come out with your hands visible, you will not like what comes next,” the man said. “Let’s do this the easy way.”
Tennyson watched with eyes wide as the man stood. He said a string of numbers and words into his microphone thing and then nodded when someone on the other end said some more numbers and something that sounded like “Proceed with caution.”
She yelped as someone tapped her.
Spinning around, she prepared to fight, but another officer stood there, her weapon drawn. Behind her was another policeman. The woman officer pulled Tennyson outside as she entered the house.
Tennyson stood, arms wrapped around her waist, though it wasn’t cold. She shook so hard she thought she might rattle. This was why she should have gone against her stupid inclinations and stayed in New York. She knew she made bad gut decisions. Always wanting to believe things would be as good as they were in her head before realizing that those decisions could . . . uh . . . land her in a casket. Moving back to Shreveport had been a mistake. Yeah, her boy would be here, but there were too many memories . . . and secrets . . . and Kit and Melanie.
Just as she had that thought, she heard a bark of laughter, and then the female police officer holstered her gun and said something into the mic on her uniform. Something that sounded like dispatch contacting animal control.
“What is it?” Tennyson said, drawing the attention of the officer.
“Ma’am, there’s not an intruder. Well, unless you count a raccoon as a burglar.”
“A raccoon?” Tennyson repeated. She stepped back in the house and stood surveying the opening to the back of the house with suspicion. It hadn’t sounded like a raccoon. Did they make that much noise? Oh God. What had it broken? Stephen’s ashes were on the shelf along with her priceless collection of lacquered makeup boxes. And where had she left the Tiffany candlesticks her grandmother had given her? Damn it.
The female officer cracked a smile. “Seems like you have a new pet.”
“I don’t . . . wait, it’s a raccoon in my bedroom?”
The good-looking police officer came out and shook his head. “I shut the door. Did someone call animal control?”
“Shut the door?” Tennyson asked, shouldering her way toward Tall, Dark, and Hot. “What about my things? It broke something. I have some expensive pieces in there. Can’t you go in and roust the thing out of there? Chase him back through the window or something?”
The officer whose name badge read J. Rhett turned bright-blue eyes on her. Bright-blue eyes that looked almost startling against his tanned skin. His gaze then dropped slightly to take her in, and she wished like hell she wasn’t wearing the stained T-shirt and no bra. “Ma’am, did you leave the window open?”
All three police officers were now looking at her like she’d committed the crime. “Well, I aired the house out. I thought I had closed and locked all of them, but I must have missed one. A friend called, and I sat down with my wine and . . .”
She could see in their eyes exactly what they thought of her—a stupid, rich blonde wasting their time. They’d be wrong on two accounts, though. Not that she would let anyone know her IQ was over 140, and she was pretty much mousy brown under her blonde hair dye. God forbid. People expected things of smart people, and blondes had more fun. And she’d given it the old college try on the fun.
“We’re out of here, Joe,” the woman said, raising her hand in a half-salute wave thing. “Gotta get that hit-and-run report on the captain’s desk.”
“Joseph,” the man uttered under his breath before returning the “later” wave.
“Thank you,” Tennyson remembered to call out as they disappeared through the French doors.
Joseph Rhett, hot cop that he was, didn’t seem to be pleased to be left with her.
“What’s on your face?” he asked, securing his weapon.
Tennyson lifted her hand and encountered the goopy charcoal mask that was half-dried and half-gummy. She’d forgotten about the stupid mask. “Uh, a purifying mask. It’s charcoal.”
He looked at her again, and damn her, she couldn’t help but tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Disaster wasn’t even the word for what she looked like. “You probably need to call someone to repair the lock on the door.”