The Guardian

And Richard had put up no fight at all.

Those things still bothered her. Especially, she decided, the last one.

Something didn't quite make sense there. Even if Mike had had the element of surprise, it hadn't been that much surprise. She'd seen Mike coming and had time to move out of the way, but not only hadn't Richard fought, he hadn't moved at all. If Richard had known what she would do, wouldn't he also have known how Mike would react? Or at least have had an inkling? So why hadn't he cared?

And why did it feel as if he'd planned that part, too?

"You sure you're not dizzy? That's a nasty bump," Leaning Joe said.

He and Richard were standing just inside the door of the Clipper. Richard shook his head. "I just want to go home."

"I'd be happy to call an ambulance for you," he offered. To Richard, it seemed as if he were really saying, Please don't sue me.

"It's okay," Richard said, tired of the old man. He pushed through the door and stepped into the darkness. Scanning the parking lot, he noted that the police had already left. The rest of the parking lot was quiet as well, and he started making his way to his car.

As he approached, he realized someone was leaning against it.

"Hi, Richard," she said.

Richard hesitated before answering. "Hello, Andrea."

Andrea raised her chin slightly and met his eyes. "You feeling any better?"

Richard shrugged.

After a moment, Andrea cleared her throat. "I know this might sound odd considering what happened tonight, but would you mind giving me a lift home?"

Richard glanced around. Again, he saw no one.

"What about your date?"

She nodded toward the Clipper. "He's still inside. I told him I was going to the bathroom."

Richard raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

In the silence, Andrea took a step toward him. When she was close, she slowly raised her hand and touched the bruise on his cheek, her eyes never leaving his.

"Please?" she whispered.

"How about we go someplace else instead?"

She tilted her head, as if wondering what he meant.

He smiled. "Trust me."

In Julie's kitchen, the coffeemaker was gurgling as Mike sat at the table.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

That everything that happened tonight seems wrong somehow, she thought. Knowing that Mike would do his best to convince her she'd misinterpreted it, however, she kept her answer vague. "Just going through it all again. It keeps replaying in my mind, you know?"

"Yeah, for me, too."

The coffeemaker beeped, and Mike got up from the table and poured two cups. Singer's ears lifted, and Julie watched as he made his way through the living room. In their haste to leave earlier, she hadn't drawn the shades, and she knew a car was coming down the street. There wasn't that much traffic at this time of night, and she watched to see if she recognized one of the neighbors coming home after an evening on the town.

Singer went toward the window as the light began to intensify. But instead of watching the sky fade to black again as the car whizzed by, she saw the beams from the headlights solidify. Moths and insects, drawn toward the glow, made the beams look as if they were composed of swirling fingers. Singer barked and began growling; the glow of headlights remained steady.

The car, she could tell, was idling in the road, and she sat up in the chair. She heard the engine rev, and suddenly the lights switched off. A car door slammed.

He was here, Julie thought. Richard had come to the house.

Mike looked toward the window.

Singer's growls grew louder, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Mike put a hand on Julie's shoulder and took a tentative step toward the door. Singer was barking and growling steadily now as Mike moved forward.

Singer went wild then, and in the fury came something unexpected. The sound was at once normal and startling, and Mike paused, as if trying to decide that what he'd heard was real.

Then it came again. Someone, they realized, was knocking on the door. Mike turned toward Julie as if asking, Huh?

He peeked out the window, and Julie saw his shoulders drop; when he glanced at her again, there was a look of relief on his face. He patted Singer's back and said, "Shh, it's okay," and Singer stopped growling. He followed Mike, however, as Mike reached for the door handle.

A moment later, Julie saw two police officers standing on the porch.

Officer Jennifer Romanello was new in town, new on the job, and looking forward to the day she'd have her own squad car, if only to get away from the guy she was working with. After doing the majority of her police training in Jacksonville, she'd moved to Swansboro less than a month earlier. She'd been riding with Pete Gandy for two weeks now and had four weeks to go-all rookies had to work with an experienced officer during their first six weeks on the job to complete their training-and if she heard him mention "the ropes" again, she thought she'd strangle him.

Pete Gandy turned the key, shutting off the ignition, and glanced over at her.

"Let me handle this," he said. "You're still learning the ropes."

I'm really going to kill him, she thought.

"Should I wait in the car?"

Though she had said it in jest, Pete missed the tone, and she could see him flexing his arm. Pete took his biceps very seriously. He also liked to look at himself in the rearview mirror before he went into action.

"No. Come on up. Just let me do the talking. And make sure to keep your eyes open, kid."

He said this as though he were old enough to be her father. In reality, he'd been on the force only two years, and despite the fact that Swansboro wasn't exactly a hotbed of high-profile criminal activity, Pete had developed a theory that the Mafia had started infiltrating the town, and darned if he wasn't going to be the one to handle it. Pete's all-time favorite movie was Serpico. It was the reason he'd joined the force.

Jennifer closed her eyes. Why of all the idiots did I get stuck with this guy?

"Whatever you say."

"Mike Harris?" Officer Gandy said.

Pete Gandy had put on the "I know the uniform intimidates you" pose, and Jennifer fought the urge to slap the back of his head. She knew that Pete had been acquainted with both Mike and Julie for years-in the car, he mentioned that Mike serviced his car, and he got his hair cut at the salon. He hadn't even needed to look up Julie's address. Life in a small town, she sighed. For a gal who grew up in the Bronx, this was a whole new world, and she was still getting used to it.

"Oh, hey Pete," Mike said. "What can I do for you?"

"Can we come in for a minute? We need to talk to you."

"Sure," Mike said.

They hesitated, and Mike glanced down at Singer. "Don't worry about him. He'll be fine."

The officers stepped into the living room, and Mike motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. "Can I get you some coffee? I just made a pot."

"No, thank you. We're not allowed to drink on the job."

Jennifer rolled her eyes, thinking, That only goes for booze, you putz.

By then, Julie had come out from the kitchen and was standing a few feet back, her arms crossed. Singer went to her side and sat.

"What's this all about, Pete?" she asked.

Officer Pete Gandy didn't like being called Pete while wearing the uniform, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how to react to the familiarity. He cleared his throat.

"Were you at the Sailing Clipper this evening, Mike?"

"Yeah. I played with the Ocracoke Inlet."

Pete glanced toward Jennifer, as if showing her how it was done. Oooh, big scoop, she thought. Only a million people verified that fact already.

"And were you involved in an altercation with one Mr. Richard Franklin?"

Before Mike could answer, Julie stepped into the living room.

"What's going on?" she asked.