Melt (Steel Brothers Saga 4)

I unlocked my door and walked into my little place. Oddly, my cell phone hadn’t buzzed at all since I’d been gone. I’d expected Joe to call me, wondering where I was.

Even though I had left of my own free will, knowing I had been welcome there, I was still crushed that he hadn’t called. Maybe I didn’t mean as much to him as he was beginning to mean to me. Which is why I needed to let him go. I couldn’t get involved with anyone right now, especially someone who had as many issues as I did.

What a mess we would make together. A Freudian nightmare.

What I needed right now was a nice shower. Yes, I’d had a nice hot shower at Jonah’s house, and my tiny shower cubicle would never compare to that steam shower of his, but I did have lavender essential oil, and I did need to wash the chlorine out of my skin and hair. Colorado was dry enough on my skin without letting the chlorine sit on it for a long period.

I sighed. I should’ve stayed. I wished I could’ve stayed. But it would be better this way. Jonah Steel deserved better than me. He had enough to deal with in his life without taking on a woman with my baggage.

I walked into my bedroom and stripped off the work clothes that had already been off of me today. I spritzed some lavender essential oil into my shower and then turned it on to heat up.

I threw my dirty clothes in my hamper, pausing to smile at how I had picked up Jonah’s clothes in his closet that were strewn two feet away from his hamper.

He was definitely a man—an amazing man—and he would be better off without me.

I stepped into the shower and stood under it for several moments, letting the water pelt me, easing the stress away. My back hurt, and my temples had started to throb as I drove home. I took a deep inhale of the relaxing lavender scent. Still, the stress remained. I began shaking, shuddering. My breaths became more rapid.

A panic attack.

I knew the symptoms well. It was part of my professional training, after all. However, panic attacks were not the norm for me. I had experienced one only once before—when I received Gina’s letter.

Again I breathed in, out, in, out…trying desperately to will myself out of a panic attack.

But my heartbeat was thundering, nearly pounding right out of my chest.

I looked down. My left breast pulsed with my heartbeat. So fast. So fast.

Not normal. Had to get my pulse down. I inhaled one more deep breath and then sat down on the floor of my shower, the warm water raining over my body.

“Get a grip, Melanie,” I said out loud.

But the grip eluded me. Still my heart pounded. Still I breathed rapidly. I stood and forced myself to wash my hair and body. After all, that was why I had gotten into the shower in the first place, to get rid of the chlorine. As I rinsed off, I jerked with a start.

I’d heard something. But I wasn’t sure what it was.

I began my breathing again. In, out, in, out. I told myself the same thing I told my patients. When things get so bad that you think you can’t bear it anymore, return to the essential of life. Breathing.

I hoped my patients bought that drivel more than I did at the moment. It wasn’t working, and I jerked as I heard another creak.

My mind could easily be playing tricks on me. Right now, I had to bring myself out of this whirl of panic.

Bam!

I nearly lost my footing on the slick shower floor. Now my panic was real. My bowels cramped and my pulse continued to race.

It hadn’t been my imagination before. Someone was in my apartment.

The bathroom door was open. My bedroom door was open. If only I had thought to shut them both and lock them. But that wasn’t normal. I never shut the bedroom door and locked it when I showered. Why would I do it today of all days? I stepped out of the shower quietly, leaving the water running. The intruder knew I was in the shower, so perhaps I could surprise him. I wrapped a towel around my wet body and slid quietly out my bathroom door. Someone was shu

ffling around in the living room. My heart beat rapidly. My purse sat on my dresser where I’d left it, and my cell phone was inside. I crept as silently and quickly as I could, grabbing my purse, and ran into the open closet, shutting the door quietly behind me. The shower was still on, so with any luck, the intruder would look for me there first. In the darkness of my closet, I grappled for my cell phone in my purse. The battery was nearly dead, but I was able to dial 9-1-1.

“Thank you for calling 9-1-1. All of our operators are busy right now—”

Were they kidding me? I ended the call and tried again.

Same message.

I wanted to scream and throw the phone, but that would give away where I was.