Page 83 of Night Shift

Over the next four days, life at Atticus’s place took on a rhythm that was both comforting and surreal. Atticus had decided to take some time off work. It would allow him to stick close by my side and help me work through the tangled mess I’d been thrust into.

Turned out, life in lockdown with Atticus wasn’t half bad. When we weren’t all over each other’s bodies, having sex on practically every surface, we spent our time digging for answers about the Russians, piecing together what little we knew and trying to understand why they were after me. Here in his townhouse, we were in our own safe little bubble, away from the danger lurking outside. It was a brief respite, a chance to breathe before facing whatever came next.

The cleanup crew had finally brought over what was left of my belongings. It felt good to have my things nearby. Among the boxes, I found my Christmas decorations intact—a small victory. But Atticus’s holiday spirit was still lacking, so I couldn’t bring myself to break out the ornaments and lights. It didn’t seem right, not with everything else we were dealing with. Despite my longing to get a tree and fill the house with holiday cheer, I kept the decorations packed away, trying to be mindful of his aversion to celebrating. The last thing I wanted was to stir up any more turmoil.

Atticus was all about ramping up the security, his concern for my safety morphing into action as he bolstered his home’s already impressive security system. There was something in the way he went about it—double-checking locks, installing new cameras—that was all very Mission: Impossible. He made me feel safe, and I believed his promise that I’d be okay when he returned to work tomorrow.

But as much as I trusted him, the thought of him walking out that door, leaving me alone, cast a dark shadow over my mood. I’d enjoyed us being glued to each other’s side night and day, and I didn’t want to return to reality.

When the day finally arrived for him to go back on shift, I woke up with a heavy heart. The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting a gentle glow across the bed that did nothing to lift my dark mood.

Atticus leaned in, his lips meeting my forehead in a tender kiss that lingered longer than usual. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmured, his voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

He pulled back, and the familiar worry over him leaving settled in my chest even before he’d gotten out of bed. Despite the layers of protection he’d put into place, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Atticus must have noticed my worried expression because he cupped my chin gently, turning my face toward him. “Hey,” he whispered, giving me that lopsided smile that always seemed to reach right through me, “this place is Fort Knox. The security system is top-notch. You’re safe here.” Though his words were meant to reassure me, to ease my anxiety, they didn’t.

“But if anything—anything at all—feels off, give me a call at the hospital, okay? I mean it, Samantha.”

I nodded, managing a smile that I hoped would convince him I wasn’t falling apart on the inside. “I will. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine,” I promised. I kept my voice steady, even as a whirlwind of unease churned inside me.

Atticus studied me for a moment and then leaned over, sliding his fingers through my hair to the back of my head. “God, you’re gorgeous first thing in the morning. Fuck,” he growled, twisting his fingers in my hair. He crushed his lips against mine in a searing kiss. It was the type of kiss I’d learned meant he didn’t allow for any other thoughts than what he was doing to my body. It was the type of kiss that instantly got my juices flowing. As his tongue commanded my attention, he took my hand and placed it against my heated core. Then he guided my fingers over my clitoris, capturing my moans in his mouth as together we stroked the tight bundle of nerves. Slowly he pulled his lips away from mine and gave me a cocky grin while together we continued to move over my drenched folds. His fingers guided mine within. “Now you be my good girl and finish yourself off. I’ve gotta get a shower and get out of here.” With that, he chuckled and pulled his hand away. “I expect to hear your satisfaction over the running water. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me first thing in the morning, now would you?” A quick kiss later, he slid out of bed and walked away whistling.

Pleasing the man had become my addiction. I swear he could ask me to walk through fire and I would. But right now, the fire I needed to stoke was under my hand. Now that I was completely distracted from my earlier gloom, I had a feisty idea. Reaching over for my phone, I took a video of what he was missing. Yes, that would come in handy. I would send it to him when he was driving to work. I made sure to put on a show and that he heard exactly what he’d asked for.

Not long after, as I lingered under the warm covers, the front door closed with a thud and a click, sealing me inside, and I was alone.

