No weapon. She no longer lived in a war zone and no longer carried a pistol. Pressing her lips together, she tiptoed into the living room, snatched the flashlight from the coffee table and crept up the stairs, pseudoweapon raised. Life in Afghanistan sure hadn’t been this complicated. At least there, she’d had a gun and she’d known who the bad guys were.
Cassidy paused outside the door of the guest room at the top of the stairs. Silence filtered into the hallway. The beam of the flashlight swung across the room. No footprints marred the vacuum tracks in the carpet of the rarely used room.
At the door to her office, she changed tactics. Inhaling deeply, she flipped on the overhead light and stood ready to attack or defend. Instead, she froze. The only thing in its rightful place was the computer. Everything else—files, letters, bills, photos—was thrown around the room like the aftermath of an Iraqi dust storm.
A slow burn smoldered through her body, and it pulsed with her rising heartbeat. Shane. Clearly, he’d been looking for something, and he sure wasn’t hurt badly enough to let a little blood stop him.
All sympathy evaporated. Whatever Shane wanted, she hoped he’d found it, because it was certain he would never again set one foot in her life to look for it.
THREE
The lid to the trash can thumped into place, and Cassidy whacked it with the side of her fist for good measure. She’d spent the sleepless predawn hours sorting through papers and setting her office in order. While the cleaning bug gripped her, she boxed everything she could find to donate to charity and bagged what was left for a trip to the landfill.
She stared at the bags and shoved her bangs off her forehead. This purge should have happened years ago. Now the accumulated junk, coupled with angry energy that fueled a full summer cleaning spree, meant she’d need something bigger than her SUV to get all of the usable items to a donation site.
The low hum of an engine drew her attention to the road. As if her thoughts had solidified into physical reality, a gray late-model pickup stopped in front of the house. Adrenaline tingled her fingertips at the sight of the vehicle, but it surged on a bullet when Shane climbed out of the cab. The dark jeans and forest green T-shirt he sported today proved it wasn’t just the uniform that made the man.
Cassidy swallowed twice before her voice agreed to cooperate. “You have trouble with the words stay away?”
Shane stopped halfway between the truck and the house. His stance spoke of uncertainty. They’d known each other since high school, were together from the first day they met in English class until the day he walked out of her life, and the only other time she’d seen his confidence crack was the day he’d asked her to marry him.
She bit her lip and glared at the sky, shoving the memory of a mountain breeze and a diamond ring into the deepest well of her soul.
“Cassy, we need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. I’m confident you’ve got nothing new to say.” She yanked her hands from her hip pockets and brushed them together before planting them on her hips. “Know what? I’m too tired to talk. I spent the past few hours cleaning the mess you made upstairs.” She tilted her head toward the line of garbage bags against the wall. “You’d better hope whatever it was you were looking for isn’t in there because it’s out the door this afternoon.” Turning her back on him, she stomped into the garage. Good riddance to bad rubbish. The corner of Cassidy’s mouth twitched. Her grandmother’s favorite brush-off had never been so appropriate.
“You’re still angry?”
Without asking for permission, her feet planted and refused to take another step. Her spine went rigid, and a flush washed across her face and down the back of her neck. His question forced her to replay her reasons, to drag out old memories, to poke at her emotions and gauge their response. The hurt didn’t take her breath away like it had when she’d signed her name to papers that wiped away the promises of a lifetime, but it was still there, needling her heart. She swallowed hard. “What do you think?”
When Shane spoke again, his voice was closer. “What do you mean by the mess I made upstairs? I didn’t make it past the kitchen last night.”
The change of subject jerked her thoughts sideways as she whirled and met green eyes mere inches from her own. Her heart thudded to a stop, then pounded an extra beat. He used to be the safest place she’d ever known, the solid ground she set her feet on. The way he stood so close now made her long for that security again. Try as she might, she couldn’t force the longing aside.
“Tell me what happened, Cassy.” Shane’s voice rumbled low and played a melody on her heartstrings. She wasn’t sure if he was asking about what happened upstairs or about what happened between them. Whichever it was, this was a song she didn’t want to hear.
With more effort than she’d ever had to exert in her life, Cassidy stepped back and put a good six feet between them. “You trashed my office. Why? After all this time, what could you possibly be looking for?”
Shane ran his hand along his jaw, and his eyes flashed. “It wasn’t me.”
“Sure it wasn’t. Some mythical dragon stormed into my house, and you’re my knight in