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She stared at the tracks in the mud, her face draining of all color. “We’d…better get inside.”
He touched her arm. “What is it, Zoey?”
She frowned and stepped back, holding the brown paper bag with their lunches like a shield in front of her. “Nothing. I’m dizzy…from hunger, probably.”
Her nervousness was so thick he could cut it with a knife. He tapped in the code to unarm the security system and unlocked the door, and she scurried inside. She turned to frown at him.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“You go. The kitchen is straight ahead. I’ll be just a second.”
He thought she might argue, as she’d been doing since he’d met her in Annie Logan’s room, but she clutched the bag and stared at him, her wide eyes shining like green jewels.
“Okay. But…what are you going to do?”
Why did a few footprints have her so alarmed? He shrugged. “I just want to see where they go.”
“Be…be careful.”
He nodded, and she took off into the house.
He shut the door and peered at the muddy tracks, following them to the back patio, where they ended at the door leading into the garden room. His heart thumped loud in his ears. There were a few scratches on the door, which hadn’t been there before. It looked as if someone had scraped it with a metal tool of some kind.
He turned to stare at the yard, which led to acres of woods behind the house, the footsteps fading into the muddy grass. They did not belong to the landscaper. Whoever had done this might have been here when they pulled up and had taken off into the woods. The footprints looked fresh and certainly hadn’t been there yesterday.
His stilled, his gut clenching, a cool breeze chilling the hair on the back of his neck and every instinct screaming danger. Someone had attempted to break into his house. He whipped out his cell phone and called his security firm.
ChapterEleven
Lillian stumbled her way into the massive, open kitchen and dropped the lunch sack onto the counter. She leaned against the sleek, dark granite to catch her breath. Her gaze took in the flecks of orange and the warmth of the complementary glass trio of hanging lights above the counter, before passing over the stainless steel appliances. A chef’s dream—not a smudge dulled their bright surface. Outside the glass patio doors, she caught a glimpse of an in-ground pool.
Her heart beat loud in her ears, and she couldn’t seem to take in enough oxygen. Had she run out of time? Had she led Kinetica to Tristan’s doorstep? Should she grab her things and return to Boston despite the promised date? But what if Hannah hadn’t fully recovered?
Her cell phone buzzed, and she checked her messages—the hospital notifying her Hannah’s records were ready. She pocketed the phone and scooted onto the nearest barstool, contemplating the bag of food and fighting the queasy feeling in her stomach.
“Why are you staring into space?”
Tristan’s sudden appearance had her jolting. “I was thinking about Hannah.” Which wasn’t a lie. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He crossed to the tall cupboards and pulled out a couple of plates and glasses. “What would you like to drink? I can offer you milk, water, soda…something stronger?”
“Water’s fine.”
He filled a tall, clear glass with filtered ice water from the fridge and handed it to her. She held her breath when their fingers brushed, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He opened the bag and placed her tuna sandwich and a cinnamon muffin on the plate, then added some large purple grapes from the fridge. All the while his face remained a closed mask.
She managed to chew and swallow half the sandwich, but it seemed to stick in her throat. The domestic scene didn’t dull the thumping of her heart in her ears, which roared to life when Tristan placed both of his hands on the counter and leaned toward her, his expression serious.
“You’re worried about the footprints, aren’t you?
Lillian’s pulse thrummed, and her neck tingled as if it were attempting to denounce the lie she was about to tell. She looked him in the eyes. “Concerned, not worried. You have the funds to replant.”
She took a bite of the tuna and managed to chew and swallow despite her pounding heart. Kinetica could be watching the house right now, preparing to kill Tristan so they could grab her. The less he knew of her life in Boston, the less he knew ofher, the better.
“Replanting the grass is the least of my worries. It appears I’m the victim of an attempted break-in.”
She turned, the blood draining from her face and her voice scratching like she’d swallowed sandpaper. “You saw something? I thought you said everything was okay?”
“Relax. Everything is okay. But someone took a chisel to the door to the garden room. They nicked it up pretty well, but they didn’t get in, which is why the alarm wasn’t triggered.”
