Page 13 of Cornered

He picked up the notebook. “You’re after this, aren’t you?” Tate said aloud. Was that too much of a leap? From Brenda’s death to Steph finding the notebook to the man in the garage being after it? The security footage showed him following her at a distance, the license plate covered with some kind of white cloth.

“Probably took that off after he got away from the cameras,” he muttered. But he definitely believed the man not only was watching her but followed her home.

Which meant he knew Tate had been there if he kept watching for any length of time. He texted her.

The guy from the garage could have followed you home. Make sure your doors are locked. I’m texting James and Cole to let them know and I’m sending a cruiser to your house. I’ll be there soon.

Tate shut the book and patted his pockets. No keys. He walked into the den and grabbed them from the coffee table. Asking Steph out might not be okay right now, but he’d do everything in his power to make sure she was safe.

He hesitated. He should probably call her to make sure she saw the text.

A creaking sound came from the floor in his kitchen. He frowned, his hand automatically going to the weapon at his hip. Only to remember he’d taken it off and laid it on the kitchen counter.

The same kitchen with the floor that squeaked when someone walked across it. “Who’s there?” He grabbed his phone and tapped 911, then turned the volume down so whoever was in his home wouldn’t be able to hear the voice on the other end. But that voice would hear him. “Hello?” he said as soon as the dispatcher picked up. “I’m a detective with the Lake City Police Department. You’re trespassing in my home. I’malso armed, so you might want to think about going back out the way you came in.”

He grabbed the Louisville Slugger from the mount over his recliner and gripped it while he walked with slow, measured steps toward the now silent kitchen. Not exactly armed, but better than nothing, and the dispatcher now knew he was law enforcement. He just prayed the invader didn’t pick up his weapon.

Before he could swing through the entrance, the intruder beat him to it, moving first and fast. Something slammed into the side of Tate’s head, and he went to his knees while darkness swirled, threatening to suck him under.

This time the footsteps were loud as they rushed past him. Then his front door banged open, and the figure was gone before Tate could get to his feet.

When he finally managed to stand, the room spun, and he grabbed the nearest chair to hold himself upright. The wave of dizziness and nausea passed, and he pressed a hand to the goose egg rising. Sirens finally reached him, and after confirming his weapon and badge were still where he left them, he walked outside to sit in the wicker chair on his small front porch, empty-handed, bat at his feet.

Officers swung into the parking lot opposite him, climbed out, and walked his way, hands on their weapons. “You armed?” the nearest one asked.

“Just the bat.” Not that it had done him any good. “My piece is on the kitchen counter.” He kept his hands where they could see them.

“You’re with the LCPD?”

“Yeah. First day as a detective. Badge is on the counter next to the gun.”

The officer let out a low whistle. “You make someone mad already?”

Tate chuckled, then winced. “Looks like it.”

“I’m Brad Covington. My partner is Elisa Sanders.” He nodded to the officer at his side. “You mind if she checks your kitchen?”

“Not at all. Help yourself. I’m curious to know how he got in.” Elisa walked through his open door and Tate touched his throbbing scalp. “And what he used to bean me with.” The skin wasn’t broken, but the lump kept getting bigger.

“You need an ambulance?” Brad asked.

“For this?” Tate almost shook his head, then thought better of it. “No. It was a pretty hard hit, but I know the signs to look for that indicate a concussion. If I have them, I’ll get help.”

“Good enough.”

The officer returned and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I know how he got in. He used a glass cutter on your window and simply flipped the lock, raised the window, and climbed in.”

“Fabulous.” Tate made a mental note to upgrade his alarm system to include the windows.

“You’re the second one tonight.”

“No kidding?”

“Yep, just as we pulled up to your place, a call came over the radio that a neighbor reported a break-in a couple of miles away in that fancy neighborhood.”

Tate stilled. “Whose house was it?”

“Believe the neighbor said it was Stephanie Cross, James’s sister. You met James Cross yet? He’s a detective too.”

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