But she'd been so tight. And he remembered how shocked he'd been to look down and see his fingers stippled with bright red blood. He should probably march right over there now, pound on her door, and demand to know if he'd taken her virginity that day.

He had every right-

Crash!

The unmistakable sound of shattering glass was followed by a soft thud. The silent alarm system triggered and the flash of a red strobe light filled the room.

He grabbed his semiautomatic Glock from the desk drawer and ran down the hall, crouching his way down the. steps, low and tight and fast, his mind on fire with all the possible threats that awaited him.

Could they really have found him this fast? How many men had Guzman sent? Every nerve ending in his body jolted with the knowledge that it was about four in the afternoon-and Charlotte's kids were home from school.

The worst possible scenario.

He pressed his back against the foyer wall, steadied himself, then spun around the doorjamb to the living room, knees bent, weapon thrust straight in front of his body-only to be greeted by the sight of a baseball at his feet. Shards of window glass were scattered over the couch and coffee table.

Joe felt his body sag in relief. He took in a deep breath and let it out. He tucked the gun in the back waistband of his jeans and pulled down the loose hem of his T-shirt to cover it.

The adrenaline began to recede, leaving in its wake a wicked headache that struck the instant he bent down for the baseball. Joe examined the ball in his hand, realizing the alarm didn't trigger before he heard the glass break because the ball tripped the motion sensors around the perimeter of the house an instant before it hit the window.

Joe grinned. A broken window was a big pain in the ass, to be sure, but a whole lot better than finding several highly motivated, heavily armed Mexican drug dealers standing in his living room.

He'd take anything over that.

He was heading toward die back of the house, where he figured he'd trot out to the pool area and throw the ball back over the pine trees and all would be forgiven. But before he could take three steps, the doorbell rang.

At least he assumed it was the doorbell, since he'd never actually heard it before.

There was only one possibility…

The instant he opened the door, he was struck by the widely varied expressions of the three people who stood before him.

The girl named Henrietta looked up at him with the most devilish blue eyes he'd ever seen. She was certainly a colorful child-flaming red hair, lots of brown freckles on pale skin, and a checkerboard smile of missing or in-process teeth.

Her brother stared up at Joe with a look he'd never seen on a kid's face-not that he'd been around kids much. But it was the kind of look Steve used to get when he had something up his sleeve. Matt Tasker gave him a slow once-over, then peered inside his house and raised a single eyebrow in surprise.

Joe took a step outside and closed the door behind him.

And right there, not a foot away, with her hands on her children's shoulders, was Honeysuckle Mama herself. Her face was as red as her hair. Her big gray eyes stared at him with embarrassment. She was clearly horrified to be standing on his stoop.

About as horrified as he was to have her.

Then he noticed she was dressed in those jeans he liked, worn and thin and clinging to every one of her petite curves, and a nice little white button-down shirt;

"My daughter… she-"Joe watched Charlotte struggle with the words and gloried in the sound of her voice. He wanted her to keep talking. About anything.

"Hi," the girl said.

"We came to apologize for-"

"I smashed your window, and my mom just said, 'Oh, shit,' and she never, ever cusses." Hank smiled proudly. "Can I go inside your house and look for the t›all? Can I use your bathroom? The Connors used to let me use their bathroom whenever I wanted."

"She's out of control," Matt offered as explanation, rolling his eyes.

"My dad said I'm a power hitter," Hank added.

Joe was struck by the absurdity of the scene. There was so much that he wanted to do. Run inside and hide was at the top of the list, followed closely by grabbing Charlotte around that nice little waist of hers and getting his mouth back on those pretty pink lips-

"I will pay for the repairs of course," Honeysuckle Mama was saying. "Garson's Glass on Main Street repairs windows. Have Mr. Garson send me the bill."

The object of his fantasy was slowly pulling her children back, as if to protect them.

He held out his hand to return the ball, and Charlotte gasped. What? Did she think he was going to shoot them, for God's sake? But he had pulled a gun on the woman only two nights ago, hadn't he? And he was armed at the present moment as well.

' He uncurled his fingers and held the baseball in his open palm, smiling down at the power hitter.

"Nice swing for a girl, Henrietta"

She grinned and grabbed the ball with a chubby, dirty hand. "Thanks, Mr. Mills. But call me that again and I'll have to bop you one."

Joe stepped back in surprise, laughing, and looked to Charlotte for guidance. Then he realized that Mommy must have mentioned his name to the kids. So she'd been talking about him. This was an interesting development.

"Hank. She prefers to be called Hank." Charlotte backed away further, avoiding his eyes.

God, how he wanted to tilt up that perfect little chin of Charlotte's and explain everything to her. Tell her how he'd looked for her. How he'd kicked himself for letting her go that day. How he much he wanted her-how much he'd always wanted her. And why he had to leave and never spfcak to her again.

"Why are there red lights flashing in your house?"

Matt's question startled Joe. How long had he been staring at Charlotte?

"You got some sort of fancy alarm system or something? Are you a spy?"

Charlotte pulled Matt by the elbow. "My apologies for the window and the invasion of your privacy. It will not happen again."

Joe watched her practically drag the kids down the diagonal stone walkway that led to the sidewalk. He was sad to see them go but relieved they were leaving. He also had to admit he enjoyed the view of Charlotte in retreat, the sway in her walk, even in a pair of sneakers. She had the nicest little compact butt.

Hank turned around and waved at him. "Wanna toss with us sometime?" she called.

Joe couldn't stop the smile now spreading across his face.

Charlotte scooped up Hank and hustled her along, not bothering to look his way. Matt did, however, and shot him a deadly scowl he wouldn't soon forget.

About an hour later, Joe had the glass cleaned up, the window measured and taped off in plastic, and a replacement ordered from Garson's when the alarm went off again.

"Some safe house," he muttered.

That's when he saw the real estate agent, LoriSue Bettmyer, standing at his front door wearing a tight neon orange suit and holding what he thought for sure was a big straw basket full of… of… food and crap. What the hell?

He'd made this mistake once before and wasn't making it again. He was supposed to be a reclusive mystery writer, right? Well, the recluse part was about to start

She kept ringing the bell. But he didn't answer.

"How many fingers am I holding up, Mama?"

Charlotte glanced in the rearview mirror as she turned the van onto Hayden Circle. "I can't see right now, Hank. I'm driving."

"I'll give you a hint," Matt said. "She's holding up her whole hand."

Charlotte grinned to herself. "Okay, guys. Five fingers."

"WRONG!" they both yelled from the back, and Matt quickly added, "The answer is four fingers! The thumb doesn't have a middle joint, so it can't be called a finger!"