Stranger in the Shadows

FIVE

It was close to seven when Chloe pulled her Mustang up to the Victorian that housed her apartment. Built on a hill, it offered a view of water and mountains, sky and grassland, the wide front porch and tall, gabled windows perfect for taking in the scenery. When Opal had brought her to look at the place the previous week, Chloe had been intrigued by the exterior. Walking through the cheery one-bedroom apartment Opal’s friend had been renting out, seeing its hardwood floors and Victorian trim, modern kitchen and old-fashioned claw-foot tub, had sealed the deal. She knew she wanted to live there.

Unlike so many other places she’d lived in, this one felt like home.

Tonight though, it looked sinister. The windows dark, the lonely glow of the porch light doing nothing to chase away the blackness. Her car was the only one in the long driveway and Chloe’s gaze traveled the length of the house, the edges of the yard, the stands of trees and clumps of bushes, searching for signs of danger. There were none, but that didn’t make her feel better. She knew just how quickly quiet could turn to chaos, safety to danger.

She also knew she couldn’t stay in the car waiting for one of the other tenants to return home or for daylight to come.

She stepped out of the car, jogging toward the house, her pulse racing as something slithered in the darkness to her right. A squirrel searching for fall harvest? A deer hoping for still-green foliage?

Or something worse?

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she took the porch steps two at a time. The front door was unlocked, left that way by one of the other tenants, and Chloe shoved it open, stumbling across the threshold and into the foyer, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, her nerves screaming a warning.

Shut the door. Turn the lock. Get in the apartment.

The lock turned under her trembling fingers, her bad leg nearly buckling as she ran up the stairs to her apartment. She shoved the key into the lock, swung the door open. Slammed it shut again.

Safe.

Her heart slowed. Her gasping terror-filled breaths eased. Everything was fine. There was nothing outside that she needed to fear. Even if there was, she was locked in the house, locked in her apartment.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere below, and Chloe jumped, her fear back and clawing up her throat.

The back door.

The realization hit as the step at the bottom of the stairs creaked, the telltale sound sending Chloe across the room. She grabbed the phone, dialed 911, her heart racing so fast it felt as though it would burst from her chest.

Blackness threatened, panic stealing her breath and her oxygen, but Chloe refused to let it have her, forcing herself to breath deeply. To take action.

She grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen, her gaze on the door, her eyes widening with horror as the old-fashioned glass knob began to turn.

Chloe clutched the phone in one hand and the knife in the other, praying the lock would hold and wondering if passing out might be better than facing whatever was on the other side of the door.

Ben Avery bounced a redheaded toddler on his knee, and smiled at his friend, Sheriff Jake Reed, who was cradling a dark-haired infant. “I’m thinking we may be able to go fishing again in twenty-one years.”

“You’re going next weekend.” Tiffany Reed strode into the room, her red hair falling around her shoulders in wild waves. Three weeks after having her second child, she looked as vivacious and lovely as ever. “Jake needs a break.”

“From what?” Jake stood, laid the baby in a bassinet and wrapped his arms around his wife. “This is where I want to be.”

“I know that, but Ben’s made two week’s worth of meals for us. It’s time for you to take him out to thank him.”

Ben stood, the little girl in his arms giggling as he tickled her belly. “I made the meals because I wanted to. I don’t need any thanks.”

“Of course you don’t, but you and Jake are still going fishing next weekend. Right, honey?”

Jake met Ben’s eyes, shrugged and smiled. “I guess we are. What time?”

Before Ben could reply, Jake’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the number. “Work. I’d better take it.”

Tiffany pulled her daughter from Ben’s arms, shushing the still-giggling child and carrying her from the room.

Ben made himself comfortable, settling back onto the sofa and waiting while Jake answered the phone. Whatever was happening couldn’t be good if Jake was being called in.

“Reed here. Right. Give me the address.” He jotted something down on a piece of paper. “Davidson?”

At the name, Ben straightened, an image of straight black hair and emerald eyes flashing through his mind.

“Okay. Keep her on the phone. I’ll be there in ten.” Jake hung up, grabbed a jacket from the closet.

“You said Davidson?”

“Yeah. Lady living out on the lake in the Richard’s place is reporting an intruder in the house. My men are tied up at an accident outside of town, so I’m going to take the call.”

“Did you get a first name?”

“Chloe.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, that’s not the way it works.”

“It is this time. I’ll stay in the squad car until you clear things, but I’m coming.”

“Since I don’t have time to argue or ask questions, we’ll do it your way.”

It took only seconds for Jake to say goodbye to his family, but those seconds seemed like a lifetime to Ben, every one of them another opportunity for whoever was in the house with Chloe to harm her. As they climbed into the cruiser and sped toward the lake, Ben could only pray that she’d be safe until he and Jake arrived.

Sirens sounded in the distance and Chloe backed toward the window that overlooked the front door, her gaze still fixed on the glass knob. It hadn’t turned again, but she was expecting it to and wondering what she’d do if or when the door crashed open.

“Chloe? Are you still there?” The woman on the other end of the line sounded as scared as Chloe felt.

“Yes.” She glanced out the window, saw a police cruiser pull up to the house, lights flashing, sirens blaring. “The police are here. I’m going to hang up.”

“Don’t—”

But Chloe was already disconnecting, tossing the phone and knife onto the couch and hurrying toward the door. The stairs creaked, footsteps pounded on wooden steps and a fist slammed against the door. “Ms. Davidson? Sheriff Jake Reed. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She pulled the door open, stepping back as a tall, hard-faced man strode in, a gun in his hand.

“Good. I’m going to escort you to my car. I want you to stay there until I’m finished in here.”

“Finished?”

“Making sure whoever was here isn’t still hanging around.”

Still hanging around?