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run another errand—groceries or something—until he could get to her house. Though he still didn’t want to alert their shadows that they were onto them, the idea of her going home alone didn’t sit well with him.
    The neighborhood was quiet, just an old man walking his dog and a chubby brunette pushing a baby stroller. Mick parked across from Jenna’s three-story townhome, behind a grassy mound, and watched for surveillance. His tail hadn’t followed him into the subdivision, but Mick wouldn’t put it past the guy to circle back. Who could be following them? And why both of them?
    He could understand if Claymore wanted to keep an eye on him after the incident. The company couldn’t afford any leaks about what had happened. But as much as he hated keeping secrets for that outfit, they needn’t worry. He had his own reasons to stay silent.
    But it made no sense for them to follow Jenna unless they were just keeping tabs on her because she was close to him.
    Within a minute, her boxy white station wagon turned the corner and pulled into her driveway. He met her on the sidewalk, already wishing he could get out of the suit and tie he’d hurriedly changed into at home. The tie was choking him, but at least he’d left the jacket at home. It was warm, even without it.
    “Let me run these inside,” she said, hefting a couple of cloth grocery bags.
    He nodded, grabbing one of the bags before she could protest, and followed her up the stairs. “I’d feel better if you parked your car in the garage. And not just because of the surveillance.”
    “I can’t. It’s full of…stuff.”
    He’d never had a reason to go into the garage, but he’d expected it would be spotless like the rest of her house. Maybe it was the one place she was willing to allow a mess.
    She fumbled with the keys, but finally got the front door open.
    The first thing he noticed as they entered was the smell. It wasn’t the clean, fresh scent he associated with her place. Then Jenna stopped in her tracks, her grocery bag sliding limply from her hand. He skidded into her, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep them both from falling. “What the hell?” His stiff dress shoes crunched on something hard and jagged that glittered in the light.
    Shards of mirrored glass littered the foyer. He looked up, stunned by the scene before him.
    Everything had been destroyed.
    The pictures she’d taken hours to hang in perfect alignment lay shattered on the hearth. Her books were scattered across the floor, their pages torn and spines broken. Every seat in the living room had been gutted, and the overstuffed furniture hulked like wounded soldiers with their insides spilling out.
    “Get out,” he said, setting down the bag he was holding and pulling her toward the door. “We’ll call the police on the way to the service.”
    For one who worshipped order, the disarray—and the timing—had to be devastating. Her carefully arranged sanctuary was now a war zone.
    Jenna wrenched free and raced to the fireplace before he could stop her. She stooped down and flipped over a silver frame. The glass was cracked, but whoever was responsible for this destruction had gone out of his way to hurt her. Broken glass wasn’t enough. He’d punctured the photo repeatedly, obliterating the smiling faces of the Ryan family.
    She dropped it like a hot coal and backed away, her eyes wide with fear. A sob escaped her lips and Mick met her halfway, dragging her out the door, his blood boiling with rage.
    “Wait.” She twisted in his grasp. “I need to check the garage.”
    “Later,” he said, holding her tightly against him as they descended the stairs.
    Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with him until he figured out what was going on. Because one thing was for damn sure.
    He was not going to lose another Ryan.

    The afternoon sun hung brightly over the cemetery, but a cool breeze cut the heat, rustling the branches of the ancient oaks and maples that watched