92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [42]
The operator assured her a deputy was on his way. Without thinking, Faith disconnected the line. Oh, dear, that was foolish. Then she understood what her heart had been telling her from the first—it wasn’t a 9-1-1 operator she wanted reassurance from, it was Troy Davis.
Troy had said she should call but she couldn’t. Not in the middle of the night and, really, what could he do?
He’d been on her mind ever since the evening he’d come into the Wok ‘n’ Roll when she was dining there with Will Jefferson, a friend from her high-school days. He’d been two years ahead of her and a real heartthrob.
Naturally, Troy pretended he hadn’t seen her with Will. She’d done exactly the same thing and acted as though he was invisible. If anything, she’d gone out of her way to prove she could enjoy another man’s company. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time; now, in retrospect, she wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t resist letting him think she had an active social life.
Will Jefferson, while charming and as good-looking as ever, didn’t interest Faith. For that matter, he wasn’t interested in her, either. He happened to be eating alone when she came in, and Will had invited her to share his table. They’d spent an hour catching up and exchanging news of mutual friends, laughing frequently at various reminiscences. They’d had a friendly visit—and that was it. Faith hadn’t heard from Will since and didn’t expect to, which suited her fine.
The footsteps outside her window seemed to be receding. Faith exhaled and then, acting purely on impulse, grabbed the phone again. She hesitated; she had plenty of time to change her mind, plenty of time to be ruled by reason rather than emotion.
Troy answered on the second ring. “Davis here.” He sounded awake. Alert.
“Th-there’s someone outside my bedroom window,” she said, struggling to speak coherently.
“Faith?”
“I—I shouldn’t have called.”
“Hang up and call 9-1-1.” Each word was spoken clearly and distinctly.
“I already did. You suggested I phone you, too—it was silly. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t hang up,” he commanded.
“I’m fine…Your deputy will be here any minute. I’m sorry to bother you, Troy.” She disconnected. With her fingers trembling violently, she felt more than a little embarrassed to have given in to her impulse. Her weakness.
Faith could hear a car pull up and hurried out of bed. She threw on a housecoat, then waited by the door until the sheriff’s vehicle came into view. Turning on the porch light, she stepped onto the porch.
“There—at the back of the house, near the bedroom on the south side,” she called out, pointing in that direction.
Wrapping the housecoat more securely about her, she returned to the house. As she waited, she paced the living room. When she heard a loud knock at her front door, she rushed to answer it—and found Troy Davis standing there, looking grim and hard-faced.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
He sounded angry, as he had every right to be. What an irrational, irresponsible thing she’d done in calling him.
“I’m…shaken up,” she told him, hoping that would be enough to explain why she’d behaved so illogically.
“Wait here,” he said and left her.
Faith lowered herself into her favorite rocker. She sat there for long moments, unmoving, not knowing what to think or why someone had targeted her.
That was obviously the case. She’d done her best to ignore the fact, pretend this couldn’t be happening. Now, whoever this person was, he’d come back, bolder and even more aggressive. After the initial break-in, he—or she—had spray painted her garage. Now—
“There’s clear evidence of someone outside your bedroom window,” Troy said sternly as he came through the front door. “Deputy Walker saw footprints in the snow.” His tone was almost…accusatory.
Faith looked up at him and blinked, bewildered.
Troy’s nod was curt and professional as he prepared to leave.
But Faith sensed his hesitation.
“Did you lock the dead bolts before you went to bed?” he asked.
She confirmed that she had. “I also purchased a pair