Page 6

six

I swear I hear a husky, rolling chuckle from the person by the door as I slam to a stop at my counter, where I left my phone.

Only, as my hands and gaze skitter across the smooth, granite surface, I can’t seem to find it.

“I know I put it here…” I murmur, looking around and running my hands over the smooth surface again as if I’ve somehow missed it or it’s turned invisible.

I’m not crazy.

I know I put my phone here.

A low whistle, trilling like a bird, pulls my attention back to the man across the room, though I definitely want to focus on anything but him. Still, as my eyes connect with the black and red mask, he reaches into his pocket with the hand not holding the knife. His movements are smooth and easy; unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

But my heart plummets the instant he holds up my phone in front of himself, wiggling it at me in a tantalizing, taunting way.

Come get it, he seems to say. It’s right here.

Maybe if he didn’t have the knife, I’d try to catch him off guard and just run into him. At best, I could take him out and shock him into hitting the floor. At worst, I’d knock myself out instead and whatever is happening here goes even worse, even faster.

But the knife… My eyes drift down to where he holds it in his other gloved hand, and a shiver goes up my spine.

“What do you want?” I murmur softly, shifting along the edge of my counter with sideways steps. To my left, I can see the door to the patio out of the corner of my eye, and I think if desperation really sets in, I could ungracefully climb over my fence. Or I could scream for the help of my neighbors. At the very least, someone would hear me and come out.

Someone other than Patrice .

Before I even really give him a chance to answer, I whirl to face my counter, scooping up the clean plates in my hands. I throw one at him like a frisbee that he dodges, then I chuck the next like a knife. He curses at that, and his hand comes up to block his face so it shatters harmlessly on the floor.

I swear he starts to say something just as I throw the third plate, and this one actually manages to hit the edge of his mask. The impact causes him to jerk his face to the side, though he doesn’t fall or even stumble .

Taking advantage of his surprise, I whirl to face the patio door, flipping on the light switch with one hand and grabbing the handle with the other.

But neither action ends the way it should. I flick the patio switch on and off, on and off; yet no light illuminates the back of the house. It remains pitch black outside, just as the handle under my fingers doesn’t go anywhere.

“What…?” I murmur, looking down at it. It’s locked , I finally register, and though it should only take me a second to unlock it, the heavy boot steps on my floor indicate I really don’t have that long. I’m too afraid to take my chances with the door. Instead, I dart to the side with my heart pounding in my chest, and I grab the end table to slam into him as my brain works overtime to process the situation.

This time, he curses as I throw the furniture into him. When I realize he’s between me and both doors, I reach for the light switch in the hall and slide my hand downward in a jerky, sharp motion.

All the lights go off, save the TV, but given that it faded into sleep mode, it barely illuminates the couches in front of it, let alone the rest of the room and hall.

I dart into the short hallway, glad that all my doors are open. Somehow, I’ve given myself a few precious seconds, and I lurch through the open door to my guest room. I’m thrilled to not be wearing shoes, so my feet make no noise on the carpet under me as I make my way through the room. Using the illumination from the hall night light, I reach the closet and slip inside.

I pant silently with my eyes on the half-cracked open closet doors. Please don’t hear me , I beg. Closing the door a bit more, not making a sound, I press myself to the opposite wall behind the few jackets I’ve hung in here over the last few months.

My hands come up to cover my mouth, and I feel myself going a bit lightheaded as I work to control my breathing.

I can’t make a sound.

He’ll find me if I do.

My knees threaten to give out, and I sag against the wall with a soft exhale when I hear his slow, deliberate steps outside in the hallway. He turns, heading into the bathroom, though by the noise and the closing of my bathroom door a few seconds later, I’m assuming he’s come out.

“You know, little rabbit…” The voice from the phone sends a shudder down my spine, but I force myself to stay in place. In my view between the wooden slats, I can see him standing still, just outside the door of the guest room.

“There are only so many places you could be hiding from me.” He sounds almost conversational, like he isn’t holding a knife in his hand that occasionally catches any sliver of light it can. “And I can’t decide if I’m enjoying this game you’re creating, or if I’m getting impatient with you. Why don’t you come out now?” he muses, like he’s trying to appeal to my common sense. “It’ll be better for you if you do. I don’t think you want me to be impatient with you. But then again…” He leans back as if he’s gazing at the ceiling through the openings of his mask.

“I don’t think you want me to turn this into a game you can’t win, either.”

His words send a sharp shiver through my nerves and synapses, and my toes curl into the plush carpet under me. I won’t make a sound. I certainly won’t go out to him and make it easier for him to kill me.

There’s no way this man—who somehow figured out where I live from our stupid prank call—doesn’t plan on killing me tonight. I’m starting to think my karma isn’t good enough that he’ll do it fast, either.

