But he never heard the sound.
Chapter Twenty-Five
3021 Appleton Street, 7:15 a.m.
CJ’s eyes opened, then slowly closed once more.
She needed to wake up, but she just couldn’t bring herself to put forth the necessary effort.
She moistened her lips. Grimaced at the funky morning taste in her mouth.
Taking that sedative had been a mistake. But after what she’d learned from the women at the clinic, and then the confrontation with that drug addict, not to mention Braddock’s visit, she’d been desperate for any kind of relief. She’d picked through Shelley’s over-the-counter offerings—pill form, definitely no capsules—and gone for it.
Now she remembered why she never did that. She hated the sleep-aid hangover. An alcohol hangover would have been preferable.
Unfortunately, either way, she wasn’t going to have the clear head she needed this morning. Braddock and his partner were going to bring her up to speed today.
She had to get up. Take a shower. Get dressed and find out what time the meeting with Braddock was scheduled.
The room was darker than usual. She’d nailed some old interior shutters she’d found in the garage over the broken window. With themeager light filtering in between the louvers, the stained wall wasn’t even noticeable. She would take care of that eventually.
Maybe spruce up the whole place and put it on the market. Too much to think about right now.
A minute or so more and she would drag herself up.
Thankfully, a rare morning breeze drifted through the louvers along with the light. She’d been sweating when she fell asleep last night. Her skin still felt damp. It was hotter than blazes this time of year. The sheet was stuck to any skin not covered by her nightshirt. Yuk.
Her nose twitched. She drew in a breath, analyzed the smell. Something new overwhelmed the stale scent of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.
Feeling too damned groggy, she mustered her determination and struggled onto her elbows to look around the room.
She blinked. Looked again.
“Jesus.”
She clambered from the bed, stumbling because of the sheet tangled around her legs. CJ scrambled to her feet, flipped on the light. She looked down at herself. No injuries. No coagulated blood. Some amount of blood had soaked through the sheet and left a faint coating of dried rusty red on her shins and feet.
Where the hell had the blood come from?
Gingerly, she picked up the sheet. Lots of blood.
Heart pounding, she checked the bed. More blood had soaked into the fitted sheet. Probably the mattress too.
Her senses locked into self-preservation mode.
Was someone in the house?
Apprehension knotted in her stomach.
She listened . . . silence.
The sheet slipped from her fingers as she cautiously moved around the bedroom. No blood on the floor. She eased into the hall, listening for sounds of an intruder and scanning for a blood trail.
The other two bedrooms were clear. No one in the bathroom.
Where was her pepper spray? In the bedroom on the dresser next to the bed.
Just do it.
