With my terry robe wrapped tightly around me, I stalked toward the kitchen on the hunt for a giant mug of hot chocolate. A triple latte espresso would have been better, but it was nine at night and I'd had a long week working on a deadline cover illustration. I just wanted to put the finishing touches on the piece and call it a day. Pretty pathetic for a twenty-six year old on a Saturday, but I am what I am. My plan was obliterated the second I stepped into the living room. The red and blue flash of police lights bounced against my closed curtains as a heavy, authoritative knock landed on the front door. I hurried over, pressed my eye to the peephole and saw Noah Lodge, my brother's best friend and a city cop. Noah at my front door was nothing new. He lived three houses down on the opposite side of the street. With my brother Mike in Afghanistan, Noah was in charge of keeping an over-protective eye on me. That didn't explain why he was on the other side of my door so late in the evening, in his city police uniform with his lights flashing in the drive.
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