Cole was making breakfast in the kitchen. He removed the bread from the fridge and was opening the bag when Erin’s scream from the other room startled him.
He dropped the bread and bolted for the front door. “What happened?”
“I went to get the newspaper from the porch. I opened the door and . . . look!” She pointed beyond the entry, her hand shaking, her face pale.
He shifted her behind him and pulled his gun from his back holster before cautiously checking outside. A dead animal that looked more like roadkill than a pet lay on her porch in an open shoe box.
A gagging noise sounded behind him. He turned to see Erin run for the bathroom in the hall.
“Shit,” he muttered. Not wanting to taint evidence, he left the box outside and headed to help her first.
He stood in the doorway of the half-bath downstairs while she dry-heaved into the toilet. He cringed, something too near the region of his heart twisting at her pain and discomfort.
Without asking, he stepped inside and wet a damp towel, then knelt beside her.
“Go away,” she moaned into the toilet.
Cole ignored her, merely lifting her hair so he could lay the cold towel over the back of her neck.
“Feels good,” she said begrudgingly. He understood she was more embarrassed than angry at him for not giving her privacy.
“If you’re okay, I need to call your brother and get someone over here to process the . . . evidence.” Since her retching had stopped, he didn’t mention the dead animal specifically.
“Go.” She waved a hand and this time he listened.
A few minutes later, both Mike and Sam arrived in separate cars, Mike in an SUV, Sam in his patrol car. Erin was in the kitchen sipping ginger ale, and Cole met the men at the door.
Sam, in uniform, knelt in front of the box and frowned. “Jesus,” he muttered. “What kind of sicko would scoop an already dead animal off the road?”
“One who doesn’t want to do the dirty work herself to make her point,” Cole said.
“Her?” Erin came up behind him.
He glanced over, noting she was still pale. Unable to help himself, he wrapped a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Let’s sit down inside so we can talk this through,” Cole suggested.
“One of our forensics people will be here to process things any minute,” Sam said.
They all headed for the family room, where Erin curled on the couch. Her eyes were cloudy and shadowed, a far cry from the sexy, teasing minx from last night, and he realized how badly he wanted that Erin back, not this worried, fearful one.
“I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t throw it through the window I just had replaced,” she said.
All three men’s heads came up at that. “What window?” Cole asked.
“A baseball destroyed my front window a few months ago. I had to replace the broken glass.”
“Any reason you didn’t mention it?” Sam asked.
Mike cocked an eyebrow, pinning his sister with an annoyed glance.
“Get that look off your faces. It was a baseball! I’m sure some neighbor kid had an accident and was too scared to admit it. It happened way before the shooting and I forgot all about it until now.”
Cole frowned, not happy about any of this. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something that made him uneasy, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. Or why.
“Let’s get back to this morning’s . . . gift,” Mike said.
The doorbell rang, interrupting them. “That’ll be forensics.” Sam rose to answer.
Erin, Mike, and Cole sat in silence, waiting for details, while Sam observed the evidence collection outside.