Page 150 of The Woman By the Lake

I went to favorites, hit the number and put it to my ear.

I jumped when I heard a thud against the outside wall by the kitchen.

“Fret County Sheriff’s Office,” a man answered.

“Hi. This is Nadia Antonov,” I whispered. “Out at the Weaver Cabin on County Road Thirty. I have trespassers scratching at my windows. I’m with Doc”—another thud, Lord—“Riggs, and he’s gone out to, I don’t know, deal with them.”

“Sending a cruiser out to you now. Are you safe?”

“Yes…”—something heavy hit the front porch—“but I think maybe you should hurry.”

“Got it. Stay inside. Stay safe.”

“Um…okay. I don’t think I can talk anymore. He’s trying to be stealthy.”

Though, I had a feeling he started that way, but now, not so much.

“Fine, but please remain on the line,” the man said.

“Okay,” I replied just as I heard some scrambling on the front porch.

That sound eventually stopped, thirty seconds slid by, a minute, two, five, an eternity. I was pretty sure I was going to either scream or throw up when the deputy asked, “You there?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Okay, unit en route. ETA ten minutes.”

“Right,” I kept whispering.

I heard more noise I couldn’t decipher from the front porch, someone talking I thought was Riggs, but it was so low, I couldn’t tell. But it was a man.

After that, nothing.

Until I saw lights come on inside from under the quilt.

I pushed it off, jumped to my feet and turned to see Riggs sauntering shirtless from the back hall to where his Clash tee was on the floor by the bed (apparently, I didn’t have his toss strength, because I’d really wanted to be rid of that too).

As he tugged it on, I told the deputy in my normal voice, “Riggs is back inside, and he’s fine.”

“Status of the situation?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied just as Riggs came to a stop in front of me and held out his hand. “He’ll tell you.”

I gave him the phone.

He put it to his ear and started moving again, turning on lights and talking. “Who’s this?” Then, “Hey, Raul. Got two punks tied up on my front porch. Are you sending a cruiser? We’re pressing charges.” Pause then, “Right. Thanks.”

He beeped off my phone and tossed it so it landed on the couch.

“Tied up?” I asked.

“Nabbed digital cable,” he told me, snatching the keys off the hook by the door (he’d given Brenda strict instructions, so unlike his storms, mine could only be opened, inside and outside, with a key).

The cable thing was genius.

He unlocked and opened the front door, unlocked the storm and flipped on the front lights.

He then strode out.

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