Chapter Thirty-one
Ashlyn
“Easy, boy.” A wet tongue lapped at Ashlyn’s cheek. “Yeah, yeah . . . I missed you, too.”
Either that or she tasted like greasy meat. She’d come straight home from work only to find Mason’s rental car noticeably absent. Much to his aggravation his truck was still out of commission, but the replacement he’d gotten through his insurance company wasn’t half bad. Built in digital GPS, heated leather seats, back-up camera, parking assist, a fuel gage that actually worked. She’d never admit it out loud, but maybe it was time she started looking for some new wheels.
“He’s been sulking ever since you left.” Mrs. Florence stood on her front step, smiling at the fur-ball. The old woman lived in the house next door long before Ashlyn moved in. A widow; children all grown and moved away. She seemed lonely. Ashlyn stopped to talk to her now and then when she was outside gardening, and when the snow was heavy she did her best to help clear her walkway. So she’d been happy to repay the favor by taking Tank in when Ashlyn had asked. “Are you home to stay?”
“Not yet. Actually . . .” Visiting Tank first had been a last ditch effort to avoid a lecture, but Mason still hadn’t arrived and she didn’t have all night. Okay, technically she did. But the thought of being in the house after dark with that lunatic still on the loose made her antsy and unsettled. “I just stopped by to get a few things from home. Would you mind if I take Tank with me? I’ll bring him back in thirty minutes tops.”
“Of course not, dear. You be careful, though. Crazy world we live in these days.” A frail hand patted Ashlyn’s shoulder and the old woman stepped back inside her house.
“C’mon, boy.” Tank bounded for the front door the minute Ashlyn opened Mrs. Florence’s gate, plowing his way past her to enter first. It seemed he missed home, too.
Ashlyn flipped on the light and took a deep breath. The air smelled stale, but she welcomed the familiar comfort of being surrounded by her things. The hum of the refrigerator, the occasional groans from the old wood when the wind picked up, the lingering scent of cinnamon . . . Even the stack of dishes in the sink and the overflowing trash can were welcome sights.
The corner cushion on the couch embraced her like an old friend. Too bad she couldn’t pack that to take along. Ashlyn pulled her favorite throw blanket into her lap and began folding it. A cinnamon candle soon joined it on the coffee table. Followed by her pillow, and a stack of clothes and undergarments. She was rooting under the sink for a garbage bag to stuff it all into when the doorknob jiggled.
About time. He was only half an hour late. Tank’s head tipped as she turned to let Mason know what she thought about his tardiness, but the door caught on the deadbolt. Did he forget his key? He hadn’t used it in a while. Maybe he lost it?
“I’m coming.” Tank scrambled ahead of her, barking the whole way. “You excited to see him?”
She flipped the lock and opened the door, but all that greeted her was a warm breeze. Ashlyn stepped out onto the porch. Harrison sat alone in the driveway.
“Huh. Must have been the wind.” Tank followed her out. He sniffed the air and his ears flattened. “Don’t worry. He’s coming.”
Shooing the dog in ahead of her, Ashlyn paused behind the door with her hand on the lock. The wind. It must have been the wind. Or her imagination. Or maybe she was just getting paranoid.
Her cellphone sat on the coffee table. Since Mason had answered it, the thing hadn’t rung once. Ashlyn picked it up and powered on the screen to check the time. Quarter to six, it must have been a hell of a meeting. She scrolled through her contacts and brought up Mason’s number. Maybe she should call. Just to check in.
“No.” Giving herself a mental shake, Ashlyn powered off her phone and shoved it in her pocket. “This is stupid.”
She wasn’t the kind of girl that called in reinforcements just because she heard a strange noise. Knowing Mason, he’d probably demand that she go back to the hotel immediately. Or buy her a whole pack of guard dogs. Maybe a bodyguard. No, she was fine on her own. Or . . . with Tank, anyway.
Ashlyn patted her leg, hoping to lure him closer, but the dog was distracted, pacing around the living room, into the kitchen, and back again.
“Screw it.” She grabbed a plastic bag and headed to the living room. She’d pack up her stuff and go back to Mrs. Florence’s house. Mason could find her—
A loud crash sounded in the guest bedroom—breaking glass—and a vicious growl tore from Tank’s throat. The beast Ashlyn had imagined him to be emerged. Fur all along his spine rose, lips curling back to expose sharp teeth, and he bolted down the hallway.
“Tank! No!” This was his job—the whole point of having him—but now that it was happening, Ashlyn couldn’t bear to watch him face danger to protect her. “Stop!”
She chased him, but the dog barreled into Mason’s room without the slightest hesitation. Ashlyn froze as Tank’s deep bark rolled through the walls and rattled her bones. Someone shouted. Terror coated all rational thoughts.
Someone was in her house.
Ashlyn backed away, heart hammering against her breastbone, and stumbled through her bedroom door.
There were sounds of a scuffle. Angry words.
She shut the door and leaned against it, quick, shallow breaths making her head spin. Why hadn’t she gone out the front door? Gotten in her car?
Stupid.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. She swiped her sweaty palms on her pant legs. Maybe Tank could keep whoever it was busy while she—
A muted crack was followed by a yelp and then everything fell quiet. Ashlyn’s breath caught in her throat. The crunch of glass echoed in the silence and footsteps moved into the hall.
Too late. Her vision dimmed.
Think, dammit. Don’t panic.
She had a window, but the useless thing had been painted shut when she moved in. Her father had offered to fix it, but she’d declined. Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t make a single good decision and it was going to be the death of her.
The carpet absorbed her footsteps as she backed away from the door. It wasn’t over yet. She still had options. She could fight. A quick scan of the room revealed a silver plated hair brush to be her best option for a weapon. So, maybe fighting was out, but she could. . . Her gaze landed on the closet door. It would be a tight fit, but she could manage.
With her knees folded against her chest and her arms pinned to her sides, Ashlyn was able to squeeze in and the slide the door shut. Pitch darkness brushed along her skin, sending an icy shudder trickling down her spine. She was trapped.
“Please.” Ashlyn shut her eyes and the words formed silently on her lips. Please don’t let this be the worst decision I’ve ever made.
Thoughts tangled around one another like a bowl of spaghetti. Who was out there? What did he want? What would he do if he found her? A quiet whimper pressed against her lips.
A voice called her name, muffled by distance and doors. He knew she was there. He was taunting her. Hunting her.
What would happen if Mason came home and he was still in the house?
Mason . . . she had to warn him.