Her heart was in her throat. How could she explain herself? She’d have to lie. She couldn’t admit that she was here searching for Megan’s things, that she’d taken the opportunity of James being in the hospital to look around behind his back. She could envision the charges being brought against her: trespassing, breaking and entering, burglary . . . and God knew what else.

“What the hell’s the matter with you!” the guy said, and the dog started scratching wildly. “What’s in the damned attic?”

Oh. Dear. God.

Don’t open the door!

“I’m not sure I want to know,” the guy said. “Come on, Ralph. We don’t have time to chase squirrels or rats or whatever. Not now. You can get ’em later. With James. Let’s go!”

And then, miracle of miracles, the dog, still barking, left, his toenails clicking on the old hardwood as he scrabbled away.

Rebecca let out her breath and felt her body sag. She had to get out of here. Before anyone came back. She considered her options. She’d entered through the dog door and could retrace her steps and use the dog’s exit or even go out the doors if the dead bolts hadn’t been engaged, and no one would be the wiser. Before she’d been trapped, she’d considered the option of climbing out an upper-story window. The bedroom across the hall from James’s had a window that opened to the roof of the long porch that stretched to the back of the property. Her footprints would show in the snow, but if she was lucky, no one would notice, and the snow would keep piling up.

Definitely her last resort.

Sneaking around wasn’t her forte. She’d always preferred the direct approach, and so, like it or not, she’d have to face James again and somehow jog his memory.

But he couldn’t find her hiding in his attic like a snoop or a crazy person.

No, she needed an even playing field to earn his trust.

But first, she had to sneak out of this place before the dog came roaring up the stairs again. Swallowing back her fear, she pushed open the door and looked through the slit. The bedroom was dark, aside from a slice of light at the door from the outer hallway, and it seemed empty.

No sign of man or dog.

No sound of voices drifting up the staircase.

Still . . .

Heart knocking, holding her breath, she let herself out of the closet and quietly closed the attic door behind her. Carefully, avoiding the clothes, books, magazines, and personal items on the floor, she picked her way toward the door.

The dog gave a sharp bark again, and she stumbled, nearly tripping. Instead, she fell against the bed and bit her tongue, catching herself so that she wouldn’t crash into the floor or let out a cry.