“Did you find out who sent me the text?”
“Not yet, but—”
“I know. You’re working on it.”
The husband moved from the window. “I think we’re done here,” he said. “It’s been a long night. We’ve told you everything we know.”
And it’s not enough, Nash thought, but kept her observations to herself.
For now.
CHAPTER 35
Sleep had proved impossible.
After making love to Trent, Cassie had stared at the ceiling while the wind and rain lashed at the house, rattling the windows and rushing through the trees. The smell of smoke from a recent fire in the wood stove drifted through the air and Trent, lying next to her, was dead to the world.
While he snored she thought about the party with its weird stage sets and mannequins of Allie. Had her sister, the one she’d never met, been in the crowd? Had Allie? Where the hell was her sister?
Tossing and turning, throwing off the covers only to shiver and pull them to her chin, she wondered about Belva Nelson and Whitney Stone and all the peripheral players. And the masks? Who had sent the horrid masks? Who?
She forced her eyes closed and tried to clear her mind. No more thoughts of the evil that she sensed surrounding the movie, no more worries about siblings, real or imagined, no more—
From the foot of the bed, the dog growled. Low. A warning.
“Shh,” Trent mumbled, rolling over and wrapping an arm around her waist. Snuggling up against him, her naked body cupped by his, she felt the warmth of his breath tickle her nape. She relaxed and hoped to keep the demons at bay.
Another growl.
This time the dog was on his feet; she heard his claws clicking against the floor. Cassie opened a bleary eye, and swearing under his breath, Trent released her and rolled to the side of the bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know.” He walked to the window to stare into the night, his silhouette visible against the watery light from an outside security lamp. Long legs, slim hips, broad shoulders, all sinew and muscle. He waited a few seconds, staring outside.
The dog was at the door, whining.
“He usually doesn’t spook easy,” Trent said and reached for the pair of jeans he’d tossed over a side chair.
“You’re going outside.”
“Got to check the stock.” He glanced at the bed where she had scooted to the headboard, the blankets pulled to her chin. “Maybe just a coyote.”
“Maybe.”
He pulled on the jeans, zipping them quickly and hooking the button. “Shorty said he saw one the other morning. Got to make sure the calves are all right.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Looks like. Damned varmints. They just don’t seem to care that I need my shut-eye.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“Don’t go.”
“Got to.”
“No. No, you don’t.”
“I’ll be fine.”