She was definitely turning over a new leaf. Her next fiancé was going to be a nice, steady, nice, regular nice guy, a non-lethal, non-lying nice guy. A good guy.

Agnes shifted on Shane’s air mattress. She was definitely not sleeping with the hitman again. That was just insane. The whole concept of “messy breakup” alone could-

“You sure you’re okay?” Shane said, half asleep beside her now.

“Yes,” Agnes said.

Which wasn’t a lie. She was exhausted, but she wasn’t angry or frightened or insane anymore. If she’d been this calm when they’d had sex, she might have noticed some of the details. It was a shame she’d missed that.

She shifted again.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” But it would be really nice if you wrapped your arms around me. And then did some stuff. To keep my mind off some other stuff. And make me so tired, I pass out. And then tomorrow, I’llbe sane and never sleep with you again.

“You scared?”

“No,” Agnes said. “You’re here.”

“What then? I’m trying to get to sleep, and you’re tense as a board.”

“Yeah,” Agnes said. “About that.”

“Whatever it is you need, I’ll take care of it in the morning.” He stretched over and kissed her forehead, and she lifted her chin to catch his mouth, putting her hand on his cheek and kissing him back, and after a minute, he pulled back. “Agnes?”

“Well,” she said in a reasonable voice. “It’s morning somewhere.”

He rolled over on his back and stared at the porch ceiling. “You’re an odd woman, Agnes.” He sighed. “You have any special requests? Anything you like?”

“Men,” Agnes said. “Men who save my life and then make me come on my back porch.”

“I can do that,” Shane said, and put his arms around her, and Agnes sighed and began to concentrate on the details.

They were very comforting.

Shane woke feeling naked and exposed. And content. He cracked an eye at the mop of dark curly hair lying across his chest, which he knew was a mistake, because he should be checking the perimeter first to see what had wakened him. He was making a lot of mistakes lately.

He looked over at Rhett and noted that the bloodhound had his head up, which he took to be a sign of high alert for the dog. Probably the apocalypse coming, and the Four Horsemen were pounding toward the bridge over the inlet right now. With luck, it would collapse under them. Shane slid out from underneath Agnes and realized he was very exposed. A sniper could take him out easily.

Shane grabbed the rumpled sheet and went to drape it over Agnes, but paused, taking in her soft, round naked body for a few seconds, then carefully placed it over her. He reached down and grabbed his pants and put them on, fastening the holster for his Glock in place. He slid his feet into his boots.

A figure wearing a straw hat walked down the dock, a tackle box in hand, casting a long shadow over the water to one side. Shane opened the screen door, and Rhett shambled down the path to greet the invader.

They met near the gazebo. “Detective Xavier.”

“Mister Shane Smith.”

“How do you know that?”

“Saw the scrapbook your uncle keeps in the diner under the counter. Saw that picture of you in the hospital bed, getting the Silver Star when you were in the Rangers. Your uncle talked some about you.”

“My uncle has a big mouth.” Joey has a scrapbook on me? “Not big enough. So you were a war hero and got wounded?”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Shane said. “Don’t want to have that happen again,” Xavier said. Rhett peed.

Shane said, “So where is Detective Hammond this fine morning?”

“He volunteered to get some background on the wedding,” Xavier said. “See if that might explain the unfortunate break-in. I believe he knows the bride.”

Rhett continued to pee.

Shane noted the tackle box. “Going fishing? Water’s back where you came from.” He nodded to the small boat tied off at the floating dock.

“What I’m fishing for is in the house.” Xavier tried to get around Shane.

Shane moved to block his way. “And that is?” Xavier halted. “I don’t like that basement.”

“It is dank and dark.”

“I don’t like that crime scene.” He made to get by once more. Shane folded his arms. “You said it was an accident”

“It was.”

“Then?”

“I want to poke around.” Xavier tried to step around once more, and Shane edged into his way.

“Poking around can be dangerous.”

Xavier looked up at him, exasperated. “What are you trying to say, son?”

“Already said it.”

Rhett finished peeing and came over and sniffed Xavier’s shoes, seemed satisfied, and ambled toward the house. Great guard dog, Shane thought.

Xavier looked at Shane’s outfit of pants, pistol, and no shirt, and then glanced up at the porch. “You sleep outside?”

Shane turned and looked through the screen door. There was no sign of Agnes or the sheets that had been tumbled there. A woman who could wake up fast and then remove evidence silently. His kind of girl.

“Yep. I like fresh air.”

Xavier nodded, his exasperation evaporating into amusement. “Right. Miss Agnes up yet?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Right.” Xavier gave a lazy grin and walked around Shane. “Quite a woman, that Miss Agnes.”

“Yep,” Shane said, following him up the walk. “Bit sharp-tempered, though.”

“I’d call her fiery.”

Xavier turned his head toward Shane and nodded amiably. “Fiery. That’s good.”

They walked up the path, Rhett ambling with them. Xavier trooped up the steps to the porch and spared a glance at the air mattress and Shane’s T-shirt, crumpled in a ball. “Restless night, son?”

“Slept like a baby.”

“I bet you did,” Xavier said, and went into the kitchen.

Agnes had awoken slowly to voices out by the gazebo and then quickly to the realization that she was naked on her back porch with a teenage boy imprisoned in her basement and a cop walking up to her back door.

Shit. She grabbed for her sundress and slipped it on, trying to stay below the screens while gathering up as much of the bedding as she could carry, then did a low dash into the house to get Three Wheels out before Xavier saw him. She shoved the table away from the basement door, pushed the door open, whispered, “Wake up down there,” and dropped one of the kitchen chairs into the opening. “Climb on that and boost yourself up here.”

She stood back as Three Wheels clutched and clambered out of the hole, skinny and dirty, seemingly made entirely of elbows and knees with a shock of reddish-blond hair sticking out from under his old Confederate army cap. When he was on his feet, she grabbed his shirt.

“Listen to me,” she said. “In about half a minute, Detective Xavier is gonna come through that door and ask who the hell you are. You agree with everything I say, and you won’t go to jail for threatening me with a deadly weapon, you understand?”

Three Wheels looked tired, scared, and mad, but when he heard Xavier’s voice, his eyes widened and he nodded.

Agnes shoved him into the nearest seat and said, “I’m making you breakfast. You’ll eat it.”

“Yes’m,” Three Wheels said.

Agnes started to put coffee on and then shifted course to the fridge and poured Three Wheels a glass of milk instead. She put that in front of him, stuck bread in the toaster to get him started-if his mouth was full of food and drink, all the better-poured coffee beans into the grinder, turned the gas on under the griddle, fired up her CD player, and then got out her bowl to make pancake batter. The toaster heated up, so Carpenter must have fixed the electricity. That was-

Three Wheels was staring at her.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothin’,” he said, looking away, blushing.

She looked down and remembered: no bra. “Oh, for the love of…” She reached over and grabbed her Cranky Agnes apron and put it on to cut down on the shifting problem under her dress. Then the toast popped and she loaded four slices up with butter and jam and put it all in front of Three Wheels. “Chew, don’t talk.”