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bathroom, she held her breath, listening. Nothing.
    She tiptoed from the relative safety of the bathroom into her bedroom. She scanned the shadowy room, desperate to find something…a weapon. Her gaze landed on the familiar shapes lined up on her dresser, a row of swimming trophies, many draped with first-place ribbons, all dusty from years of neglect. Hurriedly, she untangled the ribbons from the tallest trophy and slid it off the dresser. Its weight felt oddly comforting in her hands. If it came down to it, could she use it? The thought made her stomach queasy.
    Danielle tried to swallow, but couldn’t muster enough saliva. She opened the bedroom door—the hinge was blessedly silent—and peered out into the hallway. Long shadows played tricks on her eyes. In a burst of courage, she stepped toward Gram’s room. A dark form lunged toward her. A scream died on her lips. She raised the trophy with both hands over her head. The intruder was faster. Strong hands captured her wrists.
    “Whoa, take it easy.”
    Patrick’s familiar voice seeped into her brain. Her body went limp from relief. His grip eased. “I could have brained you. I thought you were the intruder.” Her words came out in breathless gasps. “You scared me to death.”
    “I told you to stay in the bathroom,” he said, his tone that of a man who expected to be obeyed. He released her wrists, apparently convinced she was no longer a threat.
    “I have to check on Gram.” Danielle clung to the trophy and swung away from him. She reached Gram’s bedroom and switched on the light. Danielle squinted her eyes at the blinding brightness. Gram lay on her side, a hand near her face blocking the light. She stirred at the commotion.
    Danielle’s hand flew to her mouth and tears of relief filled her eyes.
    The room was thrown into complete darkness before she had a chance to talk to her grandmother.
    “No lights.” Patrick stood in the doorway, his low voice contained a warning. “The side door facing the driveway was wide open.”
    “What is Patrick doing here?” Gram sounded confused, tired.
    “Gram,” she whispered, trying to temper her concern, “everything’s okay. Stay here.”
    Patrick clutched Danielle’s upper arms and leaned in, his breath whispering across her cheek. “Stay up here with your grandmother. I’ll check out the house.” His hard expression didn’t allow any room for argument.
     
    Sweat trickled between Patrick’s shoulder blades as he made his way through the house. He was acutely aware of his surroundings.
    When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he adjusted the grip on his gun. He peered around the corner to gain a better view of the kitchen. From this perspective, he couldn’t see the side door.
    The sound of something banging in the kitchen had him on high alert . He held his gun at the ready. All his training, all those years in Iraq, came into play. With laser-like focus, he sidled along the wall into the kitchen. A cold breeze skittered across his damp skin. The side door yawned open, the wind slamming it against the counter. Keeping close to the wall, the counters, he edged through the room, anticipating the unexpected. The wind rustled the leaves on the big oak trees in the deep yard just beyond the driveway. Patrick kicked the door shut.
    He did a quick canvass of the house and was convinced whoever had been here was long gone.
    When he returned to the kitchen, he found Danielle standing in the center of the room, staring at the door. “Anyone could have reached in through the broken pane and unlocked it.” Her thin frame visibly trembled under the moonlight streaming through the windows. She wrapped her arms around her middle. An inexplicable urge to pull her into an embrace swept over him. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to tell her everything would be okay. But that wasn’t his place. He had a job to do.
    Maintaining professional restraint, he strode over to the door, the glass crunching under