“Lock up behind me,” Eli said.

“Well, duh,” Sara replied. Shades of their younger years. They’d been as close as any brother and sister, but they’d had their differences, too, naturally.

They were there for each other, in good times and bad.

He ignored the jibe. “Good night, Sara,” he said, with more gravity than the sentiment probably required.

“Good night, Dudley,” Sara said.

Eli laughed then, in spite of himself, and made for the door, Festus at his heels. The moment they were outside, he heard the dead bolt engage.

On the drive home, Eli thought about Freddie Lansing, and Sara’s gun, and what it would be like around her place if she hired Dan Summers or some of his crew.

He knew precisely what Melba had told Sara about her ex-husband that made her hesitant to hire him, the cost notwithstanding.

Dan billed himself as a security agent, and he was that.

He was also a mercenary, and a damn good one.

More Jesse James than Matt Dillon.

Eli approached his SUV cautiously, not only because it was late, but because that was his policy. If some asshole—like Freddie Lansing—got the jump on him, that would be his fault as much as anybody’s.

The area was clear, and he and Festus got into the rig.

Eli backed out of Sara’s driveway, onto the road.

After circling the block a few times, just in case, he headed for home.

By the time he got there, he was thinking about Brynne Bailey, not Freddie.

He was careful, just the same.

Parked in the yard instead of the garage, under the glare of one of the security lights, and whistled for Festus to jump out of the SUV on the driver’s side.

The dog’s hackles rose instantly, and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

“Easy,” Eli said, unsnapping his holster cover in case he needed his service revolver.

Festus, usually obedient, ignored Eli’s command to be quiet and sprang toward the yard, baying as he ran.

“Hold on,” Eli half shouted, but the dog didn’t listen.

He scrambled after Festus and found him straddling a prone figure on the ground.

“It’s me,” Eric cried, laughing and turning his head back and forth in a fruitless effort to keep the dog from licking his face. “It’s me, Uncle Eli—don’t shoot.”

Eli swore furiously, edged Festus off the kid with a motion of one leg, and yanked his nephew to his feet by his lapels.

“What the hell, Eric? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Exactly the opposite,” Eric replied, dusting the snow off his jacket and pants and grinning like the damn fool he apparently was. “I came to spend the night here. Thought it would be safer for Mom, since Hayley’s at Melba’s and Mr. Summers is there, too.”

“How did you get out here?”