Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,7

in underground burrows and eat damaging insects. There’s no reason to kill her simply because she got lost and wandered into the wrong territory.”

His broad shoulders covered by a black wool peacoat hunched against the cold. “A smart babe with a soft heart.” He laughed, but the deep, graveled bark wasn’t humorous. “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”

Bailey sensed his gaze assessing her, a hawk watching his prey. The back of her neck prickled and she shivered. Chill or warning? Mom had always forbidden her to talk to strangers. Of course, Mom was paranoid. Still, it was good advice. Without another word, she spun on her heel and hurried inside.

Syrone Spencer, the hulking security guard, stood by the one-hour photo booth. People would never guess the intimidating man was an avid chess player. A week after Con had started dating Bailey, Syrone had shown up at the bookstore at closing. Under the guise of a chess match, Syrone had checked him out as expertly and thoroughly as any wary father. Con had passed muster, and the two men had become close friends over the past six months. He and Con often amused themselves with competitive matches while he waited for her to close up the bookstore.

Con. Nothing in her life was untouched by memories of him. She’d have to live with the throbbing echoes forever. Just penance for hurting him.

Syrone’s ebony face broke into a smile as she approached. “Hey, Bailey. What’s up?”

“Hey, big guy. Not much, it’s slow.” She hesitated. Maybe the man outside was simply indulging a nicotine fit. The mall was a public place, frequented by all kinds. Maybe the menace she’d felt wasn’t real. Her traumatic morning had thrown her off balance. However, her creep radar was usually right on target. “There’s a guy smoking outside the main entrance. Black peacoat, gray-streaked hair. He seemed…spooky. Out of place.”

Syrone’s expression grew serious. “I’m all over it.”

“I feel safer knowing you’re on the job. Be careful, okay?”

Syrone nodded. “I’m always careful. I’ve got a beautiful wife and four munchkins who depend on me.”

She hurried back to the bookstore, where Nan leaned against the counter. The store’s cheerful warmth did nothing to ease the chill that had seeped into Bailey’s bones. She shivered again.

Nan pointed to the picture tucked on the far side of the cash register. “You take that?”

Bailey glanced at the snapshot of Con and his three brothers, and sorrow slammed into her. “Yes, Christmas Day.” Christmas at the O’Rourkes’ was an event. Unlike the quiet holidays spent alone with her mom, the O’Rourke home had been a rowdy whirlwind of bright wrapping paper, bountiful food, nonstop teasing and masculine laughter. An event she’d never again be part of. The picture showcased how much Con, Aidan, Liam and Grady, all SWAT officers, looked alike. Yet each man’s unique, vibrant personality shone through.

Their irrepressible mom called the boys her four “S” men. Not just because they stair-stepped in age from twenty-seven to thirty. Or because they were all SWAT. She had her own special handle for each of them. Aidan, the strong. Con, the sensitive. Liam, the scamp. Grady, the searcher. As if Maureen O’Rourke had room to talk. The vibrant, sixty-year-old redhead was as strong and stubborn and capable in her own way as any of her sons. Maybe more than all four of ’em put together. Tears she’d thought cried out crowded behind Bailey’s eyelids.

“Verra nice, girlfriend. A woman would have to be a hopeless idiot to turn down a dip in that gene pool.”

So what did that make her? Bailey blinked rapidly, nearly unable to speak around the choking lump in her throat. Had she ever been as young and exuberant as Nan? She hadn’t felt young since she was fourteen. She’d been forced to grow up overnight—between her dad’s death and his funeral. “The weather’s getting dicey. Maybe you should go home early.”

Nan’s face lit up. “Great idea! Maybe I can throw together an impromptu New Year’s Eve party. You and Con want to come?”

Con had planned a candlelight dinner, followed by dancing at the Montrose Hotel. Instead of spending New Year’s Eve with the man she loved, Bailey would be home crying her eyes out. Your choice. No. Her responsibility. She cleared the tightness from her throat. “I’m not really in a party mood, thanks.”

“Okay. Try to have a Happy New Year.” Nan patted her arm. “I’ve got to scoot. When you want to talk, look me up.”

Happy