Page 77 of Joker in the Pack

“Twiglet, I’ve lost my mind.”

He barely stirred, just curled himself into a tighter ball as a creak sounded downstairs. That sound made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I froze, listening to the near silence. The odd noise was to be expected, right? Old houses did that.

Hold on—what was that click? That sounded like the kitchen door.

Outside, a sliver of moon glimmered through the window and reflected in the cracked mirror above the dresser. Superstition said breaking a mirror brought seven years of bad luck, and by my calculations, the burglar should be well into double figures now.

I heard another creak, then another, too rhythmical to be the house settling. No, it was more like somebody walking across the downstairs hallway. I sat straight up, pulling the duvet around me as if six togs and a ladybird-print cover could protect me from whoever was there.

Sweat popped out of my pores as panic took over. What the hell should I do?

CHAPTER 23

I SCRAMBLED TO the nightstand and grabbed my phone. Who should I call? The police?

Living in London, I wouldn’t have hesitated to punch in 999, but out in the sticks, where was the nearest police station? I had no idea. Last time I needed help, Graham had taken over an hour to arrive, and he’d been next to useless when he did.

That left Tate or Nye. Tate lived twenty minutes away, and Nye… I had no idea.

Proximity won out.

“You’re through to the voicemail of Tate Palmer. I’m not available to take your call right now…”

Oh, hell. Why didn’t he wake up when the phone rang?

“Tate, it’s Olivia. Can you call me urgently?” I whispered as another creak came from downstairs.

One option left, and Nye answered faster than Sophie did.

“I think there’s someone in the house.”

He was all business. “Whereabouts are you?”

“In my bedroom.”

“Is the door locked?”

“It doesn’t have a lock.”

“Fuck. Okay, I want you to drag the heaviest thing you can manage up against it. That’s the bed, right?”

“Hold on. I’ll try.”

“I’m not going to hang up, but I need to get on the other line and send the nearest team to you ASAP. Just try and breathe, okay?”

All very well for him to say—he wasn’t the one about to get attacked and murdered in their own home. I shooed Twiglet off the bed and tried to push it over to the door, recalling belatedly how it had taken three of us to get it into the bedroom in the first place. Athunkcame from downstairs as I found superhuman strength and slowly slid the thing across the worn carpet. Breathe? I was panting by the time it nudged against the door.

“Have you done it?” Nye’s faint voice came from the phone I’d dropped on the chest of drawers.

“Yes, I’ve moved the bed.”

“Now, do you have any kind of weapon up there?”

I thought longingly of the poker snugly back in its rightful place next to the fire. For the first time ever, I cursed my obsession with tidiness.

“I don’t think so.”

“Nothing heavy? Or a can of hairspray? Deodorant?”

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