Chapter twenty-three

The morning started off better than I’d hoped. I made coffee and something to eat before showering and putting on a bright blue workout set. It was one of my favorites because it didn’t clash with my hair and it brought out my blue eyes. It wasn’t posh like the one Atticus had given me—because on my budget I was lucky to buy dupes—but I still loved it nonetheless. I had no plans for working out but needed something cheerful and comfortable to wear if I was going to be stuck here all day, bored out of my mind.

The silence in Atticus’s house grated on my last nerve. For a while I tried to lose myself in one of the many books that lined the shelves of his living room, but the words seemed to blur together, my thoughts constantly drifting to the events of the past few weeks. Regardless of the difficulty I was having concentrating, I kept trying to read, if only to pass the time, but ended up scrolling through TikTok on my phone while it perched in the center of the book.

It was nearing midmorning when the first stirrings of unease began to take root. A faint, almost imperceptible noise from outside disrupted the stillness, pulling my attention away from the pages in front of me. I strained my ears, trying to identify the sound, telling myself it was only the wind, or perhaps a neighbor going about their day.

Then a scraping noise cut through the silence. It was coming from the back porch. I grabbed my phone, dropped the book, and sprinted to the tablet on the kitchen counter, tapping furiously on the security app. “Come on, come on,” I murmured, paranoia bubbling up as I flicked through the camera feeds—front yard, side alley, back patio.

Nothing but the calm, undisturbed exterior of Atticus’s home filled the screen.

“Seriously? I must be losing it,” I whispered to myself. The tranquility of the scene outside clashed with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. In an attempt to slow my racing heart, I took a deep breath. All of a sudden, a thud—louder and closer this time—jolted me.

“No way that was just the wind,” I muttered, abandoning the tablet. Quickly I scanned the kitchen, my eyes landing on the sturdy cast iron frying pan. It was better than nothing, I decided, picking it up and gripping it with both hands.

I tiptoed toward the back door, attempting to be stealthy. With each step, the floor beneath me creaked, the noise amplified in the silence. When I reached the door, I pressed my ear against it and tried to catch any hint of sound from the other side.

Silence.

Then, I detected the faintest scrape, like metal against concrete. It sent an icy wave down my spine, and I backed away, my heart thumping against my ribs like it wanted out. This was definitely not good. Keeping my eyes locked on the back door, I inched toward the kitchen and soon reached the island. The tablet lit up with a notification. A motion had been detected at the back perimeter. “Great,” I huffed, taking a closer look at the screen. The camera feed showed the edge of the garden, but whoever, or whatever, had caused the noise remained just out of view.

I was just about to dismiss it, chalk it up to nerves, when a shadow darted across the screen. My breath caught. This was really happening.

Grabbing the tablet and the pan, I retreated to the safest room I could think of—Atticus’s office. It had a lock and a window I could escape from if needed. I darted inside and locked the door behind me, my hands shaking as I dialed Atticus’s number, praying he’d pick up.

“Come on, Atticus,” I begged into the phone, waiting for him to answer. Each ring was unbearably loud in the quiet room, stabbing into my ears and amplifying my fear. Then his voicemail picked up. His hands were most likely tied up with who knew what kind of chaos in the ED. My fingers fumbling, I quickly typed out a message, telling him that I was hiding in his office while someone was trying to break into his house. Ignoring all the typos I’d made in my haste, I sent the text and shared my location, hoping that might help if these people ended up taking me. I shoved my phone into the pocket on my leg and zipped it closed.

Crack! Glass shattered near the back of the house, and the splintering of wood made my heart skip a beat. They were breaking in. The back door gave way with a thunderous crash that echoed down the hallway. Boots hit the floor, heavy and fast, spreading throughout the house.

More invaders poured in. Their movements sounded purposeful, like a well-oiled machine. More crashes and bangs of destruction followed—things breaking, furniture being overturned. They tore through Atticus’s home with ruthless efficiency. The neighbor’s dog started barking frantically, adding to the chaos of the moment.

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