Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
The air around me picked up, the breeze unseasonably cold.
With a shiver, I beelined for the front door, digging my key from my purse while clumsily trying to hold my shotgun. Something was out there watching me—I could feel it—but I wasn’t about to run around in the dark, looking for whatever wild animal was lurking. ’Sides, the barn was locked up tight. The horses would be fine.
I rushed inside and deadbolted the door behind me. I leaned Betsy against the wall, grabbed my phone from my purse, and pulled up the security app. It covered the front gate and the entirety of the back of the main house. The Carlins had installed it in case any of the horses ever got out of the stable. The app sent a text to alert if there was movement.
The app showed nothing except Jimmie and me driving in.
This was just like the past few weeks. Something kept spooking the horses at night, but the cameras were never triggered.
I blew out a breath. “Get it together, Masie. Probably just a big ol’ owl.”
I grabbed my purse and Betsy and went to the kitchen, which was really just part of the great room—a twenty-by-twenty space with steep pine ceilings. The room also served as my dining room and living area. I pretty much did everything in here except sleep or read. My books were piled on a shelf next to my bed since that was where I loved to read.
I flipped on the lights and set Betsy on the kitchen island, which served as my breakfast bar.
“Hello, Masie,” said a deep voice behind me.
I froze, fear flooding my body. My eyes slowly gravitated toward Betsy resting to my left on the white tiles. I suddenly realized that the room felt ice cold. He’d come in through the window.
“Do not bother with the shotgun, Masie.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you want?” I asked, trying to figure out exactly where he was in the living room behind me so I could grab the shotgun and point it at him with one fluid motion. I’d just been attacked last night because I’d underestimated a psychopath. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
“You did not sound convinced on the phone,” he said.
He was to my left. “About?”
“You are not to discuss anything with the police regarding the fate of the men from last night.”
“If you didn’t want me to say anything, then why tell me?” I asked, preparing to reach for Betsy.
Suddenly, a shadow swept past me, and Betsy was gone.
Fuck. I swiveled on my heel, finding his large frame towering over my five-five body. With wide, terror-filled eyes, I took in the monster standing less than two feet away. He was six three or four, maybe, with shoulder-length, shiny black hair that reminded me of obsidian. His eyes were pale, somewhere between ice blue and a moss green.
I said that because his irises kept shifting colors under the light, like opals. His pronounced cheekbones and angular jawline gave his face an air of refinement, yet nothing about him was delicate.
Just the opposite.
Especially the clearly defined swells of muscled arms beneath his tailored black dress shirt. Or maybe it was that I knew he’d just killed eight men and somehow taken my shotgun.
“Who are you?” I stammered.
With a calm expression, he tilted his head, studying me with a wicked gleam in his iridescent eyes.
I had the distinct impression he was contemplating whether or not to attack me.
I quickly reached for the drawer beside me and grabbed a set of kitchen scissors. “I’ll fuck you up if you come anywhere near me, asshole.” I hated speaking that way, but it had to be done. He had to know I was serious.
I jabbed at the air between us.
Like a switch had been thrown in his head, he smiled. Not sadistically, cruelly, or vindictively, like Tall Guy had, but warmly. “You really think I am here to hurt you?”
“You broke into my house.” I jabbed the scissors at the air again.
“True.” He turned, strolled to the living room, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. He sat on my brown leather sofa and leaned back, making himself at home.
What the hell?
Heart racing and adrenaline on max, I stood frozen in the kitchen, unsure what to do next. Run? Go for a better weapon?
Call for help, moron!
My phone was sitting inside my purse on the counter, so I grabbed it and hit the emergency feature.
“Come. Sit, Masie. Let us relax,” he said, just as the nine-one-one operator came on the line.
“Hello?” I said. “I need the police. There’s a man in my house.”
“Stay on the line, ma’am,” she said calmly. “We’ll have someone to your house…” The operator paused. “As soon as possible.”
She probably noticed my location and knew I was screwed. It would take twenty minutes, fifteen at best, for a deputy to arrive.