“Rose, just humor me. Please.”

“Okay. I’m going,” I said, climbing her front porch.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there,” Mason said before hanging up.

But I couldn’t bring myself to wake Heidi Joy up. She had looked so exhausted the last few times I’d seen her that I didn’t want to steal her precious sleep and scare her half to death by telling her that someone had broken into my house. Again.

I sat on a chair on her front porch and wrapped my arms across my chest. Now that my shock had worn off, I was getting cold. I considered going back inside my house to get a robe, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hadn’t lied to Mason when I said that I was sure Daniel Crocker was gone. But the horror of what happened was hitting me.

Psychopath Daniel Crocker had been in my house—while I’d slept—and I hadn’t known it. He could have easily killed me; he’d chosen to taunt me instead.

But how? The last I heard, Daniel Crocker was cornered in a warehouse in Shreveport.

Two police cars turned the corner and pulled up in front of my house, lights flashing and sirens blaring. This had happened so often over the last six months that I was surprised my neighbors hadn’t signed a petition to get me kicked out of the neighborhood. I couldn’t say I would blame them.

A car from the sheriff’s office pulled up next, and Mason’s car was right behind it. His door flew open and Mason bounded across the yard, shrugging off his jacket. “Rose, I told you to go into Heidi Joy’s house.” He pulled me out of the chair and put his coat around my bare shoulders.

“No. You told me to go to Heidi Joy’s. I just couldn’t wake her and scare the living daylights out of her. Although I’m sure the sirens did it for me.”

He glanced down at my feet. “You don’t even have any shoes on.”

“I saw…it and just grabbed my phone and ran out the door.”

“What is it?”

“Go see for yourself.”

Heidi Joy’s front door opened and Andy, Sr. came out wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a stained T-shirt, running his hand through his bed-head hair. “What’s going on?”

Mason put his arm around my shoulders. “Can Rose wait inside for a bit? Someone’s broken into her house.”

“Again?”

I cringed.

“Rose, there’s something I have to tell you first,” Mason said. Taking a deep breath, he turned me to face him, keeping a strong arm around my back. “Daniel Crocker wasn’t in the warehouse in Shreveport.”

“I know.”

His face paled. “How do you know?”

“He left me a note.”

He pushed me inside the front door and turned to Andy, his face hardening. “Do not let her out of your sight.” Then he hurried across the yard, intercepting the policemen who were about to go through my open kitchen door.

I stared out the front window, wondering why these things kept happening to me. I had lived a simple, boring life until Daniel Crocker showed up at the DMV that Friday in May, just five months ago.

Mason came back about ten minutes later, carrying a pair of shoes and clothing wadded up in a ball. He handed them to me, looking embarrassed. “I figured you’d want some clothes. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll take you for breakfast. We can talk about what we found.”

“Okay.” I grabbed the clothes and started down the hall. As I unwrapped the wad, I quickly found the source of Mason’s embarrassment. He’d gotten me a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but he’d also picked out a pair of panties and a bra. It had to be pretty apparent that I was braless in my nightgown. I closed my eyes, taking a moment to wallow in my humiliation.

When I finished changing, I put on my shoes and Mason slipped his hand into mine and led me outside to his car.

“Don’t you have to stick around?”

“No, Sheriff Foster and Jeff are in there and I trust them to do a thorough investigation.” He opened the passenger door and climbed behind the steering wheel. “Are you okay, Rose?”

“Yeah,” I said, watching several sheriff’s deputies walk into my house. This was a new twist to the law enforcement invasion of my house. I’d never entertained the sheriff before. “I’m fine.”

We were silent as Mason drove through town, heading away from most of the restaurants that were open this early. He kept his gaze focused on the road, but I could tell he was upset.

I turned toward him. “I thought we were getting breakfast.”

“We are. At my house. I don’t think you should be in public right now.”

“You mean out in the open.”

He didn’t say anything and my stomach revolted. I looked in the side mirror and realized the car behind us had been following us through several turns. Inhaling sharply, I turned to Mason in a panic. “Somebody’s following us.”

He reached over and grabbed my hand. “It’s okay. It’s a sheriff’s deputy in an unmarked car. He’s protecting us.”

Nodding, I pressed my knuckles to my lips. How was this happening? Panic bubbled up in my chest and I took deep breaths to calm down.

Mason squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, Rose. It’s going to be okay.”

I closed my eyes, telling myself I had nothing to worry about. Half the law enforcement officers in southern Arkansas were looking for Crocker. But it was the reassurance of the man next to me that made me believe everything could be okay.