Page 13 of Sole Survivor

He hangs up and stands, shoving his phone in one pocket while grabbing what looks like a business card from the other.

“Here. My cell number is on there, so is my work number. If you need me, call.”

I reach out and take it from him.

“I don’t have my phone, remember?”

He curses, shaking his head. “I’ll try to get it back to you as soon as possible, but it might be worth picking up a cheap pay-as-you-go one for now.

“I’ll have a couple of uniforms outside watching until we get the phone situation sorted. After that they’ll do regular drive-byes. If it makes you feel better, I can come back later and crash on your sofa when I’m done, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“I know you suggested it in the hospital, but I’ll be fine. Having cops outside helps a lot,” I hasten to add. “And knowing I wasn’t snatched from here helps a little.”

“You sure? I really don’t mind.”

“I’m sure. The officers can call you, though, if I change my mind.”

“Okay. But don’t be afraid to use them. I don’t want any of thatI didn’t want to be a botherbullshit.”

“You don’t know me.” I huff.

“You don’t know you,” he points out with a smirk.

My mouth drops open.

“What, too soon?” he mocks.

Standing, I slap him in his stomach, though his hard abs mean I hurt my hand more than I hurt him.

“Tut-tut, Miss Anderson. I’d hate to have to cuff you for assaulting a police officer.”

I swallow and take a step back. Again, I don’t know if he is flirting or if this is just how he is. If he senses my unease, he doesn’t show it.

“Right, I better go.”

I follow him inside and through the house to the front door.

Turning, he looks at me. “Lock the doors and have the officers call if you need me.” I nod, and he opens the door, and with a quick wave, he leaves.

I watch him go before closing the door and locking it. I slide the deadbolts into place. Turning, I press my back against the door and take in the stillness. Everything seems too quiet now.

Being in the hospital meant there was always someone around. Now, the quiet I so desperately wanted is not as comforting as I’d hoped it would be.

Not sure what to do with myself now, I head into the kitchen and place Nathan’s card on the island before making myself a hot chocolate and heading back outside. I sit down and sip my drink. After a few minutes, I realize that without Nathan, I feel exposed out here.

Hating myself for letting my fear win but unable to bear it anymore, I finish the last of my hot chocolate and head inside, locking the back door behind me. I place my cup in the sink and wander toward the living room.

I stand in the doorway and take the room in as I decide what to do. Decorated in a light gray with white blinds covering the windows, the room is light and cool with a more modern touch than the rest of the house. A white leather sofa that looks like the most uncomfortable thing in the world sits under the window. Beside it is a wing-back chair and matching footstool in dark gray velvet. An end table sits beside it with a table lamp and two books stacked on top of each other.

There is no television, no bookcases—nothing really. It’s just a place to sit. There is no art on the walls, no photos of friends or people I might know. It’s functional, yet something about it just doesn’t feel like me. I should ask Nathan if he knows how long I’ve lived here.

I walk over to the books and pick the top one up, flipping to the dog-eared page. The book looks like it’s been read many times, and maybe it has. Maybe this is one of my favorites. I run my fingers over the cover. Nothing about it is familiar, but for once, that’s okay. Now, I get to read it for the first time and fall in love with it all over again.

Holding it to my chest, I walk to the window and see a cop car sitting outside my house. Unfortunately, I also spot a couple of reporters across the street, cameras rolling as they talk to the nation and invade my privacy like I haven’t been violated enough already.

With a growl, I stomp away and head upstairs to my bedroom.

The room is similar to the sitting room in the sense that it’s sparsely decorated. A queen-sized bed sits against one wall with plain white cotton sheets and dozens of pillows. On the opposite side of the room is an oak dresser and two matching bedside tables on either side of the bed. The left side table has a lamp and a pair of reading glasses beside it.

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