Still Not Over You(23)

I also remind myself this is part of the gig, and she can’t possibly be serious.

She’s probably still coked out of her mind. Or buzzed from her morning diet of mimosas and toaster waffles – go figure.

So much that she won’t even remember this tomorrow.

I can only hope.

Hope, and signal my crew to get on the move so I can escape this hell and get home as soon as possible.





9





Homecoming (Kenna)





It hasn’t been a half-bad day of writing.

Maybe all I really needed was a little fresh sea air. I’ve spent most of the day plotting story structure, but I think I’ve got a good framework for working out the basic pacing and character development.

More, though, I’ve got the framework and peace of mind to figure out how I’m going to deal with Landon when he comes back.

I’ve just got to stand my ground. I wouldn’t be able to respect myself if I did anything else.

I’m perched at the kitchen island with a cat in my lap and another on the counter, chewing on the cap of my idle pen, when a rustling sound catches my attention from outside. It doesn’t really penetrate at first.

Just the wind in the bushes lining the house in neatly trimmed lines, I think, until there’s a sharp crack!

Like a twig snapping. I look up quickly.

A black silhouette straight out of a nightmare looks back at me, standing at the kitchen window and staring in.

I nearly scream like a baby and fly out of my skin, while my bladder shimmies up inside me in a tight knot.

The cats take off like bats out of hell. I scramble off the barstool, stumbling back a step, desperate to remember where the nearest intercom is and how to work it, but when I look again that dark shape is gone.

Of course, it's gone.

It was a man. No mistaking it.

A man in a hoodie and dark glasses.

Had I imagined it? No, there's no way he could've moved that fast.

I skitter toward the door and yank it open, peering outside, first up one side of the house and then down the other.

Nothing. Nada. No one in sight.

I taste my own fear, bitter in the back of my throat. Maybe it was just a flasher on my eyes, imprinted after staring at the page for so long. I take another step out, turning slowly, looking toward the drive, then toward the back of the house, scanning one step at a time and –

– and nearly collide with the tall, looming shape suddenly there, hovering over me, large and menacing and silent.

This time, I do scream, stumbling backward, my heart a jackhammer that's about to make me pass out from the shock.

“Who are you?!” I demand, scrabbling for the kitchen door.

I’ve got to get inside, get to the security panel, hit the police button. He says nothing, only watching me in grim silence; I can barely see the shadow of his lips beneath his hood. “Answer me!”

He stays silent. Tall, imposing, and creepy as hell.

But then he takes a slow, purposeful step forward, startling me into scrambling back so quickly that suddenly the door is out of my reach. He's blocking my path, closing me off from safety.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I rabbit back a little more, then trip and tumble down. Another step closer. I kick out with one foot.

“Stay back!” I shriek, flopping back on my butt, trying to get my feet under me. I hear a car coming up the drive, I realize.

Oh, thank God. Landon.

He's home just in time. I manage to grapple upright again and put a few more feet of distance between myself and this silent, staring man.

“Wh-what do you want?” I try to draw myself up, finding courage in the approaching engine grumble. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Ugh. Clearly a lie, and I also sound like I'm twelve.

Then the man stiffens, looking sharply over my shoulder as a car door slams, ready to take off.

I smile triumphantly, lifting my chin. Yeah, jerk-face, you'd better run.

“Really now,” a strange voice says. “Is this appropriate behavior toward a lady?”

It belongs to another stranger. Not Landon.

All right.

I admit it.

I scream again. This time, bloody glass-breaking murder.

And it’s like the sound repels the man in the hoodie. He's gone like a leaping gunshot; he turns and bolts, while I’m almost on his heels.

I’ve had enough of strange men sneaking up on me for one day. Something boils up in me, and I still don't know if I'm chasing him or just fleeing in the same direction.

I tumble against the side of the house, skittering away from the new voice, and catch a glimpse of a tall blond man in a perfectly pressed suit before I collapse against the wall and lean over my knees, practically hyperventilating.

“Oh God. Oh, God.”

Threat number one disappears.

I need a minute before I can assess if this new man is threat two, or just the lucky break I needed today.

My chest hurts, my heart is racing so fast. I take several gulping breaths, trying to calm myself. The blond man leans in, trying to catch my eye.

He’s tall, handsome, clean-cut, with a neatly trimmed beard and hazel eyes that darken with worry, his movements polite and restrained.

Not going to lie, he makes me feel a lot safer than that freak in a hoodie.