Page 41 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
Oh, right. I have to stop being paranoid.
He stares down the hall like he’s braced for trouble. “Show me what’s out of place.”
Now that light filters through the open space in front of us, I see even more things that aren’t as I left them. “The shade in my kitchen window is drawn. I raise it every morning before I leave. My kettle should be on the back right burner, not the cooktop. I set it there as soon as I’m done making my morning tea.” Then I see something really alarming. “There’s a missing knife in my butcher block.”
Rush curses as he ushers me into the living room. “Anything besides the books been moved?”
“Those shutters have been closed, too.”
There are a few more things that have been messed with. Little things. Nothing destructive. Nothing threatening, but creepy all the same.
My bathroom is a similar story. The pink cami and boy shorts I wore to bed last night are missing from the hook behind the shower door. My towel has been moved, and I can almost picture someone touching it, sniffing it, thinking about me naked wrapped in it. I shudder.
“You okay?” Rush asks.
When I turn to him, his dark eyes hold me captive. They’re almost black. Intense. Somehow shiver-inducing and comforting at once. “As much as I can be. But my favorite scented lotion and a tube of red lipstick I sometimes wear are missing from my vanity.”
“Damn it. Duly noted. Let’s look in here.” He pulls me through the bathroom, into my bedroom. Shadows fill the corners where the light from my nightstand isn’t bright enough to reach, so I flip on the lights overhead.
I don’t see anyone hiding, and no one jumps out at me. But the drapes have been drawn, despite the fact I opened them this morning. They’re now flapping in the breeze.
“Th-the slider to the backyard is open.”
“Yep,” he growls. He’s already noticed—and he’s furious.
“It was closed five minutes ago.”
Rush gives me a grim nod. “Now we know when and where he exited your unit.”
Yes, and it’s obvious that if I hadn’t been so aware of my surroundings, I would have unwittingly put myself in the intruder’s clutches. God knows what would have happened then.
I grab Rush’s arm tighter as he slides my closet door open with his boot. At a glance, everything appears undisturbed. That’s a relief…until I look at my bed.
Rush wraps his arm around me. “He’s been under your covers.”
“Yes.” Clearly, someone else lay on my sheets, then inexpertly tried to make it again. The thought of a stranger in my bed, doing who knows what, makes me stumble with a wave of nausea.
Rush’s grip tightens, as if he’s lending me his strength. It works. I feel safer, more protected. But I’m also aware that I’m small comparatively, that I can’t match someone like him in size and strength. That if Rush wasn’t beside me now, I would have been completely alone to fend off this terrible intrusion. I hate being afraid and vulnerable to a potential stalker or rapist. But with Rush beside me, I don’t feel helpless. His presence makes me feel protected in a way I never have before, and that realization both comforts and unsettles me.
Swallowing back the sickening apprehension, I stare at my lingerie drawer like it’s a snake. Relief fills me when I hear a car cruising down the street before pulling up in my driveway, cutting short my time to discover what else my intruder displaced. I can’t bury my head in the sand forever, but at least I know that whoever invaded my home—my personal space—is no longer inside.
What about tonight, once everyone is gone?
“They’re here.” Rush settles his hand at the small of my back.
Despite all the upheaval and upset, I flash hot at his touch. “Yeah. I just need to look at one thing…”
I veer to my nightstand and inch open the drawer without touching the knob. My gun is still there, exactly where I left it. I breathe a sigh of relief.
At the slam of the car doors outside, Rush knees the drawer closed and leads me down the hall.
“Thanks for being here and helping,” I say.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I was here.”
I’m still not sure why he came, but there’s no time to ponder that. Instead, we meet the two officers in the driveway and exchange a few words. After a cursory search of the house that seemingly netted nothing unusual, they meander back out, ask a few questions, then shrug at one another.
Bottom line: since nothing was taken and there are no provable signs of a break-in that can’t be written off to my “forgetfulness,” there isn’t much they can do.
