She twisted around to get a look at the cut—thank goodness, it hadn’t needed stitches—but she couldn’t do much more than spin around, chin over her shoulder, like a cat chasing its tail. A mirror helped her get a bandage on it, which was good, because she had no intention of asking Joe to help her with that little chore. She’d called Ross, intending only a short, happy, reassuring call to tell him how perfectly safe she was. Instead, she got a dozen variations of, “What was in that catalog that the thieves wanted so badly? What was in your notes? Think, Faye!” Exhausted by a day spent dealing with an unprovoked attack and hours of subsequent law enforcement activity—not to mention the need to keep all her protectors calm—she pulled some pajama bottoms over the fresh bandage and crawled into bed. Was she safe here in her home? The sheriff had seemed unsure. Nita and Wayland were in jail, and they’d be staying there overnight, at least.
