Page 17 of Callum
One of the French doors was ajar.
The fine hairs on her arms stood on end. Had she done that?
Slowly, she moved into the room, scanning the space, every corner and crevice. Then her gaze shifted to the connected bathroom. With even slower steps, she went inside. Her makeup, moisturizer and perfume were out, but that wasn’t unusual. She was often in such a rush she left things as they were.
“Fiona?”
Her attention dragged back to the call, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I got distracted for a second.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean, of course it is.” She swallowed to wet her suddenly dry throat, shaking off the unease. “I’ll, um, send you the details.”
“Sounds good.” He took a breath. “Yousureyou’re okay?” A deep, raspy concern filled his voice.
“Yes. Definitely. Thank you again, Callum. Talk soon.”
Once she’d hung up, her gaze moved to her French doors. She must have left them open. The only other explanation would be that someone was in here, but…
Her neck prickled.
No. That couldn’t be the case, because, well, it freaked her out too much.
Quickly, she crossed the room and stuck her head out to see the empty yard. See, no one was there. She tugged the door closed, and the lock made a loud click as she firmly turned it.
CHAPTER7
What the hell was she doing? Had she lost her damn mind? Well, she had to have, because normal people didn’t show up to the house of a man they barely knew, bag packed, ready to drive to a family wedding. It just didn’t happen.
Christ, she needed her head examined.
She glanced up at his home from inside her car, across the street. How long had she been sitting here? Five minutes? Ten? She needed to go in. But that would make this insane situation real.
She’d been waiting for Callum to call and tell her he’d changed his mind. That he wasn’t really going through with this. She’d never looked at her phone so much in her life. But nope, that call never came. Oh, he’d texted…to ask how she was doing. How work had been. What color suit he should wear.
More damn ticks to his name when she thought he’d already reached maximum capacity for perfectness.
Okay. Just do it, Fiona. Go inside.
With a quick, sharp breath, she climbed out of the car. She couldn’t stop the fast glance in either direction. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Glances over her shoulder. Checking and double-checking the locks on her home. She wasn’t usually a paranoid person…but strange things had been happening.
More sounds in her home. The feeling like someone was watching her.
The other day, she’d opened her drawer of T-shirts to find things looked like they’d been shifted around. Which was crazy, right? Apart from that day her French door was left ajar, her home was completely locked up.
She crossed the road, keys so firmly in her grasp they pressed painfully into her skin.
Her clothes looking messed with wasn’t the only odd occurrence. This morning, she’d searched and searched for her favorite red sweatshirt but couldn’t find it.
She was going crazy. Losing her goddamn mind. She must have taken the sweatshirt to work or just left it somewhere. Either that or it was under her bed or something, because things didn’t just up and disappear by themselves.
And then there were the text messages…
Yeah, she’d received more, each more vile and threatening than the last. Calling her a slut and a whore, and warning her to stay away from what wasn’t hers. She just needed to block the number and be done with it. Her name was never mentioned, so for all she knew, the texts were being sent to the wrong number.
With a quick shake of her head, she stopped in front of Callum’s door. She couldn’t think about any of that this weekend. She had a wedding to get through and a relationship to fake. That was going to take every ounce of her energy.
She lifted her hand to knock, but before her knuckles hit wood, the door opened—and her mouth went dry.
