Page 28 of Claimed By my Fake Husband

I stop at the window at the top of the stairs and look out over the side yard at the other houses. It's daytime, so I can't tell if anyone else has lost power too.

How do I even check that?

I hurry to the living room and try the lights there. Nothing. When I peek through the curtain in the sitting area, I catch a neighbor backing out of their garage.

A garage that's clearly running on electricity.

"Okay. Just us, then. Dammit." I head for the kitchen and yank open the basement door. "Come on, come on."

Downstairs, I'm not surprised to find there's no breaker panel down here. It's outside, like most new construction.

Fuck.

I jog back up, my steps pounding against the bare wood. I'm a step from the top when the door starts to open.

"Logan, thank god. I think the power's out. I don't know what happened, but?—"

The door swings open all the way, and I freeze.

That's not Logan. But I know exactly who it is.

"Morning, Tess."

My pulse slams into my throat as my stomach drops through the floor. "Cilento."

Logan

"Why am I buying so much food? It's just the two of us."

I shake my head as I ring up the last of my items at the self-checkout. I'm overcompensating, riding some kind of good mood, flustered as hell.

Do I have a girlfriend? God, what is my life?

I can't wipe the smile off my face as I load the groceries into the truck and climb behind the wheel.

I want to get home. Tess is waiting, and I intend to make good use of our house-bound time together.

It hits me that I just called the safe house "home." That's got nothing to do with the place and everything to do with who's in it.

The five-minute drive back feels endless, but a stupid kind of giddiness grabs hold of me as I pull into the driveway.

"First, coffee. I know how Tess likes her?—"

I stop cold. The garage door won't open. What's going on?

I get out, try the remote closer to the door. Nothing. I'll have to go in through the front and carry the bags in by hand.

Annoying.

I jog to the front door, keys in hand. The blue light on the security lock is dark.

"What the—Tess."

My whole body goes rigid. That light should always be on. It runs on a battery backup even without power, and when I pop the panel, I see the wires have been cut.

There's still the alarm. I put it on its own independent grid—the thing that took me so long to install.

I run to the side of the house. That hookup's been tampered with too. I sprint back to the front door, ready to go in.