Page 22 of Daddy's Naughty Realtor

Jeremy: Just landed a new waterfront property. Thought of you immediately. Dinner to discuss?

Business. Safe. Professional. I could say yes to that or, I could keep myself distanced and refer him to a colleague.Before I can respond, I hear a noise from the back of the house. There’s a thump, then the sound of breaking glass. My client is still out front, taking a call.

I should go get him. Call the police. Follow protocols.

Instead, I slip my phone into my pocket and move toward the sound, curiosity overriding caution. The property has been empty for months; probably just a raccoon or squirrel that found its way in.

The back door is ajar, swinging slightly in the breeze. I don't remember leaving it open. In fact, I'm certain I locked it when we arrived.

A chill runs down my spine. The break-in at the Richardson place flashes through my mind. But that was different. That was a high-value property with expensive art. This place is empty, staged with rental furniture.

Still, I should be careful. I pull out my phone to call the police, but there's no signal. Just my luck.

I hesitate at the threshold of the sunroom where the noise came from. The smart thing would be to go back to the front, get my client, leave, report this. But if it's just an animal, I'll look foolish. And if it's not…

Be brave,I tell myself, and step into the room.It’s just a raccoon.It wouldn’t be the first time.

The glass coffee table is shattered, shards scattered across the polished floor. A picture frame has fallen from the wall. But no animal, no intruder that I can see.

I exhale slowly, relief washing through me. Just the wind, probably. The door wasn't latched properly, it blew open, knocked things over. I’d locked it because the owner said it had a habit of blowing open if it wasn’t secured… I must not have secured the deadbolt.

As I turn to go back to the front of the house, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. It’s too large to be an animal. My heart leaps into my throat as a figure steps out from behind the curtains. A man in dark clothing, his face obscured by a ski mask.

I freeze, terror rooting me to the spot. He's between me and the door. Between me and safety.

"Don't scream," he says, his voice muffled by the mask. "Give me your purse, your jewelry, your phone and everything you've got."

My mouth is too dry to scream even if I wanted to. I fumble for my phone, but my hands are shaking so badly I drop it. It skitters across the floor, stopping at the intruder's feet.

He bends to pick it up, and as he does, I see something glinting at his waistband. I can’t tell if it’s a knife or a gun, I can't tell which. Doesn't matter. Either one could kill me.

"Jewelry too," he demands. "That watch looks expensive."

I unfasten my watch with trembling fingers, along with the diamond studs in my ears, both gifts to myself after closing major deals. Symbols of my independence, my success. I didn’t need a man to buy me jewelry or flowers. I could purchase them myself. I’m not feeling very independent right now.

"Take them," I say, voice barely a whisper. "Take everything, just please don't hurt me."

He snatches the items from my outstretched hand, then gestures toward the rear of the house. "Now move. Into the bedroom."

Ice floods my veins. The bedroom. No. Whatever he's planning, I'm not making it easier for him.

"My client is right outside," I lie, fighting to keep my voice steady. "He'll be coming in any second. He's a Marine veteran."

The intruder hesitates, glancing toward the front of the house.

"I said move," he repeats, but there's uncertainty in his voice now.

I take a step back, then another, edging toward the broken window. If I can get outside, I can scream, run, and find help. If I get close enough, maybe I can scream before he has a chance to pull whatever weapon I saw glittering.

He lunges forward suddenly, grabbing my arm with bruising force. I react instinctively, driving my knee up between his legs, with every ounce of strength I possess. Thank God for those self-defense classes Sydney insisted we take together. We’d practiced and practiced until the movement became muscle memory… for times like these.

He doubles over with a howl of pain, releasing me. I don't wait. I turn and run, scrambling through the broken doors into the backyard.

"Help!" I scream, my voice finally finding its power. "Someone help!"

I hear him behind me, cursing, stumbling in pursuit. I run faster than I've ever run in my life, my heels sinking into the soft lawn, slowing me down. I kick them off without stopping, bare feet flying over grass, then gravel, then concrete as I reach the side of the house.

I round the corner to the front yard, still screaming, and nearly collide with my client and impossibly, miraculously… Jeremy.

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