Page 4 of In the Dead of Night

“That’s what I said.”

“Show me some ID.” Tilting his head slightly, he spoke into a lapel mike. “This is zero-two-four. I’m ten-twenty-three. Over.”

“Whatcha got, Chief?” crackled a tinny male voice.

“Cancel that ten-fourteen, will you?”

“Roger that.”

Convinced this man was indeed a cop, Sara sidled to the bed and pulled her driver’s license from her wallet. “You scared the hell out of me,” she snapped as she crossed to him and held it out for him to read.

He shone the beam on her license. “Sara Douglas.” He said her name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Th-there was a prowler,” she said. “I saw him. At the kitchen window. A man.”

Dipping his head slightly, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “How long ago?”

“A minute. Maybe two.”

“That was probably me.”

“Oh.” Sara choked out a nervous laugh, releasing some of the tension that had built up inside her.

He frowned, apparently not seeing any humor in the situation. Maybe because he had a bump the size of a quarter on his left cheekbone from where she’d thrown the cell phone.

“I’m sorry I threw the phone at you.”

“Yeah.” He touched the bump. “I’ll let you know if I decide to arrest you for assaulting a cop.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He didn’t answer, and Sara found herself wishing she could see his face better.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“A 911 call came in about twenty minutes ago. Someone reported seeing lights up here.”

Realization dawned. “Someone thought I was a prowler?”

“This place has been vacant for quite a few years. Neighbors aren’t used to seeing any kind of activity up here. Unless, of course, it has to do with ghosts.”

The word hung in the air like a bad joke. “Ghosts?”

“Word around town is that this place is haunted.”

“That’s pretty ridiculous.” Her laugh held no humor.

“Considering what happened up here.” He lifted a shoulder, let it drop. “People love a good ghost story.”

Or a murder mystery, she thought.

He shoved the badge back into his pocket. She caught a glimpse of a pistol and leather shoulder holster. But even more dangerous than the weapon was the man himself. He was built like a distance runner. Tall with narrow hips and long, muscular legs encased in snug denim. The navy T-shirt was damp from the rain and clung to an abdomen that regularly saw the inside of a gym.

“So are you planning on hitting me with that?”

Realizing she was still clutching the lamp, Sara returned it to the bedside table. “I thought you were an intruder.”

“Good thing for you I’m not.” He motioned toward the lamp. “Wouldn’t do much good against a gun.”