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The windchimes clanged together again and I kicked my legs on the couch like an angry toddler.
“Damn it, Gwen. Damn it, crap.” I was thinking about her exactly like she said I would, but it was only ten percent fondly. The other ninety percent of her was going to get an earful in the morning, ten minutes before her wake-up time. I knew her alarm went off at six every morning. She’d be hearing from me at five-fifty. Revenge was a dish best served cold—and at the crack of dawn.
I should be asleep right now. Or at least getting some good work in, but noooooo. I was in the middle of an exhausted, semi-drunken rage fest, and all bets were off as complicated payback plans rushed through my mind.
With a violent toss of the afghan on my lap, I got up, slid my feet into my slippers, and stomped across the house toward the front door. Those windchimes were history.
“Freakin’ noisy piece of crap,” I muttered as I began to cross the porch, sliding over the slick deck, still wet with rain from earlier this evening. “Damn it! Shoot!” I made it to the edge, grabbing onto the railing for balance with my feet almost sliding out from under me as I reached toward the wind chimes—which were hanging there quiet and still. “What the—?”
My eyes ran over the front yard, gliding slowly over the silent dark of the night as goosebumps rose over my flesh.
The garage door was open.
The air was cold and still.
There was no wind.
My blood turned to ice as I stupidly froze in place.
I’d written creepy stuff exactly like this in my books. I should have known better than to go outside.
Never, ever freaking go outside!
“Adaline.” A deep voice in the darkness scared the ever-loving hell out of me and I jumped.
“Holy crap!” I stepped back with a lurch, clutching the windchimes in my fist, twisting as I slipped on the slick surface of the porch and tumbled down, hitting my cheekbone on the side of the Adirondack chair across from the open front door.
Pain radiated through my face, stunning me. I let the windchimes fall to the deck and covered my pounding cheek with my hand. It was bleeding.
I peered into the black night beyond my porch and saw the dark outline of a man. I couldn’t quite make out who it was, but I knew it washim. My stalker had always addressed me as Adaline in the letters he’d sent, and he’d always kept a bit of distance from me, just like this. I’d never seen him up close.
“Don’t be scared, darlin’. It’s only me, your beloved husband, and I would never, ever hurt you. But we do need to talk a few things over, you hear? I forgave you the first two times, Adaline. I heard you fucking him right in there on the staircase inside our home. I heard your pleasured cries. Don’t deny what you were doing with him. Those are sounds that only I should hear, my Adaline. I tried to forget about it—truly, I did. But then I heard rumblings around town that you are getting back together with him. People talk about you, and I don’t like what they have to say.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who?” My feet and hands slid around on the mossy deck as I tried to scramble toward the open doorway to get away from him.
“You and Jaden. Look at me Adaline! I’m not dead.” I heard it when his hand hit his chest for emphasis. He was agitated and shouting now, and I was terrified out of my mind. “I’m here. It’s me, your Tim. And all this means you’re cheating on me, and we can’t have that. No, we cannot. Adaline would never cheat on her beloved Tim. My Adaline is no whore, and you’re going to have to fix everything in our next book. You’re going to make it all go away. Erase what you did so we can be happy again. Back to the way things were.”
“No! Stay away from me!”
“You need a reminder, Adaline. You forgot who you belong to.” He advanced toward the porch, but I managed to crawl inside the front door and slam it before he got close enough to touch me.
“Oh god, oh god...” I stood and locked it. I ran across my living room and fumbled for my cell phone on the coffee table, dialing for help while frantically trying to remember where I put my purse. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“I need help. Someone’s here—"
He pounded on my door. Then he kicked it and I shrieked.
“He’s on my porch, trying to get inside!” I heard the knob jiggle and keys clinking together. Icy cold panic shot through my system, and I darted up the stairs into my room, locking it behind myself before tripping into my closet and slamming the door. “Please, I need help.” My purse was on top of the dresser inside the walk-in closet, thank god.
“Is that you, Charlotte? Charlotte Michelle Cassidy?”
“What? Yes, that’s me.” I dug through my purse and found the pepper spray and the taser. I clutched the taser in my hand and tried to focus enough to tell her where I was.
“822 Pine Street, is that correct?”
“Yes, please hurry—"
