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As I lie in bed, surrounded by my cats, who will wake soon to wreak havoc on my house, I can’t get the vision of the man walking away from my house out of my brain. Any sane person would turn if they heard someone shouting. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. He’d remained steady in his steps and had kept his gaze forward. It was chilling. He didn’t want his face seen.
I haven’t had enough run-ins with people to have angered anyone, so I can’t think of who the hell could be standing outside my house, watching my every move from the darkness.
I’m about to doze off when I hear the sink turn on downstairs. This has happened before, and I chalk it up to the house being old, and the pipes likewise. After tonight, I wonder if I shouldn’t check it out, but I’m not fucking going down there. What would I wield as a weapon? I look around. The only thing remotely scary that I have near me are the cats with their claws.
I could throw Tigger. He’s particularly afraid of water, his claws will come out instantly and maul whoever is standing at my sink with a ferocity that would allow me to get out unscathed. But, if I want to remain fully unscathed, staying up here is probably my best bet.
I grab my phone off the charger, thinking about calling Ryker until I see the time. I shouldn’t bother the neighbor over noisy and malfunctioning pipework at three in the morning.
Man, I never thought I’d have so many issues with an older home. I’d gotten the all-clear on my inspection before I moved in.
I think about anyone else I can call besides 9-1-1 and the sexy neighbor and no one else comes to mind.
Damn introverted ass has no friends to call.
I shake my head at the thought, growling inwardly because it’s right. Being as isolated as I am, I have no one else to call.
A creak on the stairs sends my heart into overdrive. I slip my phone under the covers, closing my eyes all but a fraction as I try to control my breathing. I don’t want to alert the intruder that I’m awake.
If there’s even anyone in your house.
A shadow looms in the open doorway of my room and I almost whimper with fear. I keep my cool only out of sheer will to survive the night. The figure moves in, slipping into my bathroom and rummaging through my hamper.
What the fuck?
The form is obviously that of a man. When he trudges back toward my bed, I notice he’s almost silent. There’s no way I’d have heard him any night as soundly as I sleep, and I wonder if he’s come in here before. How long has he been doing this? How the fuck is he getting in here?
The goddamned key. I realize my dumb fucking ass has a key under my mat because the first week I’d moved in, I’d locked my keys inside. It had been a huge—and pricey—fiasco to get inside. I’d used a hide-a-key since that day, but I apparently suck at hiding said key.
His hand raises as he sniffs whatever is in his hand from my hamper. He watches me. I close my eyes, praying to anyone who’ll listen to let him leave me alive.
It’s not long before I hear the stairs creak, and my eyes fly open. The room is empty. The door downstairs squeaks closed, and the lock clicks with the key he’d used to get inside. Tears rage through me, falling rapidly as I slip to the window. The same hooded figure slowly slinks back into the night.
Anger pools, and I rush back to the bed, hitting Ryker’s number without a second thought.
“Carina? Are you okay?” he asks as he picks up. His sinfully raspy, sleep-filled tone almost derails my mission.
“He was in my house,” I tell him.
I move to the hamper where he’d dropped whatever he’d had in his hand back in before moving back out of the house. My panties. He’d been sniffing my panties.
Unease shifts through me.
“What?” Ryker shouts. I move back to the window, and I see lights flick on throughout his house before his form shows up on the porch.
He’s in a full-on run toward my house, and I’m so thankful tears sting my eyes as I rush downstairs to let him in. He envelops me in his arms, pushing us both inside before flipping on my living room light and looking me over.
“I’m okay. Well, no, I’m not okay, but he didn’t touch me,” I tell him as tears stream down my cheeks.
“How did he get in?” He turns, opening the door and inspecting the handle and the jamb.
“He used the fucking hide-a-key,” I admit, embarrassingly.
I move behind him, lifting the mat and picking the key up and pocketing it.
“Hey,” he says, standing and pulling me into him. “This isn’t your fault. Plenty of people have a key under their mats and don’t get fucking weirdos in their house.
“He stood over my bed as he sniffed my panties,” I tell him, cheeks heating as I admit intimate details of the intrusive moment.
