Page 154 of Like A Moth To A Flame

“No,” I said with a sigh, turning to leave the kitchen and make my way back into the living room. I was suddenly tired, but I couldn’t head to bed until the sheriff had had a chance to come in and look around. Maybe it was the stress draining me of all the energy the growing baby in my belly was kind enough to leave me with, which wasn’t much. “No, I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Did you call Tommy?”

“Not yet.”

“Go ahead and call him,” she said, and I heard the unmistakable jingle of keys. “I’m gonna come over.”

“No, ‘Melia, you don’t have to—”

“Already got my shoes on!” she called, and the line went dead in my hand.

I knew better than to argue, anyway. Once Amelia had her shoes on, there was no stopping her, especially since she was pregnant.

Within twenty minutes, my foyer filled up with people. Tommy had rushed home, getting there in almost the same moment as Amelia. Carl had come with him, and I had no sooner shut the front door than Sheriff Banner was knocking.

Now, I stood in the kitchen, listening to Tommy pace back and forth in front of the door, Sheriff Banner standing beside me and Amelia in the kitchen. Carl had retreated outside to check the perimeter, and we were waiting for him to step back into the house.

“Do you have any idea who it could be?” Amelia asked, looking over at me, one thumb pressed against her lips, her teeth tugging at the corner of her nail.

I sighed, sucking my lips into my mouth, and biting them closed. It was better than the alternative—ripping the skin off with my teeth until they hurt and bled.

“I do,” Tommy spoke up, and the anger that laced his tone was deadly and made me shiver where I stood. Amelia and I turned to look at him, leaning against the kitchen doorway, peering in at us with eyes that shone with fire and ice.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” the sheriff said, his hands folding in front of him. “I’ve been to his house, and it’s been empty for months. Ain’t nobody there, Tom. He fled town, as far as I know.”

“Who?” I asked, my eyes darting between the two of them. “Who are you—”

“Barrett,” Tommy spat, the name bringing a wrinkle to his nose and a look of disgust across his face as if it were the most disgusting thing he’d had in his mouth until now.

And maybe it was.

The next morning, I woke up alone. With a puzzled expression, I rolled over the best I could and snatched my phone off of the bedside table next to me. It took several minutes of blinking and rubbing my eyes to see clearly. I had just managed to flip my phone open and find his text when I heard the telltale creak of the front door popping open downstairs.

He sent his text over two hours ago now, saying he would be back soon, and Carl and Amelia were downstairs to keep me safe.

Fighting to roll out of bed, I knew what a real struggle felt like. Finally, I placed my feet on solid ground, and I stood up, feeling the ache in my hips and back from my future growing inside of me. It took a few seconds more than I thought it would to catch my breath, and when I did, I hurried out of the room and down the stairs. I made it to the first landing before I saw him, standing at the front door, with a happy dog waggling at his side and a leash wrapped around his hand.

I was barely halfway down the final flight before the dog turned his dark muzzle to look at me, his tan body stiff and unsure as I approached. He was all lean muscle, with tall black ears and a soft tan body that ended in long, athletic legs.

“Who’s this?” I asked, and Tommy looked up at me with a proud smile.

“This is Duke,” he said, reaching out to hand me the leash. “And he’s yours.”

Confusion mixed with anticipation as I took the leash from him, still trying to process what was happening.

“Mine?” I asked.

“Yep,” Tommy said, looking lovingly down at us as Duke wiggled and wagged, slowly stepping closer. “He’s a retired K-9 officer. With everything that’s been happening around here, I thought it would be good to have a set of eyes around when I’m not.”

I tried my best to kneel with my swollen stomach in the way. Just a couple of years working in the clinic told me dogs—especially working dogs—didn’t like it when you bent over them, and instead preferred you to come down to their level.

“Hey there, Duke,” I said softly, offering my hand for him to sniff. His warm nose brushed against my palm, and a wave of affection washed over me. It was as if Duke understood me more than I understood him.

“Retired?” I asked, looking up at Tommy as my hands ran down the fur running down his thick, muscular neck. “He seems pretty young.”

“He’s three,” Carl chimed in from around the corner of the kitchen. “He was top of his class until he had an accident at the academy. Broke his back leg and now he has a limp, so he retired early.”

I stood up, Duke’s leash secure in my hand. As I glanced back at Tommy, he wore a contented smile. He was happy with himself, it seemed, and even if I was grateful, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a bad idea.

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