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never been more frightened in her life.
    Still holding Skye’s hand, Adrienne hoisted herself up onto the porch railing and slung her left leg over the side. “Come on, honey,” she urged, pulling on Skye. “It’s not that far down.”
    Skye climbed up but her body was so rigid, Adrienne feared the fall would have an even more serious impact than it would if she were relaxed. But who could be relaxed in this situation?
    “Don’t look down, sweetie,” Adrienne told her. “Just let yourself go.”
    “Mom, I c-can’t,” Skye quavered. “I’ve always been afraid of heights. I just
can’t.”
    Brandon jumped up and placed his front paws on the railing. “Look, Brandon’s not afraid.” Another hard shudder on the door. It sounded as if the lock were giving way and it had come open enough to bang against the dresser. “Skye, you
must.
It’s our only chance.”
    “
No
.” She violently shook her head. “No, no, no—”
    More shouting. Then a second voice. Adrienne pulled at a resisting Skye. The pounding on the door stopped. Adrienne heard something like arguing. Then a familiar voice. “Adrienne? Is that you in there?” Adrienne went still, sitting half on, half off the railing, clutching her terrified daughter’s sweating hand. “Adrienne, open the door! It’s Lucas!”

TWO
1
    Adrienne couldn’t let herself believe she’d actually heard the voice of Lucas Flynn, the county sheriff and the man she’d been seeing for a year. Then he called to her again. Brandon barked joyfully and ran to the door while Adrienne nearly tumbled off the rail back onto the porch in her surprise and relief.
    Skye still clutched her hand. “It’s a trick!”
    “I know Lucas’s voice, Skye. So does Brandon. He’s at the door with his tail wagging.”
    Skye looked at her dog, bouncing in front of the dresser that blocked the door on which Lucas still banged. “Adrienne! I saw your car. I know you’re in there!”
    “Yes, I’m here. And Skye,” Adrienne called breathlessly as she crossed the porch. “Someone’s out there with an ax.”
    “It’s me, Miz Adrienne,” Claude Duncan, the caretaker, yelled almost pleasantly in a razor voice. “Didn’t know you was inside. Thought it was the murderer. Miz Julianna’s in there dead, you know. Found her less than a half hour ago.”
    Adrienne and a slightly less rigid Skye began pushing the dresser aside. “Oh God, Claude, why didn’t you say it was you?”
    “Didn’t want the murderer to know who I was.
    ” This made sense only to Claude. After all, he’d just been trying to break into the room and then the jig would have been up. But such was the way Claude’s mind worked.
    Adrienne and Skye moved the dresser, opened the door, and finally got a good look at Claude Duncan. He stood wavering, wearing the hood of his windbreaker tied so tightly around his face only his bloodshot eyes and three-day growth of beard showed. He reeked of bourbon. Even at the best of times, Claude was no genius. Now he was clearly badly hung-over. And he did hold an ax. Skye had been right about their “assailant’s” weapon.
    But Adrienne looked at him only a moment. Then her gaze flew to Lucas. A heavily muscled man of six feet two with earnest dark gray eyes and what some people called a lantern jaw, he was an imposing figure in jeans and a T-shirt. In uniform with a gun at his side, he was downright intimidating. His broad forehead was creased with worry, his rough sandy blond hair rumpled as if he’d run his hand through it, as Adrienne had seen him do a hundred times when he was concerned or distressed. He pulled her into his arms.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, now that you’re here. Skye and I were so scared.”
    He squeezed her, then turned to Skye and hugged her, too. “You’re white as a ghost, princess.” Then he looked at the bed, his expression appalled. “Good God. It’s Julianna Brent”
    “I
told
you,” Claude announced hotly. “I
told
you she’d