“No, Mr. Hamilton, watch out!” I jumped out of my hiding place, because I was so scared that Barney would attack the old man and his wife.

But Mr. Hamilton was pointing a gun at Barney. He was right on top of the situation, until I’d startled both of them by my sudden appearance.

With a roar, Barney came after me, and I turned to run back to the woods. But then the gun went off behind me.

And Barney wasn’t running after me anymore.

Fifteen

I stopped and turned around. Barney Simpson was lying in the driveway, so newly cleaned of tree debris. Now he was getting it dirty again, because he was really bleeding from a hole in his shoulder.

Mr. Hamilton had come forward to the edge of the deck, and Nita was behind him. She was wearing another tracksuit, and her short hair looked just as neat in the overhead light as it had in the daytime.

“You think you need to shoot him again?” she asked her husband.

“I think he’s done,” Ted Hamilton said. “You scoot in there and call the police.”

“I’m one step ahead of you, honey, I already did it when I heard his voice outside,” she said. “Miss Connelly, you want to step around him, real careful, and come inside?”

“Thank you,” I said, in a very shaky voice that didn’t sound at all like my own. “I’d love to be inside. Inside anything.”

“You poor girl, come on in.”

I walked very carefully around Barney Simpson, who was clutching his shoulder and as white as a sheet, though the bright overhead light washed the color out of everything. I went up the stairs very carefully, since nothing in my body seemed to be working exactly right. I was careful not to jostle Ted or come between him and the downed man. I didn’t want Barney to get any more like the Terminator than he already had.

When I was close to Nita Hamilton and she got a good look at me, she said, “We do need to get you inside. Ted, are you good out here?”

“Yes, honey, you take care of the young lady.”

And just like that I was in a warm place. I could have predicted almost everything about the Hamiltons’ cottage, from the maple furniture to the crocheted throws folded over the backs of their favorite chairs, from the framed baby pictures to the china rooster on an end table. Nita efficiently threw a towel over the wooden chair by the door, where they probably normally dumped their keys and coats. After I looked down at myself, I knew that was the only possible place for me to sit.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “I’m going to get a rag and wipe you off. I know the EMTs will do it right, but you don’t want to be sitting there dripping. I know I wouldn’t.”