Page 42 of Shea's Hero

I’m not saying that to Jade, though. I don’t want her to worry about the possible disappointment. So I start typing out a question about her pregnancy instead.

Just as I’m about to hit send, an alarm goes off on my phone.

My heart stops for a second.

As I tap on the alert, my pulse settles back into a regular rhythm. It’s fine, just the UPS delivery guy, holding a package that looks like the size box some dresses could fit in. On the little video feed, he rings the doorbell while staring down at his phone, more intent on what’s on there than on what he’s delivering.

I send Jade my original text before adding another.

Delivery guy is here, looks like he needs a signature. I’m going to grab it and get back to work. But I’ll text you later, okay? I want to hear more about mini Jade or Niall.

Then I jump off the bed and hurry into the living room, reaching it just as the doorbell rings again. Tapping the little intercom button on the phone, I say, “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

Steps from the door, a thought brings me to a stop.

Is this what Oliver would want me to do? Or Niall?

Just answer the door without taking any precautions?

Even though it feels silly, the guy is right there, in uniform no less, holding a delivery of items I ordered, it can’t hurt to becautious. So I quickly open up the tracking information to verify that yes, my delivery is still scheduled for today. And to be extra careful, I even grab the little canister of pepper spray from my purse, something Niall insisted on me carrying ever since I went away to college.

As I mess with all the locks—I’m faster with them now, but it still takes almost thirty seconds to unlock all of them, I hear a heavy sigh gust from the other side of the door.

As I yank the door open, I blurt, “Sorry. I was in the other room, and the locks are new, so they’re a little sticky.”

His head is still down, his gaze fixed on his phone. Which is pretty rude in my book, but one thing my mom instilled in me is to always be polite. “Anyway. I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” I continue. “I can just sign and you’ll?—”

Out of nowhere, there’s a twinge in my stomach.

Not just a twinge. A full-fledged punch.

But there’s nothing to worry about.

Then he looks up at me, and I realize just how wrong I was.

His face isn’t normal.

All the features are there, but they’re not right. His nose is too big. So is his chin. Wooly caterpillar eyebrows shadow his eyes. A giant mustache—my dad used to call it a walrus mustache and I thought it was hilarious—hangs low over his mouth.

For a split second, it doesn’t make sense. Nothing fits. Up close, he looks like a caricature of a man.

Or like he’s wearing those prosthetics people use in the movies. Like the show Niall liked to watch,Face Off, where the makeup artists competed to create the best monsters and aliens and fantasy creatures.

Oh, crap.

Heiswearing them. That chin isn’t real. Upon closer inspection, I can see the faint seam where the prosthetic meetshis skin. It’s the same with his nose. And his mustache is drooping the slightest bit on one side.

I can’t tell if minutes have gone by, or seconds. My brain is zipping along, but my body is frozen.

Why is he wearing them?

But I know why.

He steps forward, a malicious glint in his eyes. Then he shoves his phone in his pocket and tosses the box aside. In a low, menacing tone, he says, “You won’t be needingthis.”

Before I can react, he lunges at me.

Grabs my arm in a punishing grip.

---