Lover Beware

back, she’d been on edge, waiting to run into him, and dreading it. It was cowardly, but she’d spent more time away from the farm in the past three days than she had in the past three months.
    When Patrick had been alive, the protection of her married state had been absolute and she hadn’t had to address the problem of how she felt, but now the buffer of her marriage was gone. Like it or not, she was alone and single, and, her confused emotions aside, the stubborn fact remained that even with Patrick gone, Michael Rider still felt forbidden.
    She pressed the rewind button on the answering machine, then on impulse let the message play again, steeling herself against the effect of that dark voice.
    A shiver skimmed her spine at the low demand to call him. It was ridiculous to feel…hunted. The odds that Rider was still interested in her as a woman were so remote as to be practically nonexistent. Years had passed since the initial shock of attraction. In that time he had been away more than he’d been home, and he’d probably had a string of gorgeous girlfriends.
    If she’d had any sense she should have replied to the first message instead of panicking. Rider had probably just wanted to give her his condolences and offer his help if she needed it. He’d helped Patrick out a number of times with the heavier jobs on the farm. Apart from one occasion when he’d caught Jane alone, he’d never betrayed by a word, or a look, that he felt anything beyond friendship and compassion.
    She rewound the tape, and this time, erased it with a stab of her finger—consigning the message to the ether along with all the others. The finality of the action sent a pang of cold through her that felt suspiciously close to loss. Irritated that she should feel anything that profound, or that wimpy , in conjunction with Rider, she spun away from the machine, finished her drink, and headed for the shower.
    If she was honest, the problem wasn’t that Rider might still want her, but that she still wanted him.
    She had to get a grip, get a life.
    She had to go into town to get groceries, and she also intended to drive to Winslow and get a security alarm. When Patrick had been alive, she’d felt safe and secure in her home, which only went to prove how people could fool themselves, because, as ill as he was, for the last few years Patrick had been physically incapable of defending himself, let alone her.
    Whether she wanted to believe it or not, Tayler’s Creek was no longer a safe haven. Somebody had broken into the Dillons’ home and committed both murder and rape. Her imagination may have got out of hand this morning, but imagination or not, those moments in the barn had convinced Jane that getting an alarm was more than a good idea, it was a necessity.
     
    TUCKER PULLED A warrant from his shirt pocket and handed it to Michael. “We’ll also be searching your house and property.”
    “On what grounds?”
    “Your truck was parked on Linford Road just four doors down from the Dillons’ place two nights ago. One of the neighbours took your license plate.
    Michael briefly closed his eyes. Linford Road was long and windy, a country lane lined with the latest craze in subdividing—small “lifestyle retreats” ranging from five to ten acres for the well-heeled who wanted to live in a farmlike setting and commute to work in Winslow. A lot of city people from Winslow had bought into the deal. Initially, there had been a lot of excitement about the subdivision, because it brought an injection of funds into an area that wasn’t so much depressed as slow and sleepy. But it looked like the Linford Road subdivision had attracted something else that wasn’t so positive for the small town. “That would put me at least half a kilometre from the scene of the crime. I went to see Jake Robertson about doing some fencing for me.”
    “At eight o’clock at night?”
    Michael’s gaze was steady. “He’s at work during the day.”
    Tucker flushed. “We’re trying to get hold of Jake,” he admitted. “He’s working over toward Winslow at the moment.”
    “That’s right. On a government block. His cell phone cuts out over there. Just out of interest, have you got any other suspects, or am I it?”
    “I’m not at liberty to reveal—”
    “I am all you’ve got.” Michael eyed Tucker in disbelief. He could feel the fury building. It generally took a while to get him well and truly riled, but Tucker and the Keystone brigade were