Chapter One
Someone had been in her apartment.
There were no obvious signs. It looked as spotless as ever. Nothing appeared to be out of place. The door had been locked. The alarm set. No one else would be able to tell.
But someone had been in her apartment.
The forks were in the wrong spot. All of her cups were turned around, so the handles faced to the left instead of the right. Reagan opened the fridge, her breathing too fast as she saw the contents had been rearranged. The butter was on the top shelf instead of the bottom. The lettuce wasn’t in the veggie crisper. And her hummus was in the shelving on the door.
She shut the fridge door, stepping back slowly until she bumped into the counter behind her. Sliding to the floor, her legs too weak to hold her anymore, she dragged her knees up to her chest.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
What was she going to do?
Dots danced in front of her eyes and she rested her forehead on her upturned knees, trying to calm herself.
No. No, I can’t fall apart.
She couldn’t afford to lose it now. She needed to keep her shit together. She needed a plan. She was always in control. Even when she was playing at Club Decadence, she never truly let go. She pretended to, pretended to fully submit. But completely trust someone else with her safety?
Never.
The only person she could truly rely on was herself. She had to protect herself.
Doing a damn good job of it right now, wasn’t she? She felt about as weak as a babe and just as vulnerable.
She didn’t understand any of this. Who would do this to her? And why? She had to figure this out before she went totally insane.
They’d been in her space.
Reagan bit back the cry that threatened to escape. Crying wasn’t going to help.
One breath. Two. She had to think. Three times. Three times someone had been in her apartment. The first time, she’d done the sensible thing and called the police.
They didn’t believe her.
She supposed she couldn’t blame them. Oh, they hadn’t said it to her face, but she’d heard them when they thought she wasn’t near. They thought she was crazy.
And they were right. Reagan wasn’t like other people. She was a bit OCD. In her space, everything had its own place. Everything had to be a certain way. She had problems with social interactions. She often misread situations or said the wrong thing. But she wasn’t stupid, in fact, she was damn intelligent. She knew her flaws.
No one lived here but her, so what did it matter if everything had to be just so?
This was her space, damn it.
Anger stirred. Someone was trying to screw with her mind. And they knew exactly how to mess with her without it being obvious to anyone else.
So, she couldn’t go to the police. What could she do? She’d installed an alarm. Next step was cameras. Reagan leaned her forehead against her knees.
It was all too much.
A noise made her raise her head, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t reset the alarm. Idiot. As soon as she’d entered the apartment, she’d known something was wrong. She’d flung her shoes off and raced from room to room checking everything. But had she remembered to lock the door? Hastily, she stood and raced into the living area. There was a knock on the door. Her heart beat too loudly, drowning out all other noise as she grabbed a vase and waited. No way was this bastard going to get away with terrorizing her.
If she’d been thinking clearly, she might have recognized the voices. Might have heard her name being called out.
That might have saved her from totally embarrassing herself as Tara pushed open the door, calling out her name.
Reagan let out a screech as she threw the vase. She cried out in horror as, too late, she realized who was walking into her apartment. Alex grasped his wife around the waist and turned, so his body shielded her from the bright blue glass vase.
Reagan just stood there, her hand over her mouth.
The vase smashed to the floor, and she closed her eyes with a flinch.
Crap, crap, crap.
Reagan opened her eyes, letting out a long breath as she saw that the vase hadn’t landed a few feet away from Alex and Tara.
“You were right,” Tara told Alex as they turned to face Reagan. “We should have waited for Reagan to open the door.”
“I am so sorry. Are you okay?”
Alex kept his arm tight around Tara’s waist as he scowled at Reagan.
She gulped. What had she been thinking?
“Ahh, yeah, luckily you’ve got a crap arm.” Tara watched her with wide eyes. “What’s going on? Didn’t you hear me knock? Calling out?”
Reagan shook her head, still too shaken to think clearly. Her stomach was so knotted it ached.
“I, ahh, umm…sorry. I…I’ll go get something to clean this with.” She just stared down at the mess of glass and flowers. What had she been thinking? Her intruder was hardly going to knock on the door. But she hadn’t been operating on nerves and instinct. Her only thought had been to defend herself.
“Both of you sit,” Alex ordered, guiding Tara around the glass toward the cream sofa. “Tell me where the pan and broom are. I’ll clean it up.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“Sit,” Alex said in a hard voice.
Reagan found herself sitting on the sofa next to Tara before she’d even thought about it. Alex paused, looking down at her with a confused frown.
“That was easier than usual.”
“What do you mean?”