Page 23 of Somebody's Watching Me
He hit send, and shot off a follow-up message, knowing her as he did.
Do not get involved.
Hoping she listened, Rowan checked the response time coming in from Port Michaelson PD. Their estimates said they were roughly twenty minutes from the house, while he was a good thirty minutes out. Samuel was close, and as soon as Rowan hit theALLAlert in the next few seconds, Jamison’s brother would receive a message on his phone.
The intruders would receive a message, too. Once initiated, the system would go into a dizzying fit of lights and blaring sirens. Created to terrify anyone who dared approach, the closer these people came to the house, the better.
The trio gathered at the front door security box, but his system held, denying their correct passcodes. On the second floor, a light in Annabeth’s room flared to life.
Rowan hovered his mouse over theALLAlert, giving Annabeth time to get downstairs and warn Simone. He didn’t want to scare his future mother-in-law out of bed in the middle of the night. She already didn’t like him.
Checking the patio feed, he saw Jamison was still sound asleep. That was probably a good thing. If she knew there were reporters sneaking around, she would freak out on them.
A pissed off Jamison Fairweather was not somethinganyone needed right now.
One of the men on the porch broke from the group to peer through the front parlor windows. Rowan zoomed in to get a better look, and when the man lifted his hand to place on the glass, the distinct shape of a gun appeared.
“Shit.”
Rowan hit theALLalert, and the scene whited out for a moment as the camera recalibrated to adjust to the brightness of the security lights. Sirens wailed out of every speaker, filling the silence of his condo. He should call Samuel and give him the details on what was going down before the man ran headfirst into the situation.
But instead, he called someone else. Someone who was just as close and would keep a level head.
At least, he hoped.
Chapter 6
Waking to the sounds of the apocalypse raining down on her, Jamison shot upright. Floodlights flashed, and the high-pitched shrill of an alarm came from every direction.
“What the hell?”
She held a hand up to block out the barrage of lights, and through the pandemonium, a muffled voice shouted her name. “Back door, Jamison!”
Rowan.
Woozy from the wine, she stood. The soul crushing devastation of the weekend had finally gobbled her up somewhere around midnight, and she had come outside for some fresh air and to have a nice little breakdown by the pool.
“Jamison!” Rowan shouted from a camera by the kitchen window. “Go to the back door, and I’ll release the lockdown long enough for you to get in.”
“What’s happening?”
“Move, Jamison!”
The urgency in his voice sent her running. Rowan wasn’t the type to overreact.
Halfway to the door, her toe caught a paver, and she stumbled but didn’t fall. Since that awful day with Toby, she had worked on things like strength and agility, just as Annabeth did. They were determined never to be helpless victims again.
Straightening, she continued around the pool, making it to within a few feet of Abe’s ramp. The system, doing a damn good job of what it was created to do, screeched and flashed, assaulting her senses.
So, when her ears caught the distinct click of a gun cocking, she halted more in surprise than anything else.
Three people.
Two men.
One woman.
Her hands raised slowly in surrender as she took inventory of the trespassers approaching from the side of the house. The first man looked to be about Samuel’s height—a good six foot five —with a stocky build and wearing black on black with a ski mask like the other two.
