Page 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kinley woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. She lay still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the early morning that filtered through the window. She took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

The faint headache that had become her constant companion pulsed lightly, but she ignored it as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Pulling on her robe, she moved toward the stairs, the wooden floorboards creaking softly under her feet.

The memory of the previous morning flashed in her mind, and her skin prickled with apprehension. She descended the stairs slowly, her muscles like lead as she drew closer to kitchen. When she reached the doorway, her heart dropped to the floor and icy dread flooded every cell of her body.

The back door was wide open. Again.

Kinley froze, her breath catching in her throat. A dizzying wave of fear washed over her, and she stretched out a hand, grabbing onto the doorframe to balance herself.

What was happening here?

Her gaze skimmed the kitchen and dining room, but everything was quiet and still. As she stepped forward to close the door, she couldn’t help the niggle of unease that crept up her spine. She peeked out into the yard, half-expecting to see someone watching her.

It was empty.

Kinley closed the door, then turned the lock with a trembling hand. A rush of air left her lungs as she closed her eyes and tipped her head against the door, the glass panes cool against her overheated skin.

She stood there for a long moment, her mind a blank void. She hadn’t left it unlocked last night—and she most certainly hadn’t forgotten to close the door after she’d returned from Cam’s.

So what the hell was going on? There had to be a rational explanation.

Jerking upright, Kinley grabbed the handle and twisted, then yanked the door open. It swung open easily, and she studied the frame. Nothing was broken, and the striker plate appeared to be fine. She slowly closed the door, watching carefully for any spots where the door might be catching the frame and preventing it from closing the whole way. It shut easily enough, and when she turned the lock, it caught easily as it slipped into place.

What the hell? Furious, she gave the lock a vicious twist and jerked the door open again. She stepped outside and closed the door once more, then studied it from the outside. She ran her fingers around the seal, but everything appeared to be in working order. She pressed a hand to the door, testing it, but it refused to budge.

Goosebumps sprouted over her flesh despite the warmth of the morning sun washing over her. Her gaze flitted down to the doorhandles, and she inspected the keyhole. No scratches, no damage…

What was going on?

Kinley dropped back a step and ran a hand through her hair. Staring at the door, she dragged in a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. Everything looked fine. Nothing could explain why the door had been open—again.

Maybe she really was losing her mind, because there was definitely nothing wrong with the door or the lock.

Deeply unsettled, she made her way back inside, locking the door behind her and double-checking to make sure it was secure. Drifting toward the counter, she brewed a sup of coffee on autopilot, her gaze occasionally darting across the room to the door.

The familiar scent of coffee did little to soothe her this morning, and she briskly ran her hands over her arms to dispel the chill that seemed to have settled in her bones. The coffee pot beeped as it finished its cycle, and she gratefully grabbed up the mug, reveling in the heat that emanated from the porcelain. Forgoing her usual sugar and milk, she lifted the mug to her lips and sipped, her hands shaking slightly.

Something was very wrong. But the question was—was it the house… Or her?

Disturbed, Kinley dropped into a chair at the small breakfast table, her eyes glued to the door just a few feet away. There had to be a logical explanation for whatever was happening here. Maybe there was a draft, a malfunction in the lock, something she hadn’t considered. The house was old; maybe the wood swelled, or?—

A sudden sharp knock at the front door startled her, causing her to jump. The coffee sloshed precariously over the rim, splattering her skin. She sucked in a breath at the sudden burning sensation and let out a swift curse. “Damn it!”

Her attention splintered and her heart leaped into her throat. For a moment, she was caught off guard, but then she remembered—the carpet installers were scheduled to arrive today. She quickly set her mug down and hurried toward the front door, wiping her hand on her robe.

She peeked through the side window and saw two workmen standing on her front porch. A large white van was parked in the driveway, the home improvement logo printed on the side. She grabbed the doorhandle then froze, her cheeks flaring with heat when she realized she was still clad in her pajamas.

“Just a minute!” she called through the door, then bolted upstairs, yanking off her robe as she moved. She grabbed the closest things at hand and pulled them on, stumbling as she hurriedly stepped into a pair of shorts. Tugging a tank top into place, she ran a hand through her hair to restore some semblance of propriety, then headed back downstairs.

"Good morning," she greeted the men breathlessly as she swung the door open. "Come on in."

“Good morning, miss.”

The installers nodded and stepped inside. One of the men tipped his head her way. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have you check this over and make sure everything looks good.”

He extended a clipboard her way, and the sight of it momentarily took her breath away. Barely a week ago, Joel had stood right there in that very spot, clipboard in hand... Right before he’d wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.

Her throat closed up and black spots danced before her eyes. Her hands clenched into tight fists as she swallowed hard, fighting to push the memories away. It was over; he was gone. She couldn’t continue to allow one isolated incident to control her life.

She dragged much-needed oxygen into her lungs and forced a smile to her lips. “Of course. Thanks for coming.”

She glanced over the details, then nodded and passed the paperwork back to him. “Everything looks good. Feel free to move anything you need," she said, gesturing to the furniture.

The men set to work, efficiently moving the furniture to clear the space, and Kinley drifted back toward the kitchen. She tried to keep herself busy, wiping down counters and organizing cupboards, but her mind kept wandering back to the door that had been left open not once, but twice now.

Kinley rested her elbows on the counter and stared out the window over the sink, her mind racing. She needed to do something, needed to feel safe in her own home again. And her first order of business was to replace the existing locks—just in case.

Pulling a pen and notepad from a kitchen drawer, she dropped into a chair at the table and began a list. The lock on the front door had been there since she moved in, and the once shiny brass was now dull and scratched. She added door knobs and deadbolts for both doors to her list, then pushed from the chair and turned her attention to the windows.

She methodically checked each one, beginning with the kitchen. She slid the windows open and shut, testing the latches to make sure they engaged properly. In the laundry room, she tightened a loose latch. Satisfied with the windows, she moved on to the last part of her inspection—the basement.

Kinley descended the stairs to the basement, the cool, damp air assaulting her as she approached the bottom. It was at least ten degrees cooler down here, and a shiver moved down her spine as she crossed the room toward the exterior door.

The thick slab of wood stood out against the cinder block walls. Testing the knob and deadbolt, she found them both securely locked. The doorknob appeared to be an older style she hadn’t seen in years. She vaguely remembered her grandparents having the skeleton key-style locks on their home.

She never came in through the basement since it was built into the ground, originally part of an old storm shelter. The Bradfords must not have used it either, because even the realtor didn’t have the key when Kinley had purchased the house. She briefly considered tackling the locks on the basement door but decided against it for the time being. The ancient door had held up for decades; it could wait a little longer.

She returned upstairs feeling a bit more at ease. She glanced at her list, mentally planning a trip to the store. The house felt more secure already, though the new locks would be the final touch. She placed her notepad on the counter with a smile, satisfied with her morning's work.

A few hours later, one of the installers called out to her. "Miss? We’re all done!"

“Thanks,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. "It looks amazing."

The installers nodded, pleased with her reaction. They gathered their tools and headed out, leaving Kinley alone once more. She sank into the sofa, toes curling into the soft, clean carpet. This was the fresh start she needed.

Though the house still held memories of the past, it was now ready for a new chapter. And so was she.