“Your bedroom’s exactly as you left it this morning?”

Glaring at the Denton detective for his eighteenth question in a row, Victoria Donavan clenched her fingers into a fist and staunched her trembling. Weakness could be ignored, at least, held at bay. She let her glance sweep across familiar surfaces. “The bed wasn’t made when I left.” Now her comforter was precisely smoothed, her pillows fluffed and shams tucked in place, her Aunt Lacey’s quilt—. “It’s missing. My patchwork quilt…is gone. It’s always on the bed.” Even as she spoke, she peered around the room and sought the familiar colors.

Alex Harmon, her recently-arrived, impossible-to-dismiss, security expert, eased aside the comforter’s edge, and then another blanket, but only pristine white sheets met her eyes. “You’re sure it was here this morning?”

“Yes.” She nodded as confusion crowded her brain. “They took my mantel clock and now this. Why?”

“As burglary’s go, ma’am, what they took doesn’t seem to follow the typical pattern,” the detective answered. “You’ll need to work up an inventory list for us.”

“Why would someone take these things?” Her question was thrown into the room, but her gaze sought a single pair of fathomless eyes, Alex’s. “They don’t mean anything. Not to anyone. Except me.”

“The quilt? It’s important?” Alex asked, meeting her look.

She nodded. “My aunt stitched it. I’ve had it for years.” Turning full circle in the room, she searched once again for the quilt. She didn’t mention that the special fabric had been packed in her memory chest until Blaine had died. Laying her husband to rest, she’d buried her own dreams of romantic happiness. Until that moment she’d believed they would have time, they’d somehow find their way back to the starting point of their marriage. It had been a lie. There was no reason to wait on using fine china or delicate crystal, or to save a special blanket for future use. There were no forever promises.

“When was the last time you vacuumed in here?” the detective asked.

“Several days. Maybe a week. Why?” She glanced down at the plush carpeted flooring. Even with the various matted down footprints, fresh vacuum lines were visible in the deep rug. “Oh my God.”

“We’ll need to take your vacuum cleaner with us,” the detective said.

She glared at the suit man. “How can this be kids?”

“Mrs. Donavan—”

“Kids don’t vacuum someone’s home.” Tension crowded her throat. “They don’t even clean their own rooms.”

“These things always seem worse than they really are.”  The investigating officer sounded positively reasonable. 

And in that moment, she hated reasonable.  “Detective, I work in a world of straight lines.” She fought for a deep breath, before motioning at her bed, and then the floor. “Unless I’m missing something, this is more than a little vandalism.”

“Could be, ma’am,” he answered. “But that still doesn’t indicate it’s not random.”

“Random how? Are the police receiving calls like this? A pack of indiscriminate strangers who ransack photos and panties?” The shiver hit her unexpectedly, running the length of her body. Swallowing was hard and breathing was nearly impossible as she struggled for balance. “Stop waiting for worse, Detective. This looks like it.”

“Mrs. Donavan—”

“Enough. Come with me.” Alex cut off the detective and suddenly he was beside her, his steady eyes burning into her. With a grip against her elbow, he tugged her from the room and led her into the hallway.

Each of his long fingers branded her skin through the silk fabric of her shirt. With a quick step, he moved beside her. His leather jacket swayed then brushed against her arm and invaded her senses with his warmth.

He steered her on a path to her upstairs loft. The steadiness of his touch left her arm an instant before she felt gentle pressure against her shoulder. Restrained but unyielding, he pressed against her until she plopped onto her rainbow-tinted reading chair. Some part of her brain recognized she was being dealt with, even realized that she should be furious for allowing it to happen. As soon as her heart stopped its frantic pace, she would be.

Alex thrust the crystal glass at her. “Finish this.”

A sudden surge for air rattled her oxygen-deprived system, and she realized she’d been holding her breath.  Victoria stared at his tanned fingers surrounding the delicate goblet. “Wine isn’t going to make this better.”

“No, it won’t. But you shouldn’t have been in there.”

“It was my choice,” she reminded him, taking a sip of the liquid to ease the tightness in her throat.

“Your vote doesn’t always count. If you dust the floor in an all-out faint, you’ll interfere with the investigation.” Sandpaper had smoother edges than his voice. “And my work.” Rigid angles cutting across his face, impenetrable rock looked more malleable than this man. He was put out. The sorry creature actually seemed mad at her because she was unnerved.

“I’ve already suffered one uninvited guest in my house for the day.” Her glare should have shredded his aggravating hide. “Feel free to find the nearest exit, if I interfere with your work.”

“Still trying to fire me?” Alex raised a slash of coal black eyebrow.

“Absolutely.” The single word hissed between her clenched teeth.

“Stay mad. Give me hell if I step on your toes. Anger gives you an edge, keeps you focused. You’ll need all that you can borrow or steal until this thing is over.”