It’s hard to see some of his movements with just the small light in the hall, but I do my best to keep my breathing soft and stay as still as I can.

I wish I knew how to make him go away.

But there are only so many rooms for him to check, and the man prowls into the room across the hall, my bedroom, to take his time looking for me in there.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, little rabbit…” His voice drifts out of the room, easily reaching my ears. “But it wasn’t this. Your room is so cozy. Your bed on the floor is like a cute little nest. So many pillows .” He clicks his tongue like he’s judging me. “No one here to cuddle with at night? I’m surprised you don’t have stuffed animals.”

Well, I do have a few, but they’re on my desk, not on my bed.

I hear him move around more, shifting things and making noises that prove to me he’s both looking for me but also trying to scare me out of hiding. Finally he leaves my bedroom, but as he does, he flicks on the switch that controls the small, warm lights strung over my walls and on the slanted ceiling over my bed in lieu of an overhead light.

“Oh well, isn’t that precious?” He chuckles. “I don’t know why you’re hiding.” He disappears down the hallway, heading toward the laundry room, only to take a few steps backward until he’s in front of the guest room.

Where I’m hiding.

“You wanted the attention.” His voice sounds a little different from how it did on the phone. Somehow sharper, with more of a dangerous humor. But the husky, velvet smooth voice is still enough to have me hanging on every word.

A sudden, sharp noise causes me to cringe, and it’s a close call that I don’t hit any of the clothes hanging in front of me. Refocusing on him, I see him sliding the tip of the blade along the white-washed wall, prompting a small surge of irrational irritation to flood my throat.

Why is he fucking up my wall?

“You called me,” he goes on, like I need to be reminded. “You called me, and you answered when I called you. Why do that, if you weren’t begging for my attention, hmm? It’s…” He stops and tilts his head, bringing one finger up to tap his mask as if he’s deep in thought.

“Kaira, right? Kaira McCabe? What is that, Kaira, Scottish?” God, I sort of wish he’d shut the hell up.

Gaelic, I bite back internally, unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes even considering how petrified I am. My whole body is vibrating with terror, and my fingers feel so cold I wonder if one can get frostbite from just being so scared.

“I’ll have to remember to ask you again when you feel like answering.” He moves to the small pile of boxes in the opposite corner, leaning forward over the lids to see if I’m hiding behind them. Then he goes to the desk and spares the half-open closet a look.

Just… a look.

But it’s enough to make my heart stop, to have me standing so perfectly, utterly still that I’m definitely not even breathing.

I want to scream.

I want to do something.

But all I can do is stand there, my eyes on his mask from behind the clothes in the shadows of my guest room closet. My ears feel overly keen as I make certain not to cause any kind of noise, and finally, after a few seconds which feel like they’ve been hours, the man drops his head and shakes it from side to side.

Then, wordlessly, he turns back to the hallway. My heart unclenches, the cage of ribs around it seeming to give up on some of their crushing pressure. I take a breath that I worry is too deep, too relieved, but he doesn’t stop. He disappears beyond the door, heading for what sounds like the laundry room at the end of the hall.

I have to go , I realize. He’ll know when he doesn’t find me in there that he’s missed me somewhere, and there’s no way he won’t check the closet next time. As soon as I can’t quite hear him anymore, I gently extricate myself from the clothes, and my feet once again are completely silent as I creep across the floor.

I can do this. I know now that my doors are locked—thanks to him—but all I have to do is make it to the front door before he notices me.

Halfway through the room, I pause again, just to make sure I still don’t hear him close. This is such an awful idea, but I don’t know what else to do. My steps quicken once more, and I’m planning my escape and all the ways I’ll scream and howl for help the moment I’ve thrown open my door.

There’s no way he’ll be able to get to me before someone hears, and I’m hoping the idea of being caught is enough to scare him off.

It has to be.

I’m so, so close to the doorway that I can literally reach out and brush the wood of the frame, causing my panic to give another small, infinitesimal inch.

I can do this .

Two more steps, then a hard left. I just have to make it to the front door that’s one more left from the hallway, but not very far at all.

I really have to be able to do this .

When I’m within one step of being in the hall, I feel my body tensing back up again. I know I’ll have to run like hell to get out of here, and I’m only going to have one shot?—

He appears in the doorway just as I’m there as well, and I swear I can feel his satisfaction and sense the grin behind the mask.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He laughs, and the sound is unkind and condescending. “Did you really think I didn’t know you were in that closet the moment I came into this room? Oh, you stupid little girl.” He lunges forward before I can do more than trip back, and his hand darts out, gloved fingers digging into my throat.

“Come on, Kaira. Let’s play the game you were too afraid to continue on the phone. Only, I think I’d like to make a few modifications for my benefit. I hope you don’t mind. I’m just”—he tilts his head again, and I think the move would be endearing on someone other than a masked probable-murderer—“ selfish that way.”