Stolen Secrets. Sherri Shackelford

he should have known she’d never have something as common as a cat or a dog as a pet. Her home, much like Lucy herself, was eclectic, warm and mischievous. The mix of colors and patterns was charming. He’d never gone beyond beige in choosing a wall shade, but he didn’t mind the startling teal blue Lucy had chosen. Still, had he seen a color swatch, he’d have balked.

      Did opposites really attract? Brandt had summed up Jordan’s personality as “brunch.” He wasn’t too early and he wasn’t too late—he was someone everyone could agree on. Despite their differences, they’d made a good team. Jordan had tempered Brandt’s impulsive tendencies, while Brandt had forced Jordan to take more risks.

      Jordan glanced at a watercolor of a woman in a sequined leotard reclining beneath the raised foot of an elephant. The past few months had stripped all the whimsy from his life. His soft edges had been sharpened, and the only humor he had left was dark. Since the bombing, something inside him had changed. There was a restless longing that hadn’t been there before.

      “Here.” Without waiting for an answer, Lucy thrust Mr. Nibbles into his outstretched hands. “Can you hold him for a sec?”

      “Wait,” Jordan protested. “I don’t think this is—”

      “I’ll be right back.” She waved her index finger playfully. “Don’t you two get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

      Leaving Jordan sputtering, she disappeared up the stairs once more.

      He stared at the rodent. After a tense moment, Mr. Nibbles blinked.

      “Let’s get something straight. I’m not a guinea pig person.” Jordan assumed his sternest expression—the expression that parted crowds and ensured that his subordinates didn’t turn into insubordinates. Right then, he didn’t care who was listening. “We’re not going to be pals, so don’t get any ideas.”

      The message must have landed, because Mr. Nibbles promptly bit him.

      “Ouch.” Holding the squirming rodent away from his body, Jordan wrestled open the lid to the cage. “That’s no way to make a friend.”

      Gingerly he replaced the guinea pig and stepped back. Mr. Nibbles scurried to the corner, scuffed in his bedding and promptly began to gnaw on something. Jordan leaned closer.

      “No biting,” he warned.

      Carefully brushing the shaved wood chip bedding aside, Jordan discovered a small, square photograph from an instant camera. As he squinted at the grainy picture, his adrenaline spiked.

      He slid his hand into his jacket and closed his fingers around the barrel of his weapon. For a long moment, he stayed very still, his senses attuned to any disturbance. The only sounds were Lucy’s footsteps overhead and the gentle scuffing of Mr. Nibbles. The air stirred, and a sheer curtain fluttered in the gentle breeze. He glanced at the photograph once more.

      Someone must have slipped it through the open window only moments before. A rare moment of indecision plagued him. Too much time had passed. There was no point in giving chase, and he didn’t want to leave Lucy alone.

      She returned from upstairs and he pivoted. “We need to go. Quickly.”

      “Not without Mr. Nibbles.”

      “Oh, fine,” he muttered, returning for the cage. He stared the guinea pig in the eye. “You owe me for coming back for you.”

      He kept his tone light to avoid further worrying Lucy, then caught himself. If he was distracted by his feelings, he was liable to walk them both right into a trap.

      Someone out there was watching them. Waiting for them.