Saint Sloan (Saint Sloan #1)(4)

Gingerly, she picked up the flowers and brought them to her nose. The sweet smell of fresh roses made her sneeze. Allergies stunk.

Between the stems of two of the roses lay a white folded-up piece of paper. She took it out and unraveled it, hoping to have a clue for who gave them to her.

5 Days.

Nothing more. No name. No address. Not even an explanation. Five days till what? Five days since what?

She tossed the flowers in the seat and put the car in drive. Maybe Aaron and Ray knew about it.

Still, those words in cursive computer letters wouldn’t get out of her mind

5 Days…





CHAPTER TWO


Four Days Before the Fall…



SLOAN HATED MONDAYS. SHE’D HATED THEM before her attack. She hated them now. Every Monday, she groaned when the alarm clock went off, hated rolling out of her warm covers, and winced at the thought of putting her feet down on the floor. If she could just have Mondays off too, it would be lovely.

Sadly, her alarm clock kept doing its duty, thanklessly singing that same annoying song every five minutes from six o’clock on. It sure didn’t deserve the beating she gave it every Monday, but beat it she did. She slammed the alarm clock silent at six twenty-five, pained that the night — and the weekend — went so quickly.

It wasn’t even that she stayed up exceptionally late on Sunday nights. She just didn’t like Mondays. And the worst Monday of all would be the one after graduation in a few weeks, the first one where she’d have to work at the grocery store to make some extra money for college. Time just needed to stop and let her breathe. Breathing would be nice.

Sloan forced her warm feet onto the cold hardwood and gritted her teeth. Maybe if she invested in a rug, it wouldn’t be so bad. She’d have to get right on that.

Dragging herself into the bathroom to get freshened up, she fixed her toothpaste on her toothbrush and brushed her teeth while cringing at herself in the mirror. Wow, she looked rough. Messy hair. Sleepy eyes. Not zombie-ish yet, but it was getting there.

The mirror over the sink reflected the window on the opposite wall. Since it was warmer, her mom kept it open most mornings unless it was unseasonably cold. Tennessee still had cold snaps way into May. From the window, if the wind was just right and the trees hadn’t budded all the way yet, Sloan could see all the way across the street. Today was one of those days.

The sun had barely come up, but there was enough light to see to the sidewalk in front of the neighbors’ house. Some mornings, she saw Mindy and Kenny standing out, waiting for the bus. It had probably already come this morning, though. She was running late.

A shadow across the street caught her eye, and she stood up a little straighter with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. The shadow moved again, enough for her to see it wasn’t a shadow at all: a person dressed in black. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his zipped-up jacket. His feet were just a little apart, and his chin tilted up toward the sky.

With her toothbrush still firmly hanging out of her mouth, Sloan stood higher on her tippy toes to see him better. She could swear he looked familiar.

Then it hit her. He wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking in her bathroom!

Furious, Sloan spat out the toothpaste and hastily rinsed her mouth. She stood and wiped her face with a towel as she turned toward the window. She was this close to giving the pervert a piece of her mind.

Angry, she threw the towel down and said a few choice words under her breath. She started out the door and froze. Her sleepy brain had finally woken up.

She knew that face.

Boyd.

Slowly, Sloan turned and peeked out the window, praying he didn’t see her cowering. He was upright. No wheelchair in sight. And staring at her. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, and didn’t take his eyes off of her.

Heart beating out of her chest, Sloan slung the door open, ran out of the bathroom, and grabbed her cellphone from her room. As she ran down the stairs, she fumbled through her contact list until she found the number for Detective Mary Morgan. The detective had said to call her if she needed anything. Well, Boyd standing across the street sure counted. She needed her.

“Hello. Detective Morgan.” A lady answered on the second ring as Sloan reached the bottom of the stairs. Her tone sounded business as usual. Not even a hint of sleepiness on Monday morning.

“He’s here!” Sloan yelled as she put her hand on the door handle.

“Who? Is this Sloan Bridges?”

“It’s me. He’s here.” Sloan flung open the door and ran down the steps so she could see the sidewalk parallel to the bathroom better. “He’s…” Gone.

Nothing. No one across the road from her. She made circles in the grass, looking everywhere for him. It hadn’t been two minutes since she’d seen him. He couldn’t have gotten away that quickly.

Feeling brave, she ran across the road to where she’d seen him. Sure enough, when she looked up, she saw her bathroom. It made her sick that all this time anyone could have peeked in without her knowing it.

“Sloan! Sloan!” She heard yelling in the phone in her hand. She’d completely forgotten about Detective Morgan.

Sloan raised it to her ear as she kept scanning the area. “He was here. I saw him.”

“Who?”

“Boyd.”

There was a pause. “Boyd Lawrence? He was at your house?”