Another thunk, and this time she nearly jumped right out of her skin. “Sweet Cheeks?” she whispered, hoping like hell it was the cranky stray cat Winnie had saddled her with when she’d gone off to college two hours south in Santa Barbara. “That’s you, right?”

Nothing.

When the third thunk hit, Piper forced herself through the house, using her phone as a flashlight. Which is how she found the den window cracked about six inches, the slanted shutters banging in the wind against the wall, screen long gone.

Mystery solved.

She’d opened the window the other day when the sun had been out and unseasonably warm for late January. Somehow, she’d forgotten to close it, and, she had no doubt, Sweet Cheeks had escaped, since it was her mission in life to mess with Piper’s.

Okay, then, so no mass murderer. She’d live another day. But the adventure had made her tired. Or maybe that was just her life. Even so, she still had one more thing to do before she could relax. Well, two if she counted looking for Sweet Cheeks. With a sigh, she once again pulled on her rain jacket and went back outside and across the wide expanse of wild grass between her and the marina.

She’d grabbed her medic bag for the guy who owned and ran the marina. Emmitt Hayes was in his mid-fifties, ate like a twelve-year-old boy, drank like a fish, and had just been diagnosed as diabetic. He’d also recently suffered the loss of his son and wasn’t taking care of himself.

So, since they’d been friends since he first bought the marina around five years ago, she was doing the caretaking.

Between the two houses was a runoff from two small tributaries, combining into one rivulet that fed into the lake. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she could step over the little creek when she needed to. Tonight the flow was heavier than she’d ever seen it, half water, half mud—another problem from the poor fire-scarred land due to last summer’s terrible California wildfires.

It was one thing for her to step over a narrow stream, but another entirely to get past the rushing river it’d become, and she stopped, frozen to the spot. Take a deep breath. Be logical. It’s not as deep as it looks, it’s just wide.

And moving hella fast . . .

Sucking in a breath, she backed up a few feet and then took a running leap. The bad news—she landed a few feet short, leaving her wet and muddy up to her knees. The good news—she didn’t drown.

But she wished she’d had another drink with Hot Guy.