Greyson (The K9 Files) - Dale Mayer Page 0,18

idea that maybe it was, and that wasn’t anything she wanted to deal with either. But how was she supposed to avoid it?

When she heard a ruckus outside, she raced out to the backyard and went over to the neighbor’s fence—a big wooden fence between her and him—but she thought she heard barking in his yard. When her neighbor came outside, he started yelling.

She called out to him, “What’s going on?”

“Damn dog! Looks like he got into my garbage!” he roared.

She hurried down to the back alley, where he kept his cans, and went through the gate. It was probably a foolish thing to do, but she wanted to catch sight of the dog. Up ahead, around the corner, she thought she saw something dark sweep down the alley and out the back. She groaned. “I don’t know if it’s him or not,” she muttered.

Her neighbor poked his head over the gate and glared. “How come he didn’t go after your garbage?” he snapped.

What was she supposed to say? She didn’t put food in her garbage out here. She didn’t have enough money to waste food like he did. He was the type who put out pizza boxes with half a pizza still in it, all of it into the outdoor trash bin.

With a shrug, she stepped back into her fenced yard. She shut the gate and walked back up to the house, entering through the two French doors at the rear. She’d just left her house for a minute or two, but she couldn’t help but run up to her son’s room to make sure he was still there. Thankfully he was sleeping.

She made her way back downstairs to find the front door slightly ajar. She froze on the bottom step and stared at it, hard. Surely she wouldn’t have left the door open when she came in earlier with the groceries? And wouldn’t she have noticed it if she had? She’d been downstairs making tea, but she’d been distracted.

Afraid that somehow the door had opened by someone else’s hand, she sneaked back upstairs again and stood on the top step, worried sick. Since she had already gone out to the backyard, whoever had opened the door could have sneaked inside and come upstairs too. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she raced across the hallway to her son’s room. He was still in bed, sleeping. She put her hand to her mouth, wondering what she was supposed to do.

She bent down and checked under his bed to find nothing there, then checked his closet. She went to the bathroom and found the same thing, nothing changed from the normal. With shaky hands, she pushed the door to her master bedroom wide open to make sure nobody was behind the door. She stood here listening, hoping nobody was in her house, still terrified.

When her sister called a few minutes later, Jessica hurriedly shut off the ringer, but it was too late. If somebody was in the house, they would also know she was inside. She wanted to laugh because, of course, she was inside; they would have seen and heard her already.

She forced herself to check her bedroom, the closets, and the en suite bathroom. Nothing was there. With relief washing over her enough to put tears in her eyes, she impatiently brushed them away. Sure that the upstairs was clear and free, she headed downstairs again. Quickly checking those rooms, she shut and locked her front door and phoned her sister back.

“Hey,” her sister said. “What were you doing?”

“I found the front door open,” she said, “so I was checking to make sure nobody was upstairs.”

“What?” her sister cried out. “Jesus Christ, Jessica! Call the damn police!”

“Why? Because I’m an idiot and left the door open?” She wandered around the lower floor, still making sure nobody was here.

“You already know that your ex-husband is psychotic and that he could be after you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” she said. “I don’t fully understand anything at the moment. Did you have a reason for calling, besides all my drama?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “Though it kind of qualifies as your drama,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s Mom. She’s really upset.”

“That’s nice,” she said. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“She wants you to apologize.”

Jessica gasped in disbelief. “Me apologize to her? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“She’s worried that you’ll do something stupid, like accuse your ex-husband of all this,” her sister said tiredly.

“Oh, for God’s