All was quiet and dark when Tate pulled up outside the small house in Silvermoon. Frowning, unable to park in the driveway behind Kelly’s car because of a black Impala, he settled for parking on the side of the road, in front of the house. Studying the Impala as he cut the engine, he tried to figure out who he knew that had one. Pursing his lips as no one came to mind, he didn’t dare get his hopes up.
Stepping out of the truck, he hurried up to the front door and tried the knob. It twisted easily in his hand, his heart sinking in dismay. Kelly had let whoever was with her into the house. That meant she knew who drove the Impala, and apparently she knew whoever it was well. But, he reminded himself, she would never not lock the door. She was a stickler for that. Maybe the fancy Impala dri
