Hidden in Shadows

“You’re right about that.” He turned to her, scribbling something in his notebook.

Probably that she was a smarty-pants, disagreeable, cat-obsessed, crazy woman.

“You ever consider getting a dog?” he said.

“Not really, why?”

“They make great alarm systems.”

“You’re a dog person?”

“That surprises you?” He looked at her.

It did actually. Dog people were loving and kind. This man seemed guarded and cynical.

“Kind of, I mean, Anastasia adores you and she usually hates dog people.”

“Told you that, did she?”

Was he joking with her? No, she was just exhausted and imagining it.

He glanced out the window and back at Krista. “Good night, then.”

“Wait, I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow.” She went upstairs to the hall closet and pulled out pink linens. She guessed not his usual color, but pale pinks and purples were her favorite and she’d decorated the house accordingly.

She wasn’t used to having company and wondered what else he needed.

He’s not company. He’s a cop after a criminal.

What did the man look like? What color was his hair? His eyes? What did he say?

Childhood memories assaulted her. She’d tried to describe the man who came looking for her dad, but she was too upset that Daddy wasn’t coming home. Ever.

She hugged the linens and made for the stairs. She thought she’d put it behind her, buried the memories and the fear so deep that they wouldn’t rise to scare the wits out of her.

But danger was back, in the form of the DEA agent bunking in her garage.

How on earth did she get embroiled in this mystery? She refused to believe someone on the mission trip had a connection to a drug organization. She just wouldn’t accept it.

“Here,” she said, stepping into the kitchen.

Agent McIntyre was eyeing photos lined up on the window ledge.

“Your mom and…?” he asked.

“Grandmother. We moved here when—” She stopped short. She couldn’t even talk about it. “We moved here when I was five.”

He turned and eyed her with speculation. She shoved the linens at him. “This should keep you warm. Sorry about the color.”

He took the blankets and pillow. “Hopefully I won’t break out in hives.”

He was teasing again? She wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure of anything right now.

“Yes, well.” She opened the back door. “I’m up and out by eight to prep the tea shop for customers.”

He stepped onto the back porch and turned to her. “I’m right outside if you need me.”

He shot her a half smile, his blue eyes sparkling with color. Oh, heavens, she was tired all right.

“Thanks, good night,” she said.

“Lock up behind me.”

She shut the door and clicked the lock. He nodded his approval through the window and headed out to the garage.

He’s just doing his job, Krista.

Sure, intellectually she knew that, but emotionally? Emotionally she heard Gran’s and Mom’s worried voices, felt the iron hand of control clamp down on her shoulders. They’d meant it out of love, but sometimes she just couldn’t breathe.

Where are you going, Krista? What did you do today? Who did you talk to?

It wasn’t until she was in her late teens did they explain that the protective habit was born out of love. They loved her so much they didn’t want to see her hurt by a stranger. They’d developed the habit because years ago they’d feared for her safety after her father was killed.

Agent McIntyre wasn’t motivated by love, but rather by duty. He’d stay over Krista’s garage and unravel this threat before anyone got hurt. She sensed he was a warrior type, a controlling force.

Krista turned off the kitchen light and headed upstairs. She didn’t want a controlling force in her life. She’d fought long and hard for her independence. She’d practically begged Mom to relocate to Florida with Lenny. Krista didn’t want Mom missing out on wonderful years of retirement with her new husband because she had some irrational fear about Krista being hurt.

The past was the past, long gone, buried with the news that Dad’s killer had died in prison.

It had been years since the nightmare resurfaced to haunt Krista. Yet tonight, thanks to a stranger breaking into her house and the DEA agent sleeping in her garage, the violence was back in her life.

Along with the memories.

THREE

The Yates woman might have been exhausted last night, but she woke up with more energy than a kid on a gummy bear high.

By eight she was out the door, headed to the family tea shop. Luke followed close behind, both to protect her and to look for insight into this woman, her friends and the townspeople. Insight that would give him a clue as to who might be Victor Garcia’s drug mule. The criminal wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually smuggle drugs through Krista’s luggage, would he? No, Luke sensed something else was going on. He just didn’t know what.

He’d tried talking Krista out of opening the shop today, suggesting she needed a day to recover from her trip. But she was having none of it. She told him this time of year, right before the holidays, people needed the respite from their busy lives to enjoy a cup a tea. She’d said, “It’s not about the tea. It’s about friendship and connections.”

Two things completely foreign to Luke.

Sitting in the back of Grace’s Tea Shop, he read the paper to get a handle on the local flavor. He glanced around the shop, painted in pale purple with frilly lace framing the windows. Dainty chairs bordered small, round tables and a lit fireplace took the chill out of the morning air.

Luke did not belong here. This was a woman’s place, a peaceful place.

“Coffee?” Krista offered, walking up to him with a pot. She looked enchanting this morning with her long, blond hair pulled back and her cheeks rosy from cooking scones and muffins.