The Rogue by Lindsay McKenna Page B

were no previous footprints to indicate the presence of an intruder.
    Grimly Killian headed back toward the Anderson house, still staying away from the path, still alert, but convinced now that Susannah had experienced a nightmare about her assailant. Relief showered over him at the realization. Still, the incident had put him on notice not to allow the idyllic setting to relax him too much. Dawn was barely crawling onto the horizon, a pale lavender beneath the dark, retreating mantle of the night sky. A rooster was already crow ing near the chicken coop as Killian stepped lightly onto the wooden porch.
    Susannah met him at the screen door, her eyes huge with silent questions.
    "There wasn't anyone," Killian told her as he entered the quiet kitchen. He noticed that Susannah had put a teakettle on the stove and lit the burner beneath it. He saw her eyes go wider with shock at his terse statement. Her gaze traveled to the pistol that was still in his hand, and he realized that it was upsetting her.
    "Let me put this away and get decent. I'll be out in a moment. Your folks awake yet?"
    Susannah shook her head. Despite her fear, she felt herself respond to the male beauty of Killian's tall, taut body. Black hair covered his chest in abundance, a dark strip trailing down across his flat, hard belly and disappearing beneath the drawstring of the pajamas that hung low on his hips. Susannah gulped, avoiding his narrowed, burning gaze.
    In his bedroom, Killian quickly changed into jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt. He pulled on dark blue socks and slipped into a pair of comfortable brown loafers, then ran his fingers through his mussed hair, taming the short strands back into place. Then he strapped on his shoulder holster and slid the pistol into place.
    Rubbing his hand across his stubbled jaw, Killian moved back to the kitchen, still amazed that the Andersons had slept through all the commotion. All the more reason, he warned himself, to stay alert for Susannah's sake.
    When he entered the kitchen, he saw that she had poured him a cup of tea in a flowery china cup. She was sitting at the table, her hand gripping the notepad and pencil, as if she had been waiting for his return. Killian sat down next to her.
    "You had a nightmare," he told her. "That was all."
    Susannah rapidly wrote a note on the pad and turned it around for Killian to read.

    Impossible! I saw his shadow!

    Killian picked up the tea and sipped it, enjoying the clean, minty taste. "There was no trace of footprints around either of your bedroom windows," he explained apologetically. "I searched your house carefully and found nothing. It was a dream, Susannah."
    No! Susannah sat back, her arms folded across her breasts, and stared at his darkly etched features while he drank the tea. After a moment, she scribbled on the pad again.

    I saw him! I saw the face of the man who nearly killed me!

    Killian saw the bleak frustration, and fear in her gray eyes. Without thinking, he placed his hand over hers. "You remember what he looks like?" Before, she'd been unable to identify her assailant.
    She nodded.
    "Good. The police need an identification ." Realizing he was gently cupping her cool hand, Killian pulled his back and quickly picked up his teacup. What the hell was going on? Couldn't he control his own actions? The idea frightened him. Susannah seemed unconsciously to bring out his softer side. But along with that softer side lurked the monstrous danger that could hurt her. He took a sip from the cup and set it down. His words came out clipped—almost angry-
    "When you settle down over this, I want you to draw a picture of his face. I can take it to the police— it might give them a lead."
    Hurt by his sudden gruffness, Susannah sat there, still taking in Killian's surprising words. A nightmare? How could it have been? It had been so real! Touching her forehead, which was now beginning to ache in earnest, Susannah closed her eyes and tried to get a grip on her