Page 22 of Guarded from Treachery

Instead of the neat stacks I always make, the envelopes are arranged haphazardly. Rather than the utility bill sitting on top where I left it, my car loan statement is in its place.

Heart fluttering in frantic wingbeats, I spin in a circle, inspecting the room again.

And there. By the sink where I keep my supplements and birth control. The multivitamin is swapped with the B12, and the probiotic is where the magnesium should be.

Tiny differences. Ones that could easily be ignored or rationalized away.

But I didn’t leave them that way. I’m sure of it.

I race back into the living room as panic expands in my chest.

Dimly, I hear Matt ask, “Isla? Are you okay?”

Like I’m the unwitting star in a horror movie, more small differences reveal themselves in slow motion.

On the coffee table, my laptop is open instead of shut. And I know I always,alwaysclose it when I’m done, a holdover from the time in college when I knocked my laptop over and the screen shattered when it hit the ground.

Scarcely breathing, I make my way into my bedroom. As I inspect my dresser top carefully, a whimper works its way up my throat. The photos of me and Rory back in college aren’t in the neat line I always leave them in. They’re crooked. And one of them—the photo from our graduation—has a smudge of dirt on the frame that I’m positive wasn’t there before.

“Isla!” More frantic now, Matt’s voice erupts through my phone. “What’s wrong?”

But I can’t speak. The terror is too great.

Oh, God. My bed. Why is the comforter crumpled on one side? Did someone sit there?

Another whimper squeezes out.

“Isla!” It’s a roar now. “I’m calling 911 right now if you don’t answer me!”

Breaking free of my paralysis, I bolt for the bathroom. Slam the door shut and lock it. Then I sink to the floor with my back against the door and lift the phone to my ear with a trembling hand. “Matt.”

My voice sounds so small. Weak. Afraid.

“Isla, what’s wrong?” Worry strains his voice. “Are you hurt? Sick? What happened?”

“Someone… someone was in my apartment.”

“What?”

“I… I couldn’t tell at first. But little things are different. My mail. My laptop. The photos on my dresser. I’m not imagining it. They’re not how I left them. I know it.” A choked sob escapes. “My alarm didn’t go off. I would have seen?—”

“Where are you now?”

“In the bathroom. With the door locked.”

Matt sucks in a breath. There’s a commanding note to his tone as he says, “Okay. Stay where you are. Call 911. Don’t leave the bathroom until you have confirmation with the dispatcher that the police are outside.”

“They won’t believe me, Matt. They—” My voice cracks. “I barely noticed. And they already think I’m crazy. They’ll just leave and I’ll be alone here and what if this person breaks in again?”

“Dammit.” He pauses. In the background, there’s a soft clicking sound. “Alright. Here’s what we’ll do. You still need to call the police. If nothing else, to have a record of this. And I’m coming to Dallas now. In the meantime, I’m going to find someone to come stay with you.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” Now it sounds like he’s moving. A door closes. Keys jingle. “Just hang on. I’m figuring this out.”

Less than thirty seconds later, he says, “Okay. I have a friend who’s in Dallas right now visiting his sister. I used to train with him at Fort Campbell. His name is Hawk, and he’s a former Green Beret, too. At this time of night, he can be at your house in under half an hour. And he’ll stay with you until I get there.”

“Are you sure?” My voice wobbles. I sniff against impending tears. “It’s the middle of the night. And it’s so far…”

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