* * *Neal was slouched in a chair on the verandah with his second cup of coffee in hand when Susan returned home the next morning. She crossed the lawn with a firm stride, not seeing him behind the railing, and disappeared behind the plumeria tree. A moment later her running shoes made soft taps on the worn wood of the stairs. She was almost to the top when she suddenly stopped, looking at him with startled eyes. "Neal! You scared me!"
"Did I? Then we're even. I'm glad to see you're okay."
"Oh, I'm really sorry," she said, climbing the last steps. "I couldn't—wait a second, your truck! What happened to it?"
He blew on his coffee. "Someone shotgunned it and threw a Molotov cocktail at it. Not necessarily in that order."
"Shotgunned it? When?"
"About two in the morning."
"W
