The words exploded in the air, startling her with the realization that she’d voiced the thought.
She hit the upstairs landing without slowing and lunged into the darkness of the hall toward her sister’s room.
A body plowed into her.
Knocked her backward.
She hit the floor.
The breath whooshed out of her lungs.
The pepper spray slid across the floor. Her death grip on the phone was all that kept it in her hand.
A foot came down right next to her head as the intruder scrambled over her.
The boom of footsteps on the stairs catapulted her upright.
She raced after him.
Definitely a “him.” Big. Strong. Hard-muscled.
Stumbling down the last two steps in her haste, she landed on all fours on the living room floor.
The back door banged against the wall.
He was getting away!
She staggered up. Ran.
She burst through the door he’d left open. Stumbled around in a circle, searching the darkness of the yard.
Where the hell was he?
Peering across the moonlit yard, she got a glimpse of a dark figure as he ducked into the alley.
“Bastard,” she snapped. She fought to catch her breath. If she’d turned the upstairs light on, maybe she would have gotten a glimpse of his face.
Dammit.
Her body started to shake. She was cold. And it was hot as hell, sticky, muggy out here.
The adrenaline was draining away.
She took a deep breath, then another.
Calm down.
It was over.
He wouldn’t be back.
The scumbag had likely heard about Shelley’s death and decided to see if there was anything in the house worth taking.
“Piece of shit.”
Catching hold of the railing for support, she climbed the back steps and went inside. She’d see if anything was missing and what had gotten broken, then she would call the police.
For all the good it would do.
