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He didn’t have an answer for that.

Barb crouched again and carefully pulled the sweater over Pirate’s head. The dog stood patiently while she adjusted it, his tail wagging like this was the greatest honor he’d ever received.

“I swear he’s smiling,” Barb said, beaming. “Aren’t you just handsome as sin in this?” She straightened slowly. “You should do that, Sergeant.”

“Wear a sweater?”

“Smile more,” she chided.

Daniel looked at his dog. Pirate looked back, tongue lolling, happily panting.

Did the mutt have to make every woman Daniel ran into smile and dote on him?

Traitor.

“Thank you for the meat loaf, Mrs. Maynard.” It wasn’t the first time the octogenarian had repaid the chores he did for her with food. He secretly hoped it wouldn’t be the last time, either, because those little gifts were the only home cooking he got these days. Going out to restaurants wasn’t a comfortable experience for him, and spending a lot of time in a grocery store where too many people stared or gasped or literally turned away from him wasn’t his idea of a good time, either. So that meant he ate whatever he could order from a delivery service or quickly grab out of the freezer section to bring home and zap in the microwave. “I know it’ll be delicious.”

She rolled her eyes behind her turquoise-framed glasses and pointed a knobby finger at him. “It’s Barbara or Barb, Sergeant. How many times have I told you that?”

Daniel felt properly chastised. And amused. He nodded his head. “Thank you, Barb. For taking care of both of us bachelors.”

Her cheeks turned ruddy, and he didn’t think it was from the cold. “You don’t eat enough, Sergeant. It happens with all you military men. When my Chet got out of the Army, he lost twenty pounds. And it wasn’t that I didn’t feed him three meals a day just like the good ol’ US Army did. He wasn’t working out. Oh, he did his job with his electrician business. But he drank too much beer and watched too much TV. I loved him to death, but there was more jiggle than firm muscles on that man as the years went on. You have to keep that muscle tone if you want to attract a good woman. Of course, it’s what’s inside a man that counts—integrity, loyalty, intelligence, protective instincts, a sense of humor—but you won’t catch her attention in the first place if she doesn’t notice your abs or biceps or butt.”

He wasn’t discussing his physical attributes with his landlady. “Barb—”

“Don’t argue with me.” She pointed a mittened finger at him. “You know I’m right. I may be old, but I know what young women like. I used to be one, you know.”

Like attracting a woman was an option for him—even if he had taken up running and lifting weights again, now that his body had healed as much as it could. So, he simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Barb patted Pirate one last time and turned toward her side of the duplex. “You take care of each other, you hear? I’ll bring over cookies later—if my knees hold out.”

Daniel grunted something resembling agreement and watched her shuffle along the sidewalk and driveway he’d just cleared to her car.

After she pulled out of her driveway and headed toward her weekly bridge game, he turned toward his own front steps. Pirate bounced ahead in his ridiculous purple sweater, clearly feeling like the king of the block.

But halfway up the walk, the dog stopped. The fur along the scruff of his neck rose to attention.

Ears perked, body still. That one good eye locked on something down the street, beyond the hedge that bordered the neighbor’s yard.

Instinctively, Daniel turned to follow the dog’s gaze.

A car idled at the corner. The sedan was old, a faded brown color, rusting at the wheel wells. Windows fogged. Lights off. It didn’t match the vehicles he’d gotten familiar with in the neighborhood. But people other than him had visitors, maybe family who’d come in early for the Thanksgiving holiday. It could have been someone warming up their engine.

But he hadn’t been a Special Forces Marine for nearly ten years without developing instincts about something unusual—something potentially dangerous—without learning to trust those instincts. Of course, he was a paranoid son of a gun after losing so much. But Pirate had alerted to the suspicious vehicle, too. And he trusted the dog as much as he’d once trusted his teammates.

Someone in that car was watching.

But watching what? Waiting for a clandestine meeting? Casing the neighborhood? Tracking Mrs. Maynard’s movements to plan the best time for a burglary or home invasion? Not on his watch.

Daniel’s gut tightened. He set the casserole dish on the porch and stepped forward for a better look, the shovel shifting in his grip like a weapon. But just as he moved around the hedge, the car’s engine revved and the vehicle sped away, kicking up snow and slush that obscured the license plate. The driver spun around the corner at the next intersection and the car vanished behind a line of houses and bare-limbed trees.

Nothing obvious. Nothing illegal.

But damned suspicious.

“Pirate, heel.”

Daniel jogged down to the front sidewalk with Pirate at his side and scanned the quiet street before crossing over to inspect where the brown car had been parked. Even with one eye, he didn’t miss many details. Snow was piled along the curbs. Melted slush had turned to ice and frozen into ruts on the street. A porch flag sagged on the breezeless morning, and a set of small paw prints disappeared down a nearby alley—probably one of the neighborhood cats that got Pirate stirred up when he watched the world from the back of the couch at the front window. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.