The cat?
“Lana?” she said nervously, then noticed the sliding door was open, just the tiniest of cracks.
Hadn’t it been shut?
Absolutely. She remembered sliding it closed, though, of course it didn’t latch, because that stupid building super, Merlin, hadn’t gotten around to fixing it.
Oh, Jesus! Her scalp prickled and her heart began to knock, though she told herself she was being paranoid. No one was in the apartment, lurking inside, lying in wait for her.
You’ve been auditioning for too many victims in those cheap horror flicks.
Still ...
Ears straining, heart thudding, she glanced toward her bedroom door, open just a crack. She had taken two steps in the direction of the open door when, from the corner of her eye, she saw movement, a dark figure at the edge of the slider, on the other side of the glass.
An intruder! Oh, no!
She opened her mouth to scream.
Then stopped when she recognized the guy from the bar. In his hand was her cell phone. Palm over her pounding heart, she declared, “You scared me half to death!” as she pushed the door open. “How’d you get my—?”
But she knew before he said, “You left it on the bar.”
“So, how did you find me?”
Again the slow, crooked grin. “Your address is in the contact information. Under home.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
He really was a heart-stopper with that square jaw, dark hair, and eyes that showed a bit of the devil in their blue depths.
“Most people come to the front door and knock.” She couldn’t help but be a little irritated. Besides, she felt like hell.
His lips twitched. “Maybe I’m not most people.”
She couldn’t argue with that and wasn’t about to try when another pain, sharp enough that she had to double over, cut through her. “Oh . . . oh . . . geez.” She placed a hand against the glass-topped table and sucked in her breath. Again, she was perspiring, this time feeling a little faint.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” She was shaking her head. “You’d better leave. I’m sorry—oh!” She sucked in her breath. This time her knees buckled, and he caught her, strong arms surrounding her.
“You need help.”
Before she could protest, he picked her up and carried her unerringly to the bedroom. “Hey, wait a second. . . .”
“Just lie down,” he said calmly.
She didn’t have a choice. The bedroom was spinning, the bedside lamp seeming to swirl in front of her eyes. Man, she was sick.... Oh, wait ... a new panic rose in her as he lay her on the mussed bedcovers. The mattress gave slightly with her weight.
“I don’t think . . .” He left her for a second, and she thought about trying to escape. Something about his appearance at her back door was all wrong. She knew it now, despite the agony roiling through her insides. Her meeting him at the bar, the illness, him showing up on her patio ...
Jesus, had he turned on the shower? She heard the rush of water and a creak as the old pipes were shut off. What was that all about?
Before she could move, he was back, holding her cell phone out to her. “I’ve already called nine-one-one,” he said and she attempted to reach for the phone but couldn’t. She tried to force her arm upward, but her fingers were limp and useless as her arm flopped back onto the mattress.
Oh, God, oh, God, she had to get away. . . . This was sooo wrong.
He set the cell next to her face, on the quilt her grandmother had pieced for her when she was ten....