Shiver

herself. Pushing the blinds aside, she saw that the backyard, while not overly large, was indeed surrounded by a six-foot-tall solid wood privacy fence, at least as far as she could see. There was a concrete patio complete with lawn chairs and what looked like a grill, with a basketball goal set into the ground at the far end. The grass had been cut recently, and was thick and green. Sunflowers towered in a corner. Best ofall, hanging from what proved to be a big, leafy red oak, was a tire swing. Tyler’s going to love that. Instantly transported, she reached for the handle to open the door.
    “Sam. You want to wait for me.” Marco’s warning was soft and almost casual. Glancing around at him—he was getting the crutches into position under his arms, while Tyler (got in the way) assisted—she understood from his expression that the warning was serious, although he was doing his best not to make Tyler think there was any reason to worry about what might be waiting outside.
    Instant visions of snipers on the roof, assassins hiding behind the tree, murderers of all types and stripes and in all possible locations ready to blast the first person who appeared sprang into her head, making her heart lurch, and she quickly sheared away from the door. Beneath the dangling blinds, it was one big panel of glass, after all.
    “Shouldn’t we all wait for Sanders? Having you go outside first seems a little silly, considering everything.” Meaning considering that he was the one the killers were really after, although with Tyler listening in she didn’t want to be too graphic. She couldn’t help uttering the warning, however, and never mind how irate she was feeling toward Marco at the moment. She might not want him to die, but a lesser bad fate, like having him fall flat on his face on the kitchen floor if one of his crutches caught on, say, a table leg, suited her just fine.
    “Oh, right.” Something about his tone struck her as a little odd, like his mind was having to switch gears to acknowledge that he was the primary target. But then she forgot aboutthat as their eyes collided. Instantly she felt the flash of (oh, so unwanted) attraction between them, and caught herself wondering—damn it!—if there was something wrong with her, that she was consistently drawn to men who turned out to be total losers, Tyler’s father and this guy being two obvious cases in point.
    Before she had a chance to follow that thought through to its obvious conclusion—something in the nature of, you’re an idiot —he added, “Cover your ears,” to Tyler. As Tyler obeyed without question he bellowed, “Hey, Sanders, you’re needed in the kitchen, pronto,” before maneuvering out from behind the table, careful and slightly awkward on his crutches.
    Tyler’s hands dropped away from his ears as he scrambled to pull a chair out of Marco’s way. “You yell really loud.”
    Watching Marco smile down at her boy, Sam felt her chest tighten. Hero worship shone out of Tyler’s eyes. Clearly she and Marco were going to have to have another talk, only this time she was going to be the one to spell things out: bottom line was, she didn’t want him getting too friendly with Tyler. Because soon, she hoped, Marco would be out of their lives. Really out of their lives, as in, on his way to prison or something. The downside to that was that Tyler would be the one who was left behind, hurt by the ending of the association. If she could prevent it, Sam vowed, that just wasn’t going to happen.
    Marco’s expression as he crossed the kitchen left Sam in no doubt that he was indeed in considerable pain. This time she absolutely refused to feel sorry for him. Instead, despite the nervousness brought on by the idea of possibly exposing herself orTyler to the danger that might be lurking outside, she followed Marco and Tyler to the door and looked out over Marco’s broad shoulder through the glass.
    Everything she could see looked peaceful and serene.
    “What’s the problem?” Sanders entered the kitchen fast, his footsteps loud on the tile floor, his hand reaching beneath his jacket, which, Sam knew, was where his gun was kept in a shoulder holster. She, Tyler, and Marco all looked sharply around at his appearance.
    Sam answered him first. She’d had it with being told what to do, and absolutely refused to find the burly marshal—or any of the men around her, for that matter—intimidating. “Tyler wants to play in the backyard. Before I