Chapter One

A crash echoes across the yard from my neighbor’s house. I startle, spilling ice coffee on my hand and shorts. Crap, that’s going to stain. I place my cup on the patio table and stand, shoving the chair back. Two steps across my deck, I stop, chew on my bottom lip, and shift my weight from side to side.
The last time I set foot on his property he grunted, snatched the plate of welcome to the neighborhood cookies out of my hands, and closed the door in my face. Not an experience I care to repeat.
What if he’s hurt? If I do nothing, and he’s injured, what kind of person does that make me?
Damn it!
Standing around debating the issue wastes precious time if he’s bleeding out or something. On TV, the ambulance always makes it to the hospital at the last possible minute before death or permanent disability occurs, but that’s just drama, right?
I jog down my deck steps and across my yard into his. The line of waist high holly bushes separating our properties snag at my clothes and scrape against my skin.
Should I knock on the front door or go to the back? The crash came from his backyard. He’s probably fine and simply dropped something, or maybe thrown it in a fit of rage.
Rolling my eyes, I veer towards the back of the gray colonial. Time is of the essence.
I reach the blue stone patio and jerk to a stop. A ladder is on its side and my neighbor is flat on his back.
I gasp and sprint around the low wall edging the patio.
Crap! Is he dead? Did I waste precious minutes debating when I could have saved him?
His eyes are open and staring at the sky. Is he breathing?
I reach for my phone in my back pocket as I step onto the stones. His blond head swivels in my direction and his dark gaze locks on me. I stumble to a stop a few feet away.
“Are you okay?”
“Who the hell are you?”
As charming as ever, I see. I point towards my house. “Your neighbor. I heard a crash.”
He springs to his feet in a single flow of movement.
Impressive ab strength to accomplish that feat. My gaze drifts over his tall, rangy build. Yeah, there are serious muscles flexing under those jeans and T-shirt. They all appear to be in fine working order. No damage done. He isn’t in need of my assistance. I shove my phone back into my pocket.
“Are you in the habit of barging onto private property?”
He braces his fists on his hips and scowls.
For real? Next time I hear a crash over here, I’ll turn on the music and pour a glass or two of wine.
I huff out a breath and scowl right back. “No, like I said, I heard a crash and wanted to make sure no one was hurt.”
“As you can see, I’m not in need of a Florence Nightingale.”
I glance away. Okay, after our first encounter I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Everyone has a bad day, but this guy is a jerk.
Through the open patio door, I spot a gun, some type of rope, and an assortment of knives and sharp objects strewn across a table.
I snap my gaze back to his and swallow hard. “Yup, I can see that.” I back up several steps. “I won’t bother you again.”
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket in case he decides to commit violence against me, I pivot and stride across his lawn as fast as I can, short of breaking into a run. The urge to glance back over my shoulder to see if he is watching me crawls up my neck, but I stare at the solace of my little blue cape.
Once I reach my back deck, I dart inside and lock the door behind me. I grip the doorknob in my fist as I sag against the door.
Okay, not going to panic, I’m sure there are many reasons for him to have an assortment of weapons on his kitchen table.
Just because I can’t think of a single reasonable, nonviolent one, doesn’t mean I should jump to any conclusions.
Thank God the boys are back at school. I might feel the need to bundle them close, pack up our stuff, and take off for parts unknown.
Imagination in overdrive, Olivia! Dial it back a notch or two.
I wipe the dots of perspiration off my nose with the back of my hand. Not sure if it was from the run, the heat, or the fear, but my clothes are sticking to my skin. One more summer where central air conditioning isn’t in the budget. Fans and window units will have to suffice. Besides, it’s already September and the heat should give way to cooler temperatures soon.
I push off from the door and walk around the corner to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face and neck and then wipe it off with a towel. I check the time on my phone, ten o’clock. My shift at the bakery starts soon.
Upstairs, I peek out my bedroom window at the gray colonial while slipping into a sleeveless pink sundress. My disagreeable neighbor is nowhere in sight. I walk back into the bathroom and comb my hair back into a ponytail, put on a few swipes of mascara to darken my pale lashes, and rub a tinted lip balm onto my lips.
From the bathroom window I can see more of his backyard, but there’s no sign of him. He probably went inside. I check the windows of his house. Nothing stirs. What if he’s looking out one of his windows at my house like I’m doing to him? I jump back and shuffle backwards out of the room into the hallway.
If I couldn’t see into his windows, then he can’t possibly see into my windows, can he? Not without a pair of binoculars.
Great, now the image of him staring into a pair of binoculars at my house is stuck in my head. At least it’s better than him holding one or more of those weapons.
Or worse, chasing me with those weapons.