Long enough for the heat to leak out through the open door, leaving the entire house absolutely freezing.
But Mr. Hissyfit’s safe inside his heated enclosure, protected from the cold that might have killed him.
And maybe, just maybe, the snake is what scared the intruder off.
At least, I hope he’s gone.
So I back out slowly and run for the car, diving into the driver’s seat and shivering with more than just the cold.
Andrea stares at me, her lashes trembling. “Peace? What happened?”
“Someone broke into the house,” I say, already digging my phone out, tapping Blake’s number. “But I don’t think they took anything.”
“Mr. Hissyfit?” she whispers with a worried look.
“Safe. Warm inside his tank and just…agitated,” I tell her.
She starts to open the car door, her breaths sucking in, but I catch her arm, shaking my head firmly as I lift the phone to my ear.
Blake’s line rings. Again and again and again.
He doesn’t pick up.
Crud.
I start to dial again, only to stop as I hear the roar of an engine.
Something finally goes right. Blake’s Jeep comes tearing into the driveway.
I go tumbling out of my car just as he screeches to a halt, nearly spinning the Jeep and sending up a spray of snow.
He leaps out, his face set and tight, flushed with fury, but it’s the worried darkness in his eyes that gives away his real concern.
“Peace?” he strides toward me. “Where’s Andrea? Have you seen her? Holt called, and—”
“Dad?” Andrea says behind me, emerging from my car. “I’m right here.”
Then they’re crashing into each other.
Blake hugging his daughter tight, Andrea clinging to him hard, letting out a soft little whimper that he echoes in a deep, reassuring growl. Dad buries his face in his daughter’s hair.
“He said you were missing,” he chokes out. “Fuck, Andrea, I freaked out.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles but clings to him even tighter. “I didn’t tell him I was going to the carnival, but I…Dad, I gotta tell you something…”
Blake pulls back enough to look down at her, gripping her shoulders. “Anything, Little Violet. What’s up?”
She bites her lip, looking up at him worriedly. “Clark’s hiding. He’s afraid you think he did it when he knows who really did,” she says hesitantly. “But he won’t tell me who. I don’t know. And now someone broke into the house.”
“What?” It comes out of his mouth like a gunshot.
Blake stiffens, parting his lips—only to stop and go stone-still, lifting his head, staring at the house, his eyes blue fire as he finally notices the door.
He detaches from Andrea, and then it’s my turn. His huge, fierce arms lift me right off the ground, and I’m suspended in the air for a couple seconds before he lets me down again.
“Did they hurt you?” he growls, his eyes flashing to mine.
It’s so sweet but almost scary. The edge in his voice is a death warrant for anyone who’d ever dare.
“I…no. They were gone before we got here, I think. I’ve already been inside,” I say. “The living room’s trashed. I didn’t check anything else because I think they’re gone, but not a hundred percent sure.”
“We’re about to find out, sweetheart,” he says darkly, then nudges Andrea toward me. “Stay here. Both of you. Keep 9-1-1 handy. And if I tell you to run, get in your car and drive. Don’t look back.”
I can’t stand watching him go in there by himself.
And I know if something happens, I won’t leave him.
Andrea and I huddle together, clutching each other’s hands, watching the door.
I strain, listening for any sound, any hint of a fight, but all I catch is a bit of furniture scraping and moving—then a flicker of motion in the upstairs windows. Blake’s tall, dark shape moves past the curtains. All seems well.
But I still don’t breathe easy until he’s back outside.
“No one home except one mad snake,” he says grimly. That tired stoop bows his broad shoulders, his eyes blue shadows. “It’s only the living room. Bastards didn’t touch anything else. Didn’t seem like they were looking at anything in particular, just wanted to piss out some rage. Maybe send a message.”
He stops, though, squinting down the front steps and toward the snow along the side of the porch.
Several heavy footsteps leave prints in the packed snow surrounding the house.
And I’m pretty sure they aren’t mine, his, or Andrea’s.
Blake slowly descends the steps and moves to the edge of the walk, then crouches down, peering at the closest tracks.
“And send a message he did,” he mutters tightly. “Shit. I recognize these prints. They’re standard safety issue for work crews…including hired construction contractors.”
* * *
Somehow, we’ve come full circle.
With Blake’s house a mess and the door refusing to totally shut, we can’t stay there.
So after a call to Sheriff Langley, we end up packing everyone up and heading back to my cabin at the Charming Inn.