Page 5 of Mountain Protector

Crap.

There’s no way I’m sleeping now.

Feeling a bit foolish at my paranoia—look at me, a grown woman jumping at undoubtedly normal sounds—I take a step away from the bed. As my bare feet leave the soft shag rug beside it, I shiver again, wondering distractedly why I decided to set the thermostat so low.

So I could save money. That’s right. And because I thought it would be cozier, tucked under my comforter with a bit of chill in the air around me.

Now, my goosebumps just add to the unsettled feeling I’m battling.

Just as I’m about to head out out of the bedroom, I stop as a memory strikes me.

My dad, almost eight years ago, when I bought my condo, giving me an unexpected gift.

“I know it seems excessive,” he explained as he handed over the gun—a Sig P365, I now know. “But living on your own, I think it’s better to be prepared than wish you were later. Hopefully, you’ll never have to use it.”

I never have, except for training. But I still keep it in my nightstand, just in case. Because, while my dad worries to excess, he’s also a very smart guy. And honestly, ithasmade me feel better.

So I grab it, knowing full-well I won’t need it, but having the weight in my hand gives me a sense of reassurance.

As I leave the bedroom, I hear another creak from the front of the house, and another thought hits me.Could I have a raccoon in the attic? Some other animal trying to take cover from the storm?I had a squirrel in my attic at the condo and the little guy made way more noise than I would have expected.

I won’t put poison up there. No way. I’ll buy some of those traps and release whatever animal it is back into the woods. Maybe I can ask Knox to help me.

The gun is held loosely by my side as I move silently down the hall, still listening intently. As I pass by the bathroom, I glance in, finding everything just as it should be. The same goes for the guest room I use as myoffice, the screensaver on my computer still lazily spinning.

So I just need to check the living room and kitchen. Then I’ll know this was all in my head.

Except.

A figure steps into the doorway.

Tall. All in black. A mask over his face.

Oh my God.

My heart stops.

The person—the man, it has to be, given his size—stops, too.

The whites of his eyes are terrifyingly bright in the darkness.

I can’t move. My muscles are frozen.

Then.

He chuckles.

Takes a step toward me.

And—oh, God, no—something glints dully.

Not something. A gun.

A panicked voice in my head shouts,move, move, move!

My heart kickstarts. My muscles unlock.

Logic takes over, ordering,don’t run straight. Duck. Dodge. A moving target is harder to hit than a standing one.

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