Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas) Read Online Free Page A

and her lips brushed his chin. He pressed a finger to her lips. They were soft. She nodded, though he could still read the question in her eyes. Your gun.
    Not this time. Raising the flashlight, he flipped it on and stormed the kitchen.
    “Police. Drop the knife and put your hands up.”
    The intruder leapt backward and pushed a chair into Rafe’s path. Then he banged open the screen door and flew into the rainy night. Rafe scrambled to get past the chair, but it was wedged between the wall and the table.
    “Here.” A slender arm pulled it free.
    The adrenaline was pumping through him now. He turned on her. “Get in the other room and stay there.”
    Her eyes narrowed.
    “And phone a friend. You’re not staying here tonight.” That would keep her busy.
    “Lost my phone.”
    Mierda. Shit. A hot girl, a dark house, locks made of tin foil, and no phone. He wanted her to be safe.
    He thrust his cell into her hand and pushed through the door just as the burglar sprang over a chain link fence into the next yard. Rafe followed, clearing the fence, but tearing his uniform trousers and losing his flashlight as he hoisted himself over the top.
    Blinded by the rain, his damn knee beginning to ache, Rafe brushed the water from his eyes as he half-ran, half-limped after the intruder. They cleared two more fences. The boy leapt over each one like a show horse, and Rafe fell farther back. The chain-link openings were too small for him to gain a toehold, and the tops were sharp enough to slash palms when he grabbed them. He flipped on his radio and tried to call for backup as he ran, but his words came out as soundless huffs. After he cleared the third fence, he gripped the gun. This time is going to be different. But when he tried to pull it out, his hand refused to move. Not yet, not yet, not yet. The words looped through his head.
    Then, his luck finally turned. In the next yard a five-foot stockade fence loomed. He picked up his pace. He was going to get this little sucker.
    “Police. Drop your weapon!” He managed to holler the words without sounding breathless.
    The intruder sped up, flung himself over the last chain-link fence and barreled toward the five-foot barrier as if it was a mirage.
    “Stop! Police.”
    Still running, the black figure lifted his arms and raised his gloved hands. The knife gleamed from a leather thong around his waist. A few feet from the fence, he sprang up, flinging himself on top, then executed a graceful somersault before disappearing.
    That little sucker! Mentally Rafe rifled through the list of local criminals. Grizzled barflies, punks, and petty criminals made up El Royo’s jailhouse regulars. None could have outrun him, much less executed that last move. A chill ran down his back. This guy had targeted Dinah.
    There was not much crime to fight in El Royo, which suited him just fine. No gun required. As he called in the incident to the station, he wondered if his luck had run out.
    …
    The rain had eased to a drizzle. Dinah waited on the back steps, enjoying the cool, misty air against her skin. She stepped forward as Officer Morales came into view, dragging himself over the back fences. He breached the final fence and limped toward her, mud-spattered and rain-soaked, his pants torn and bloody. His misery and frustration were palpable.
    Sympathy welled up in her, and she opened the back door for him. “Looks like you got banged up out there. Better come on in.”
    He pushed dripping hair off his face and shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
    There was something about wounded creatures that got to her every time. “Sit down and rest a minute, Officer Morales. I’ll get you a bandage for your leg and a washcloth for your hands. They look a little scratched up.”
    He snorted impatiently, then surrendered and pulled up a chair. “Only if you call me Rafe.”
    “Call me Dinah.”
    He studied her through sputtering candlelight.
    “Of course, you can call me The Notorious Dinah Pittman, if