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Seconds later, the intruder’s feet crunch over the destroyed ceramic. I slam into the dining room table, yelping as my foot catches on a chair. I go down, palms slamming against the floor and teeth clacking together.
They round into the room, and I’m certain I’m going to get caught until I scramble under the table, leaping to my feet and beelining for the front doors. I fling them shut behind me, a weak attempt to buy some time to hide before they can open the doors and follow my path.
My bare feet scream when I race across the freezing gravel driveway and duck beside the garage. The most obvious place to find me.
But the doors don’t open.
What the hell are they doing in there? Did something stop them? Or are they taking another path? Maybe they opted for a different exit to ambush me.
Or the intruder knows I won’t be able to stay out here for long in the cold without shoes or a coat. The freezing winter temperatures a ticking time bomb.
They’re waiting me out.
At some point, I’ll be forced to choose between freezing to death and being murdered.
CHAPTER SIX
SAINT
My gift for Briar sits on my passenger seat and keeps me grinning the entire way home. Though I’d love to give it to her the second I return, I won’t surprise her with it until I’m certain what her reaction will be.
When my headlights hit the garage, Briar is crouching beside the building, staring wide-eyed at Nicholson Manor until her terrified gaze lands on my car.
She leaps up and races toward me, without a coat or shoes. Her toes are going to fall off out here.
I barely throw the car in Park before I’m out the door and rushing for her. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s inside!” she wails, terror changing her voice to something unrecognizable. “They must’ve broken in, and they chased me! They’re still in there!”
Fury ignites inside me. Some monster thinks he can go after my muse. Scare her. Chase her. Hurt her. She’s shivering violently in her scraps of clothing and bare feet.
Once I get my hands on him, she and I will both watch the light leave his eyes.
I brace my hands on her shoulders, leaning down so we’re eye-to-eye. “I need you to prepare yourself, Briar. Watching someone die isn’t pretty.”
Fear flashes in her eyes until she nods, resolute. She’s smart. She knows it’s either him or her, and she’s already made the right decision.
She’s glued to my side while I pull my gun from my waistband and head inside, every room encased in shadows.
“I’m pretty sure they cut the power,” she whispers.
“Really? I simply assumed you enjoyed dwelling in darkness.”
She elbows me in the ribs. “Now isn’t the time for your sarcasm.”
“There is no bad time for sarcasm.”
“A funeral.”
“You’re kidding. A funeral is the best time for sarcasm.”
“Just quit talking and look for the fucking killer stalking through your house.”
“Technically, two of us meet that criteria,” I whisper.
This situation is all too familiar, and part of me suspects Briar had a nightmare or her paranoia conjured up the groundskeeper or the private investigator she believes she saw watching us fuck through the window. But her terror is real, and I’ve made too many enemies not to take her words seriously.
I conduct an entire sweep of the house with Briar at my side, sharp talons digging into my forearm. Glad I still have my coat on.
