“No, but thanks. It’s like Silas said, probably some dumb kids. I’ll get it sorted out, have breakfast in town.”
“Okay. Sorry, this sucks.”
“Me, too, and it does.” He leaned over, kissed her. “See you later.”
“Text me,” she called out. “Let me know what’s what.”
“Sure.”
She drank half the coffee in bed—an indulgence—while her brain woke up. Hell of a way for him to start his morning, she thought. Vandalism never made sense to her. Creative tagging on abandoned buildings she could see as urban art, but out-and-out vandalism made no damn sense.
What satisfaction or thrill did someone get from destroying someone else’s property?
She got up, and since she’d showered the night before—with Zane—pulled on work clothes. She’d top off the coffee, have some cereal, check the weather forecast.
And get an early start on the waterfall.
As she wandered downstairs, she switched on lights. After setting Zane’s coffee maker for half a cup, she checked his kitchen tablet for the weather.
Hot, humid, probable late afternoon or evening thunderstorms. Typical. Yawning the night off, she poured cereal, got out the blueberries she’d stocked for overnights.
As she started to doctor her freshened coffee, the security lights went on. Her first thought: Deer.
She sprayed regularly with her homemade organic repellent, ordered Zane and her male crew members to pee around the shrubs—another fine repellent in her estimation. She’d planted plenty of deer-resistant plants.
But you just couldn’t trust Bambi.
She disengaged the alarm, pulled open the accordion doors, and started out with every intention of chasing off the invaders.
It hit her like a guided missile, knocking her back, crashing her against the kitchen island and onto the floor.
For a moment, dazed, she imagined a ten-point buck charging in. Then she saw the man.
“So, Zane’s got himself a little whore. One built more like a boy. Figures.” He pulled the doors shut behind him. “Saw your truck. I just needed you to let me inside while he’s down in town. Thanks for that.”
He started toward her, fists curled tight. “Now, you’re going to stay down, stay quiet.”
The hell she would.
She jumped up, spun, planted a hard kick in his midsection. Instinct had her running when he stumbled back. She could get outside, lose him in the woods.
But how would she warn Zane with her phone still on the charger?
So she whirled back, heart racing, and dropped into a fighting stance. She’d stand her ground.
Eyes glinting, he charged. Fast, she thought, he’s fast, and she used his momentum as she pivoted aside, followed up with a kick to his kidneys. He pitched forward, went to his knees.
“Now you stay down.”
He came up fists flailing. She blocked a punch with her forearm, felt the force of it scream straight to her shoulder. Ducked, and came up with the heel of her hand. Felt the crunch as she broke his nose.
He got one past her, landed a blow on her still singing shoulder, aimed for her face with his left. She batted his arm away, shot a kick higher, struck his jaw. And when he reeled back, planted her boot—two hard, fast kicks—in his crotch.
This time he went down, stayed down.
And she ran.
* * *
Zane stood in his office, hands in pockets. Just broken glass, he reminded himself. Nobody hurt, easily repaired. Insured.
But it upset and disturbed him that anyone would deliberately destroy what was his.
“The only person I’ve had any trouble with since I got back would be Clint Draper,” he told Silas.
His brother-in-law, dark blond hair still a little bed-rumpled, his raw-boned face still carrying the night’s stubble, nodded.
“I know it. We’ll be talking to him. But like I said, we got three calls for broken windows, all within about fifteen minutes.”
“All on Main Street?”
“I don’t think so. I need to check on that. Ginny was on call tonight, and contacted me when your office got hit. She handled the first two, but figured I’d want in. I’m two minutes away, and family. Speaking of, I felt like we had to let the chief know.”
Silas shook his head at the rock, at the shards of glass. “It’s just not the sort of vandalism we get around here. Some mailbox bashing along the lake road, kids TPing houses now and then, keying cars, and the like.”
“Well, if you catch them, and they want a defense attorney, they can count me out.”
“Can’t blame you.” His radio signaled. “Hold on.” Silas paced away, paced back after a brief conversation.
“The chief’s on his way. He wants you to stay put. He needs to