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Fuck!
Out of sheer frustration, I smacked the steering wheel of my car, then immediately regretted it as pain radiated through my hands. I pushed out a sigh as I pulled away from the stop sign and into my neighborhood, navigating to my house. In my driveway, I put the car in park and turned it off, taking the time to gather up my things from work, and the two bottles of wine I’d stopped for on the way home.
I managed to maneuver my keys into my hands as I approached the walkway that wrapped around the house, but stopped in my tracks as soon as I turned the corner, putting the front door in my line of sight.
It was already open.
A quick glance around showed no strange vehicles on the street, and it was broad daylight. Surely there was a good explanation for this, something better than the current theories floating around in my head. It was really just a crack.
Hell… I’d left in such a hurry last night that it was possible I’d left it open myself.
With that in mind, I took a deep breath and shook off my unfounded alarm. I’d had enough craziness in two days to last a whole year – there was no use in inventing more.
I stepped inside and locked the door behind me, then headed straight for my kitchen, dumping the contents of my hands onto the counter. Grabbing the bottles of wine, I bent to put them in my coveted specialty cooler. When I straightened, I brought an already chilled bottle with me, to open and enjoy while I ran myself a bath.
It was going to beglorious.
But as soon as I took a step deeper into the kitchen, the pointed toe of my heels collided with something on the floor.
Glass.
My eyes went wide as I actually looked around the airy, bright kitchen, with all the open shelving I’d insisted on. I’d spent good money on pretty glass dishes and drinkware, special shelving for my beautiful custom wine glasses to hang. The shelves were empty.
It was all smashed on the floor.
I didn’t waste time thinking – I justmoved.
Straight to my bedroom, straight to my bedside drawer.
As soon as the gun was in my hands, I raised it to eye level, ready and willing to kill anything that moved. My stomach lurched as I surveyed my bedroom, realizing thatsomeonehad to have been in here too – my lingerie drawers were hanging out of the dresser, with their contents strewn haphazardly across the floor.
I swallowed hard as I eased open the bathroom door with my foot, checking there before I looked under the bed and in my closet, confirming that no one was there. Room by room, I checked the whole house, growing more and more agitated by the destruction I found.
Irreplaceable art ripped off the walls, priceless glassware smashed on the floor. In my office, the bookshelves had been destroyed, pages ripped from treasured signed copies of my favorite novels. In fact, as I looked around, it seemed that the only thing of value thathadn’tbeen touched… was the computer.
My heart leaped into my throat as the doorbell sounded, and I tightened my grip on my gun. Carefully –quietly—I made my way back to the front of the house, then cautiously looked through the peephole.
There was no one there.
I switched positions to hold the gun with one hand as I reached for the deadbolt. Just as I was about to turn in, I noticed a tiny white envelope on the floor in front of the door. I furrowed my brow as I bent to grab it, maneuvering it open with one hand.
My frown deepened as I read the single line of typed text on the card.
PARTAKING ALL OTHERS.
There was no signature or anything to indicate who it was from, on the front of back of the card. A second look at the envelope made me realize it had come from a local florist, which only confused me more.
I dropped the card and envelope onto the table where I usually left my keys, then unlocked and opened the door.
A prickle of fear ran up my spine as I took in the huge bouquet of long-stem roses smashed on my doormat. The deep crimson blooms mingled with the mangled remains of a black vase and the water that had been keeping them fresh was already leeching color from the petals, almost making it look like my front step was covered in blood.
I couldn’t slam the door closed fast enough.
My hands were shaking as I rushed to the kitchen to dig my cell phone out of my purse. I dialed 9-1-1 at first, but then cleared the numbers from my screen, shaking my head. It would probably be better to call Chloe first, since having my home taped off as a crime scene was sure to invite yetanotherscandal I didn’t really need. Not to mention, just the thought of having police crawling all over my home felt like yet another violation.
I stared at the phone for a few seconds, trying to calm the thoughts racing at light speed through my head. After a moment, something clicked, and I dialed a number – a new number that I’d just gotten today.
Relief settled over my shoulders when Renata LaForte’s chipper voice came over the line.
