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“Yes, sir.” There was no other acceptable answer to give at this point. I was fucked all the way around.
“Call me if and when you do have something concrete, Sheriff.” He didn’t give me any time to object or snark back in return, ending the call abruptly. Oh, I wanted to lash out at the man and the typical politics I was forced to cater to even in a small town. That’s one of the reasons I’d accepted the job in the first place. Well, that and to get away from memories.
I pulled the truck to a stop, taking a few seconds to rest my forehead on the steering wheel as the rain continued to pelt the windshield. The only continuity I had with regard to the case was the fact Diego had arrived in town. Whether or not he had a connection to the murder, he did have a reason for being here. Inspecting the ship was my best course of action but short of that, a frank and very terse discussion was what was needed.
I finally found the energy to head inside, barely dropping my purse before locking the door. I felt filthy, the need to take a long hot shower almost outweighing the one for a stiff drink. I headed into the kitchen, flipping on the light over the stove. After yanking a glass from the cabinet, I realized how much I hated the fact there were no blinds on the windows in the main room.
Up until now, I hadn’t considered them necessary, but I would have a long chat with the landlord on having them installed on the lower sections. I couldn’t help but have the feeling I was being watched, the creepy-crawlies worse than I’d ever had before.
The fact I’d experienced shivers for the first time in years also troubled me. I’d faced far too many bloody crime scenes for much of anything to bother me, but it seemed as if eyes were on me coming from the darkness of the surrounding forest. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey I kept underneath the counter, something I only drank when I’d had the toughest of days.
Today qualified.
I took a huge swig before starting to head to my bedroom for fresh clothes, eager to jump into the shower, but something odd captured my attention. To anyone else, the fact my kitchen towels weren’t in a perfect line wouldn’t matter in the least. To me, it was so out of the ordinary that a lump formed in my throat. I immediately pulled out my service revolver, heading to the back door to ensure it was still locked.
It was, as had been the front door. I knew damn well none of the windows remained unlocked, but as I backed out of the kitchen, still staring at the single towel, I found it difficult to breathe.
There was no one in the guest room or hall bathroom but I hesitated before I walked into my room, finally chastising myself for being ridiculous. Yet I checked the small walk-in closet just to be certain. There were no monsters hiding in the shadows, just an overactive imagination. I’d barely made it out of my house on time that morning, rushing more than usual. It was more than just possible I’d bumped into the handle of the stove in my attempt to grab my to-go coffee.
It had simply been a long shitty day and nothing more.
I left the weapon on my dresser, turning on the small lamp before taking another sip of my drink. I grabbed some fresh underwear along with the sweats I slept in and a shirt, heading into the bathroom to start the water. Another sip and I placed the glass down for easy access.
As I waited for the water to warm up, I pulled out my phone, leaving it on the counter then finally staring at my reflection in the mirror. When I pointed my finger at myself in the reflection, I felt a little more relaxed. Tomorrow I’d get a handle on everything whether the arrogant man I’d allowed myself to enjoy liked it or not.
After stripping and tossing my clothes into the hamper, I finally eased into the shower, grateful the water was so warm, the steam already starting to rise. I closed the shower curtain, leaning against the tile as the stream of hot water cascaded over my aching body. It had been one hell of a week, the sixty-plus hours feeling more like a hundred. Shuddering, I remained chilled to the bone even though I’d turned the water to the hottest setting.
Exhaustion settled into every muscle, hovering over me like a thick blanket. I could hear an unusual rumble of thunder as a backdrop of the torrent of rain pummeled against the roof. It was strange how pronounced it seemed, or maybe I was so jittery it was the actual thudding of my heart.
I grabbed the scrubby ball and one of my three liquid shower soaps, one of the few luxuries I allowed myself. Tonight I would smell like strawberries while indulging in alcohol and a frozen dinner. I wasn’t interested in cooking, the thought of ooey-gooey lasagna exactly what I needed.
The time spent under the showerhead was also refreshing, enough that I was slightly invigorated as I grabbed a towel, drying off then wrapping it around my chest. As I started to hum, I pulled my favorite moisturizer from the drawer, rubbing some on my arms and elbows. The moment I grabbed my thong, pulling it into my hand, I felt a hint of dampness and it wasn’t possible. Now I was shaking just like I’d been before, only this time from fear increasing with every passing second.
I turned it over, noticing a portion of the lace was missing. As I pulled it up to my line of vision, I couldn’t help but think the hole had been caused by… someone using their teeth to rip it away. Oh, dear God. Someone had been inside my house. I certainly didn’t have any mice. Very slowly I turned my head, realizing the usual warm glow of my lamp didn’t greet my gaze.
I headed toward the partially open door, pulling it open. Was it possible I hadn’t turned it on? Every step I took was cautious yet the sound I heard was definitely not the rain but the rapid pounding of my heart, my pulse skyrocketing.
Once in my bedroom, it took a few seconds for my eyes to become accustomed to the ominous shadows in the room. Once I did, I realized my weapon was no longer on the dresser. Before I had a chance to react, I heard his voice, the one that had skated down my skin provocatively only two nights before, the one that had pulled me into a wave of passion unlike anything I’d felt my life.
Now, the one that terrified me to my core.
“Hello, Sabrina. Or should I say Sheriff Rose.”
This time his voice was nothing more than a dark growl.
One of hunger.
One of rage.
And one of possession.
CHAPTER 13
Sabrina
Oh. My. God.
Diego knew who I was. He was here, inside my bedroom. And he’d stolen my weapon. In the shadows, I could still see his outline, the way he was lounging on the chair in my bedroom as if he owned the place.
