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needed to get home to that calming backyard with coffee and a good book.
     
     
     

 
    Chapter Three
     
    The ride home was tough as I tried to forget the threat to my life. I was still too new here to hit autopilot on the way. My place welcomed me as I pulled into the garage. I had one of the few houses with a full garage and tonight I was grateful. For some reason, I always felt most vulnerable getting in and out of my car.
    “Welcome home,” I said as I wandered into the kitchen and turned the light on over the stove. I moved to the small bedroom at the back of the house—living anywhere else and I would have lowered the blinds when I changed. But here the only things that could see me lived in a marsh. It's very likely they were more startled by clothes than nudity.
    Oh yeah, my head is in the right place tonight.
    Dressed in cotton sleep pants and a tank top, I moved back to the kitchen and heated up some canned soup. Decaffeinated coffee brewed behind me as I stirred dinner. My brain went back over the day to assess how much trouble I could be in. I kept running over the conversation in my mind. I didn't actually tell her to leave her husband, it was like I told Owen. I was just in the room when she decided she had enough.
    I doubt anyone truly psychotic would believe that line, but it helped soothe my mind for a moment. After all, if he did threaten me, I just had to put in a restraining order for the house and hospital.
    Hardly soothed but with a more organized brain, I poured my soup into a bowl, grabbed an entire stack of saltines and a bottle of water, and headed to the back patio. Just off the pool, the patio was covered and looked out over the rest of the small yard. The pool stuck out of the right side of the back of the house. It turned the building into an L with the patio snuggled into the curve and the yard with the bench and garden stretching out in the other direction.
    I heard my cell phone ring from the kitchen counter but didn't get up. Professional hazard was that phone calls that were meant to be momentary ended up lasting for hours as someone inevitably started spilling their current concerns and expecting unconditional support. That went double for family members.
    My friends understood my hesitation to answer every call so we stayed connected by email unless it was an emergency. I would have thought that made things more stilted, instead I got wonderful stories and the pictures of their spouses and brand new children right away.
    I finished up my soup and nibbled on the crackers as the sun set over the water. A couple of boats went by in that slow, southern, “nothing happening, so why hurry” speed that drove tourists nuts.
    Coffee and curiosity brought me inside shortly after sunset, and I checked the voicemail. I didn't recognize the whole number, but I did recognize the Atlanta area code. I listened to the voicemail.
    “Ellie, its Owen Mata. We have the husband in custody. He attempted to attack her when she left the hospital. She’s fine and was able to catch a flight out of the airport headed north just a few minutes ago. He's still here, but we have him locked up on a number of charges. I wanted you to know he’s not a threat to you anymore. Call me when you can.”
    Well, that was nice of him. A knot of tension released between my shoulder blades. I didn't feel like talking to the hot cop, so I texted him a thank you and let him know I would stop by his office at work tomorrow. He suggested lunch, and I agreed.
    I had trouble focusing on the mindless television I used each night to lighten my mood. Not because I was thinking of psychotic men in wife beaters, but hot cops without shirts.
    At one point, my imagination merged Dr. K and Chief Mata and I must have dozed off because I realized I was kissing a hot Russian cop with a cut body and a cute accent. Okay, bedtime. I drifted off to sleep with those images in mind and woke up rested and in need of a cold shower.
    I walked into