Aldo closed his eyes and thought of Gloria. She’d be at his house this week in his inner sanctum. He could picture her in his bedroom. Hell, he’d put two of his new plants on his dresser just so he knew she’d have to go inside. He wanted her there, more than he could say. It was purely selfish.

He could see her. That short, sassy hair, her bright smile, letting herself into his house with a key.

He purposely hadn’t given her a way to contact him. She had so much living that she was entitled to. He didn’t want to get in her way, roping her into some weird long-distance relationship. No, he wanted her. He wanted her strong and confident with six months of decisions she made herself between them. He’d fit himself into her life any way she’d let him. But after that kiss in the dark…well, he was feeling real hopeful that she’d be willing to make some serious room for him. Like dresser-drawer, key-to-the-house room.

He dropped off to sleep, thinking about Gloria sitting on the chair on his front porch, smiling and waiting.

18

The key was hot in her hand, its ridges digging into her palm. Gloria clung to it, running her thumb over the cuts, using the sensation to tear her focus away from the envelope in her bag.

Lord only knew why she’d brought it here, to this tidy bungalow with its welcoming front porch, its neat trim work. Its subtle hints of masculinity.

Aldo’s house. She’d be safe here, Gloria thought, mounting the steps one at a time as if approaching the altar of a church. With reverence, with hope, and the slightest taste of fear.

She opened the screen door and slid the key into the lock, not wanting to be observed skulking about his front porch. There was enough talk around town about her. Maybe she’d gone a little far in giving Benevolence something else to see besides a broken, battered woman. But there was no turning back now.

She was officially coordinating the town’s Fourth of July celebration.

And in small-town America that served up a large percentage of its populace to the nearby National Guard unit, well, she couldn’t afford to screw it all up. There was nothing bigger in Benevolence than its homage to the country and its patriots.

Gloria had been feeling fairly confident—or was that delusional?—in her ability to coordinate it all.

And then the letter arrived.

The envelope stamped with the telltale Mailed from a state correctional institution mark. She turned the knob and pushed open the heavy wood-and-glass door.