Page 21 of Guarded from Treachery

Just go. Run to the door. It’ll be okay.

But what if someone is hiding behind a car? Or around the corner of the building? What if the second I step foot outside, they come after me?

Just go.

Rather than ease out of the car, I leap from it, flinging the door shut with a resounding clunk.

Then I sprint towards my front door, my pulse whooshing in my ears, my breath deafening in the quiet of the night.

With every step, I’m certain I’m about to be attacked.

Every shadow is a man lying in wait.

As I fly up the path, something snaps. My lungs seize. A person coming after me? A footstep? A gun? Crap. I don’t know what a trigger cocking sounds like. Is that it? Am I about to be shot? Killed?

I don’t want to?—

Belatedly, I realize what I stepped on. A branch.God. I thought a branch was about to kill me.

By the time I reach my door, I’m a complete wreck. It takes me three tries to fit my key into the doorknob; my hands are shaking so hard.

But I get inside. With a relieved sob, I slam the door shut and lock it behind me.

Relieved tears prickle behind my eyes.

I made it. I’m home.

Setting my purse on the table beside the door, I drop the pepper spray back inside it. My keys go in the little bowl filled with spare change and other random items I’ve thrown in there—paper clips and the free flashlight I got at work and a doorknob flier from the local pizza place.

Before I left, I made sure to leave all the lights on, something I’m immensely relieved I thought of. Now I don’t have to fumble around in the dark, terrified that someone might be lurking in the shadows.

Still, I check every room and every closet, just to be sure. But thankfully,thankfully, I’m the only one here. With a shuddering sigh of relief, I make my way back into the living room and drop the bag of security supplies on the coffee table. Then I pull my phone from my pocket and get ready to call Matt to let him know I got home safely.

Just as I’m about to dial his number, I almost crack my jaw with a yawn. As my adrenaline fades, exhaustion sweeps over me. I feel wrung out, a crumpled up washcloth dropped into the sink, the last of my energy seeping out of me.

Sinking onto the couch, I lean back against the cushions and let my eyes close for a second. Within seconds, sleep creeps in, and I have to jerk myself back awake.

No. I can’t go to sleep yet.

Clearly, sitting is not a good idea. So I force my protesting body to get back up and I wander into the kitchen in search of something to give me a little energy. Some candy. Cookies. Something with sugar. As I eyeball the sparse contents of my tiny pantry, I hit Matt’s name and wait for the call to go through.

Before the first ring finishes, he picks up. “Isla? Are you home?”

His deep voice wraps around me, a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. Some of the tension drains from my body. My lips lift as I reply, “Yeah. I just got home.”

A relieved sigh gusts across the line. “Good.” He pauses. “And is everything okay? The apartment looks the same as you left it?”

“Yes.” Turning away from the cabinet, I scan the kitchen. “Everything looks fine. Just?—”

My heart stops.

Icy fear trickles down my back.

It’s not the same. Not quite.

If I weren’t paying attention, I might not have noticed.

But the little organizer on the counter that I use to sort my mail doesn’t look the same as it did this morning.

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