Storm. Brigid Kemmerer

      Her shift ended at nine-thirty. Becca made it to Chris’s house before ten. Fury got her there, but fear trapped her in the car once she made it to the driveway.

      She stared at the front porch for a long minute. If she sat here much longer, someone was sure to notice. She wondered if she should just pull out of the driveway and go home.

      But she was supposed to work this weekend. What if Tyler and his friend came back?

      She’d been lucky New Kid showed up with his police dog. Maybe she could ask to borrow Casper and just forget Chris Merrick existed.

      Excuse me. Yeah, I don’t know your name, but can I borrow your dog? I work three shifts per week. I’ll give him a cut of my pay. Bonuses paid in rawhide.

      Right.

      The air sat thick and heavy with humidity when she climbed the porch steps to knock. Another storm was coming.

      She remembered Gabriel’s comment the night before, about girls not being an oddity around here. She wondered if she’d come across like that, knocking on their door at ten o’clock at night, like some desperate chick mooning after them all, especially after Chris had asked her—what? Out? What had happened at lunch?

      The door swung wide. Michael stood in the light of the foyer. Same ponytail, same careless appearance. His jeans looked a little nicer, and he was wearing shoes tonight, but he still needed a shave. A cordless phone was held to his ear.

      He wasn’t a big guy, but he sure wasn’t little. She remembered how he’d tried to grab her, and she took a step back. “I—ah—is Chris—”

      He held up a finger, pointed to the phone, then took a step back and waved her inside.

      She stepped across the threshold, trying to keep her shoulders square. She slid a hand into her jeans pocket and threaded her fingers through her keys again.

      “No,” he said, and it took her a second to realize he was speaking into the phone, not to her. “You can buy it by the bag, but a sack of mulch will only cover about four square feet ... mm-hmm ...”

      He headed for the kitchen, leaving her standing there by the door. She had no idea whether he expected her to follow.

      When he reached the doorway, he glanced back and gave her an exasperated look. He put a hand over the bottom of the receiver and whispered, “You want to come sit down or what?”

      She scurried after him, but he was already speaking into the phone again. “You’re welcome to have your husband call me, but I feel fairly certain you’ll need more than ten bags to go around your house.” Becca could hear the sigh behind his voice.

      He pulled out a chair for her without looking, and she perched on the edge. A laptop sat open on the kitchen table, next to a bottle of water and a three-inch white binder bursting with worn pages. A regular spiral notebook lay beside it, the page covered with chicken scratch.

      “Yes, the bushes will take up some of the square footage—but still, I’m thinking truckloads, not bags. Would you like me to come out and—”

      He sat across from her, put an elbow on the table, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I fully understand. Have him call me. I’ll come out and give an estimate ... okay, then. Okay. Yes. Okay.”

      He pushed the button on the phone and set it on the table. Both hands came up to rub his eyes. “People give me a headache. Everybody wants to nickel-and-dime. Ten bags of mulch for, like, four thousand square feet. Jesus.” His hands dropped and he looked at her. “You know that’s crazy, right?”

      How the hell would she know? Mom was lucky she could work the mower. Becca thought of the meticulous landscaping out front. “You ... ah ... you work for a landscaping company?”

      “I am a landscaping company.” He uncapped the water and took a swig. “You here for Chris?”

      He didn’t seem to be making any threatening moves, but she kept on the edge of the chair. “If I say yes, are you going to try to kill me?”

      He sighed and glanced away. “Look, I didn’t mean to frighten you last night. You ran out of here so quick—”

      “You mean after you grabbed me?”

      “You mean after you punched me with a fistful of keys?”

      “Yeah, well, you were—” She broke off and flushed. He’d just been standing there, acting scary. Now that she thought about it, he’d never made a move toward her.

      Then she remembered how she’d fought to evade him in the yard. “What about when I was trying to get to my car? I should have you arrested for assault.”

      He slid the phone across the table. “Go ahead.”

      Now she wanted to punch him with the keys and it had nothing to do with self-defense. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”

      “Yeah, I’m such an asshole. Trying to keep an upset kid from flying out of here in the middle of a rainstorm.” He rolled his eyes. “They’d better lock me up for sure.”

      Now she had to look away. She kind of felt like an idiot, but she hadn’t imagined his aggression, his threatening tone.

      Michael let the silence stretch out for a moment, until she wanted to squirm, and she had to focus to remember why she’d even come here.

      She refused to look at him. “Is Chris home?”

      “Yeah. Top of the stairs. Make a left.”

      He expected her to just go up to his room?

      She remembered going to Drew’s house once, last May. Drew’s mom had made sure they stayed in plain sight in the den. The woman had seemed to know every time Drew’s hands found Becca’s knee or the curve of her waist. At the time, Becca had wanted the woman to go the hell away and mind her own business.

      Now, in retrospect, she owed Mrs. McKay a hug.

      “You want an escort or something?” said Michael. He was already looking at his laptop, his fingers striking the keys.

      She shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the steps.

      Five doors were on the second level, but she never got to make a left. A bathroom was just to her right, the door wide open. One of the twins stood in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth.

      Shirtless.

      Breath left her lungs in a rush and she almost stumbled on the last step. Loose button-fly jeans hung low at his hips, exposing just the edge of a pair of boxers. She could clearly see the clean muscled line of his back, the smooth tapering of his rib cage into a tight waist.

      He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned around the toothbrush before ducking to spit. He turned off the faucet and wiped his mouth on a towel before turning to face her.

      “You’re back,” he said.

      She looked at him—a huge mistake, because it put her eyes right on his chest. The guy was no stranger to a bench press. “Ah ... yeah. Are you Nick or Gabriel?”

      He stepped close, until she could smell the spearmint in his toothpaste. “Does it matter?”

      Her cheeks were burning. It was a lot harder to maintain independence and indifference when a hot guy was standing half-naked in front of her. She gulped and grasped at the banister. “I was looking for Chris’s room—but, ah—you know, I’ll just see him tomorrow—”

      “No way.” He grabbed her hand. “Come here.”

      He dragged her around the corner. His fingers were warm on hers. She stared