Her Forever Hero (Unexpected Heroes #3)(32)

“You’re running away, Grace. You do it every time you think there’s even the slightest chance of a connection.”

“If I may remind you, you were the first to run. Back then, I wasn’t going anywhere, Cam. And I’m not running anywhere now. I’m just . . . I’m tired, that’s all,” she told him as she reached her door and inserted her key. “So go home.”

“Dammit, Grace—” But he didn’t get any further, because she gasped as the door swung open, with a perfect view of her kitchen.

“What in the world?”

Cam stopped what else he’d been about to say and pushed past her. Grace was right on his heels. “Are you doing some rearranging?” Cam asked, but his eyes were narrowed.

“No. I didn’t do this.” It was odd, because the scene before her should shock her, at least a little bit, but only mild curiosity piqued her brain.

“What happened?” Cam asked.

She walked inside the room and looked at her small kitchen table, which had been turned upside down on the floor, the chairs sitting against it as if there were nothing wrong.

“I don’t know. Maybe this is Sage’s idea of a joke,” Grace said slowly.

“Sage isn’t in town,” he reminded her. She’d left that morning for a conference in Seattle. “And do you really think she’d have driven over here after her party and done something like this, even if she hadn’t had an early flight?”

The scene certainly wasn’t malicious—not at all—but it was strange. And the only person Grace was aware of who would possibly have a key was her best friend and former roommate. Sage could have done this before leaving, but, as Cam had just pointed out, why?

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed, then waited to leave a message. “Hey, Sage, call me when you get this. I just wanted to know if you stopped by.”

“I don’t think you should be here alone, Grace. Too many strange things are happening.”

“I’ve been on my own for a lot of years, Cam, and in New York, too, where the crime rate is slightly higher than in Sterling, Montana. I’m not too worried about an overturned table. It’s a joke, that’s all. Someone thinks they’re very amusing.”

“I don’t find this amusing at all, Grace. Someone broke into your apartment and wasn’t even subtle about it. They wanted you to know they were here. If it doesn’t scare you, it sure as hell should.” He started walking down her hallway.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m making sure no one is still here,” he told her.

She caught up to him. “I don’t need you to ensure my safety, Cam.”

“What gave you the impression I was asking for your opinion?” he shot back as he looked into Sage’s old room first, checking the closet, the small bathroom, and even under the bed.

“Really? Under the bed?” she asked with a laugh.

“Under the bed is a great hiding spot for serial killers,” he said casually.

A small tremor rippled through her, but she forced it to subside, refusing to be as paranoid as Cam just then. Once he was sure that room was secure, he moved into her room and went through the entire routine over again.

She relented, and finally returned to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. She’d leave the panicking to a mere man. When she opened a cupboard, something moved, and Grace let out a scream and then sprinted faster than she had since middle school track.

“What’s wrong? Who’s there?” Cam nearly collided with her right outside the kitchen doorway; his eyes were darting this way and that.

“There! There!” she screamed, and pointed to her cupboard, her entire body shaking.

Cam, in a fighting stance, crept into her kitchen, grabbed a knife from the block on the counter, and looked frantically around. “I don’t see anything,” he told her, but his eyes were still whipping in every direction.

Then the brown mouse came scurrying from the cupboard, scampered across the counter, and skidded down the back of the stove. “Get it!” Grace shrieked.

Cam’s entire body sagged. He must have been holding himself so tightly that she was surprised he didn’t snap in half. “A mouse? Really . . . ?” he asked, turning in her direction.

When she saw the merriment in his eyes, she saw red, finding herself barely able to keep from flying at him with claws fully extended.

“I’ve never had a mouse in this apartment,” she told him, still standing outside the door.

“It happens, Grace. Just set out some traps, or get a cat.”

“I’m only going to be here another week, though I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay here at all now,” she said, eyeing the stove the mouse had disappeared behind.

“It was just looking for some food.”

“I don’t leave food out,” she told him.

“Well, you did this time. There’s a box of spilled crackers in here, and the mouse was having a field day,” he pointed out, looking into the cupboard the mouse had come sprinting out of.

“What? I don’t remember even buying crackers, let alone leaving them opened.” Was she really losing her mind? Was she sleepwalking? Maybe she had done all of this to herself and she couldn’t remember.

She’d been told stress could make you sleepwalk, could make you do things you couldn’t remember doing.