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I said automatically, “I didn’t bother to check the tires.” The vehicles were always maintained. It hadn’t even occurred to me to do more than see that there was gas in the tank.

Raleigh reached in past me, turned the heater vents in my direction, and slammed the passenger door shut. Dully, I watched him return to the Range Rover. Watched him go through the front seat. I listened to the police radio chatter, tried to reassure myself he wasn’t searching for something incriminating.

He came back with my wallet, keys, sunglasses, and scarf, bundling them into my lap.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”

“Mm-hm.” He started the engine, putting his hand on the back of my seat as he half turned, watching as we reversed back onto the road. I could hear his wristwatch ticking. There wasn’t a car coming in either direction for as far as the eye could see.

“I’ll say one thing, that was good driving,” he observed.

I nodded. Not because I agreed. I had no idea if it had been good driving or not. But because I was trying to make an effort to behave normally. When you have your pride, you have everything. Or something.

To my relief, Raleigh didn’t say anything else on the drive back to the Gingerbread House.

He parked in his old place behind the cottage, turned off the engine, and came around to open the door for me.

By then, I was thinking he was probably right about it having been a close call. I could feel the burn on my chest where the shoulder harness had grabbed hard. My neck and shoulders were stiff, too.

“I’m going to make sure you get inside safely.” he said.

Did he think I was so rattled I couldn’t find my way across a couple of yards of patchy snow? Probably.

The were howling mournfully in their kennel.

“What the hell is that?” Raleigh asked.

“The Gang of Four. Malcolm is keeping them in the kennel now.”

“Why?”

“He says they remind him too much of Astrid.”

I shared his silent disapproval.

The porch light shone cozily as we came up the flagstone walk.

As we walked through the gate, I thought of all the other times we’d passed through that little gate: the nights we couldn’t get to the front door fast enough; the days we lugged in groceries, half-falling over Freyja and Loki, laughing, we were always laughing back then; coming home from the movies, from dinner out, from dining at the Big House. All those happy times. I’d thought that was how the rest of my life was going to go.

Raleigh had all but moved in by then. After Tom was killed, he couldn’t haul his stuff out of there fast enough.

My keys were ready so I could get through the door as quickly and painlessly as possible.

And that’s how it went.

Key in, turn lock, open door. Mission accomplished. I turned to say goodnight and saw Raleigh’s expression in the porchlight.

I wished I hadn’t. I didn’t want to know. He didn’t have a right to look like that. Stoic and wrecked all at the same time.

Anything he felt, he’d brought on himself.

“You were following me, weren’t you?” I could hear the harsh suspicion in my voice.

“Yes.” He met my gaze, didn’t hesitate.

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you.”