Hidden in the Everglades

After Michael settled in the front seat and started his car, he pulled away from the curb. “Why didn’t you ever marry?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“I assumed since Ginny never said anything about it to me that you hadn’t.”

“Do you two make it a habit of talking about me a lot?” The fact Ginny and Michael might have made Kyra feel strange. When his attention zeroed in on her face, she grinned. “Don’t you know it’s not good to gossip?”

A smile touched his blue eyes, sparkling them. “We never gossiped about you. I inquired about how you were doing from time to time. That’s all.”

She wouldn’t tell him that she’d asked about him once. After his older sister kidded her about robbing the cradle, she’d never asked again. Ginny was right. There was five years’ difference between them. Kyra fastened her gaze on his strong jawline, wanting to know about this man. Did he feel like she did about marriage? Was his job his whole life? “I didn’t want to marry. Being a cop would have been hard on a marriage. How about you? Did you ever marry?”

For a few seconds a shadow flittered in and out of his eyes. “You mean Ginny never told you about me? I’m crushed.”

Didn’t Ginny mention that Michael was getting serious with a woman in Chicago, even thinking about marriage? What had happened? Her curiosity spiked. Did he marry the lady? Were they divorced?

He turned onto Pelican Lane, and all evidence of a smile vanished as he stared at the house at the end of the road.

She noticed Gabe’s police cruiser was still at the Pattersons’. She’d thought he would have left by now. “You okay?”

“What am I supposed to do? Go back to the house and twiddle my thumbs?”

“Do people do that anymore?”

“Okay. Wear a path in my floor pacing.”

“What do you want to do?”

He parked in his driveway. “Go looking for Amy. If the police are covering the town, then I’d like to go into the swamp. I know a couple of places where Amy has mentioned she’s gone. I’d like to check those out. I’ll have enough time before dark.”

“No, we’ll have enough time. I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure? Aren’t you the lady who doesn’t like swamps?”

“Swamps are fine. It’s the snakes that inhabit them that I don’t like.”

“Alligators are all right, then?”

“Sure. They’re big, and I can see them coming.”

“Not always. They can hide under the water and surprise their prey.”

“Are you trying to scare me away?”

“No, but I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you.”

Weariness infused each of his words and something else that Kyra couldn’t quite grasp. Possibly regret? Guilt? As a police officer she’d had to deal with both those emotions quite a bit. “Oh, nothing’s going to. I’m very capable of taking care of myself. I’m taking my gun.”

“You carry a gun all the time?”

“When I think it’s necessary, and it might be necessary in this case.” She began to stroll toward her house. “I’ll just be a sec.”

Kyra ran up the stairs to the front porch and let herself into the house. Rock-and-roll music blasted from the speakers in the great room, pulsating the air. Kyra smelled the faint odor of something burning. Aunt Ellen was cooking again. She did that when she was upset. With all the patrol cars on the street today, she couldn’t blame her aunt for being agitated.

She hurried and washed her feet then grabbed a clean pair of shoes and popped into the kitchen to tell her aunt where she was going.

“Oh, dear, I’ve burned the cookies again. I was so looking forward to them.” Her aunt donned her hot-pink mittens to take the baking sheet out of the oven. When she opened the door on the stove, dark gray smoke poured into the room.

“Aunt Ellen,” Kyra called out over the noise of the music. “I’m going with Michael Hunt into the swamp.” Her gaze glued to the charred pieces of cookies, she added, “Don’t wait dinner for me.”

Aunt Ellen opened the window above the sink and turned on the vent over the stove. “He’s such a nice young man. I just hate what he’s going through right now. I was going to make a second batch for him.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

“Oh, no. I am.” Aunt Ellen pitched the burned cookies into the sink and ran water over them, then reached for the mixing bowl. “It’s no trouble. Keeps my mind off what’s been happening on our street. In the very house next door to us.”

She crossed the kitchen and hugged her aunt. “Are you worried something will happen to you?”

“No, dearie. At the last Founder’s Day shooting contest, I bested Gabe, and everyone knows he’s the best shot in the area.” She grinned. “Well, until that day.” She slipped her hand into the large pocket on her hot-pink-and-white apron and pulled out a pistol. “I’ll be all right. You go help Michael.” She patted Kyra on the arm, then twisted around and began measuring flour. “You know, Michael is single. It’s about time you got married.”

Not in this lifetime, Kyra thought and hurried from the house. Her partner in the Dallas Police Department had struggled with his marriage for years. When his wife had asked for a divorce, he’d nearly lost his job over it because he’d started drinking heavily. She never wanted to be that emotionally connected to another person that her happiness depended on him. Her father had taught her to stand on her own two feet and protect her heart at all costs.

As she hurried toward Michael’s house, he emerged from the front entrance. Anger shot out of his eyes. His gaze zeroed in on her and beneath the fury lurked fear.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone has been in Amy’s bedroom while we were gone.”

“Amy?”

“I don’t know.” He reentered his house and strode down the hall toward his sister’s bedroom. “The window wasn’t open like that when we left.” Michael gestured toward the one across the room. “She has a key. Why would she come through the window? It’s not like I was here and she would have to sneak in.” His eyes stinging from lack of sleep, he rubbed his hands down his face. Not knowing what to think was putting it mildly. His head pounded with each attempt to make sense out of what was happening.