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He brought her back into his arms. “Shall we do that again?”

Faith cleared her throat. “We’d better not.”

“Maybe you’re right. I need to concentrate. I’ve got people to phone.” His first call went to a couple of his best deputies.

“We’re on,” he said. Weaver and Johnson had parked a dark unmarked vehicle farther down Rosewood Lane and awaited Troy’s instructions. His next phone call was to Megan.

“You were right. Faith will remain here with me.”

“I hate to say I told you so.”

“No, you don’t,” Troy said. “You love it.” His daughter laughed.

After moving his own vehicle to the next street, Troy walked back to Faith’s. With his deputies in place, Troy made himself comfortable, prepared to sit up all night, if necessary. He reclined in the chair in front of the television, while Faith sat across from him, knitting. It was a cozy domestic scene, one he hoped would be repeated many times once they were married.

He remembered Megan’s words and wondered if he should ask her right then and there. He opened his mouth, but just as quickly closed it. He should at least give her a ring. He had to do this properly, but he didn’t want to wait much longer. This weekend, he told himself.

At ten o’clock Faith yawned.

“You don’t need to stay up on my account,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Go on to bed. Just promise me that if you hear a scuffle or any activity in this part of the house, you won’t come rushing out of your bedroom.”

“But—”

“Faith, please! This is important.”

“All right,” she agreed, although he could tell how worried she was.

It wasn’t until after midnight that Troy’s hunch proved to be correct. He was sitting in the pitch-dark living room when he heard a slight commotion near the garage. Not wasting a moment, he contacted his deputies and had them surround the area.

“Troy?” Faith whispered from the hallway. “Did you hear that?”

Apparently she was a light sleeper or hadn’t been to sleep at all.

“Go back to your room and stay put,” he said, not hiding his annoyance. He enunciated each word as distinctly as he could, keeping his voice low.

She didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?” he asked more loudly.

“Fine, fine. I’m on my way,” she muttered. “I never knew you were so bossy.”

Maybe he was but Troy refused to take any chances with her safety. He was the one paid to take risks, not Faith.

A louder commotion broke out in the garage, and Deputy Weaver gave a shout. Troy ran for the back door and opened it just in time to see a man dressed completely in black dash across the side yard.

Troy was long past his physical prime, but, junk food aside, he kept in shape. Racing after the man, he tackled him, landing hard on the wet grass. Weaver, who was directly behind him, grabbed the intruder by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to his feet. Troy slapped on the handcuffs he’d kept attached to his belt.

Deputy Johnson shined a flashlight into their prisoner’s face and Troy instantly recognized the man who’d been the source of all this trouble. He felt a sense of satisfaction.

“Take him to the station,” Troy said after Deputy Johnson had read the perpetrator his legal rights.

The two deputies led him away while Troy brushed off his uniform. He was getting way too old to be chasing felons, but he wasn’t about to let this one escape.

He returned to the house, turning on the kitchen light. “It’s safe for you to come out now,” he called.

Faith hurried in, wearing her housecoat. “Troy—oh, my goodness, what happened?” Without waiting for him to answer, she opened a drawer, retrieved a towel and dampened one corner. Standing close, she dabbed at his mouth.

“What?” He was surprised to realize he was bleeding. He hadn’t felt a thing.

“You got him?” she asked.

Troy nodded. “Sure did.”

Faith pulled out a chair and they both sat down. Her hands were trembling, and he reached for them, chafing warmth back into her cold skin.

“Did you recognize him?”

“I did.”

“Who is it?” she asked. “And why does this person hate me so much?”

“His name is Mark