Command Performance

An hour later, Maggie sat at her desk reviewing her list of questions for Hunter’s teammates when the doorbell buzzed. Had Hunter forgotten his key? The buzzer rang a second time. Frowning, she stood and went to get the door. It had better be Hunter. Still wearing her pajamas and robe, she wasn’t dressed for company. She was halfway to the door before it occurred to her that her ex-fiancé might be on her front porch.

If Derrick had decided to show up again, she’d drive to the police station right after she kicked him out and put on some clothes. She’d request a restraining order. Maybe Hunter had been right. Rejection could turn a previously sane man into a low-fat-muffin-wielding stalker.

Peering through the peephole, Maggie saw a tall, model-thin brunette.

Or maybe Derrick had received the message loud and clear, and now one of Hunter’s exes had decided to grace her doorstep. Of course, there was always the possibility Little Miss I-only-eat-rice-cakes thought she was Hunter’s current girlfriend. Maybe trusting him had been one massive mistake.

“Hi, can I help you?” Maggie asked, opening the door just a crack. Not that this woman was dressed to impress. Far from it, in fact. Her cutoff jean shorts looked as if she hadn’t washed them in weeks, and her fitted black T-shirt appeared slept in. Maggie glanced over her unexpected guest’s shoulder and saw a beat-up white pickup that would probably be more at home in the junkyard than her driveway.

The woman shifted from one foot to the other. Nerves? No, this woman seemed jittery, almost as if she might start shaking uncontrollably right there on Maggie’s front steps.

“I’m looking for Hunter.”

Big surprise there.

“He’s not here at the moment. But I can tell him you stopped by.” Maggie paused, but the other woman just furrowed her brow. “And you are?”

“Sierra.”

Just like that the bubble burst on her fantasy. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the door. She should have asked about his mystery woman before last night. But why should she care? She’d only wanted one more night with Hunter, and now that Sierra had arrived, she wouldn’t be tempted to ask for another, she told herself. Still, the dread lingered.

“I’m his sister,” Sierra said, her voice clear despite her jumpy movements. “He probably didn’t mention me, but I really need to talk to him. Is there any chance I could wait for him? I can sit in my car—”

“No, please come in.” Maggie stepped back and swung the door open, no longer caring about her attire as the puzzle pieces surrounding her morning visitor’s identity fell into place, and relief swept her from head to toe. His sister. Not his lover or his girlfriend.

Watching Sierra closely, Maggie had a hunch Hunter’s sister needed the money and doctors she’d overheard him talking about on the phone. Recovering alcoholics and drug users often experienced jitters and shaking after they quit. Assuming Sierra was sober. Leaving rehab early? Not a good sign.

Maggie led the younger woman down the hall and through the swinging door. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

Sierra scanned the kitchen, shaking her head. “I’m okay.”

No, you’re not. Maggie bit back the words.

“Would you like to sit down? I was just about to make breakfast, which for me involves opening a cereal box, but you’re welcome to a bowl. I also have muffins.” Maggie had an overwhelming urge to feed the shaking, stick-thin girl.

Sierra nodded, but stopped short of verbally committing to anything. “When do you expect Hunter will be back?”

“Soon. Ten minutes, maybe.” Maggie retrieved the leftover muffins from the breadbox and set them on a plate. She opened the fridge and pulled out butter and milk. Then she turned to face Hunter’s sister. Maggie hesitated a moment, but her curiosity won. “So you’re in rehab? That’s a big step. Congratulations.”

Sierra looked like a frightened deer with an open wound, caught but unable to escape. The silence stretched until it bordered on awkward.

“I admire your courage.” Maggie took one of the blueberry muffins her housekeeper had dropped off yesterday, cut it in half and smeared it with butter, hoping Sierra would follow her lead. “I tried for years to get my dad to seek treatment, but he always had an excuse.”

“Your dad,” Sierra repeated, selecting a bran muffin.

“He drank.” Maggie turned to the sink and filled two glasses with water. She passed one across the island to Hunter’s sister.

Sierra looked straight at Maggie, her gaze filled with understanding. “I’m sorry.”

Maggie nodded and fought the urge to hug Sierra. She could count on one hand the number of people she’d told about her father’s drinking, and of those very few understood what addiction did to a person. They ate in silence, Sierra’s eyes turning to the door every few seconds. Clearly Hunter’s sister didn’t feel the instant bond between them that Maggie did.

“Hunter will be back soon,” she said. “But he’ll probably be wondering why you left rehab.”

“I couldn’t stay there any longer.” Sierra spoke in a strong, clear voice. “I couldn’t let Hunter spend every penny he has on me. He’s already spent his entire savings on my recovery. I’m grateful, believe me, I am, but any more is just too much of a burden.”

“I’m sure Hunter feels having you sober is worth the cost,” Maggie said.

Sierra broke the muffin into pieces as if she couldn’t speak without moving some part of her body. Nervous hands. Maggie could relate.