Page 32 of Paranoid

“And I was worried about you. Wanted you to hear it from me and so . . . I let myself in.”

“You let yourself . . . you mean, you ‘let yourself in’ as into the house?” she asked, stunned. “My house?”

“Yeah.”

She couldn’t believe it. “Really? You knew I wasn’t here and you just walked right in? How?” But she already got it. He had a key. She’d never changed the locks because if he needed to get in for the kids . . . oh, hell. “Wow, Cade. You . . . you can’t just come busting into my home. You know that.”

“I said I was worried. One of your classmates was dead, probably murdered on the anniversary of your brother’s death, there was the article in the newspaper, and . . .”

“And you think I’m so . . . mentally unstable, so crazy, I couldn’t deal with it,” she charged, her temper skyrocketing.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you thought!” she spat out with more venom than she’d expected. Calm down. Don’t add fuel to the fire.

“You don’t know what I thought, but I can tell that you’re just fine.”

“That’s right. I am,” she snapped, then caught herself and said, “No . . . I mean, I’m sorry. Overreacting. You’re right; everything today is . . . shocking. Terrible. Ramped up because of the day, probably.” With difficulty she tamped down the fury that had spurted through her veins. He was just trying to help. And Violet was dead. Killed. Calmer, she said, “I’m surprised you came into the house. That’s all. We had a deal, right? Only if there was an emergency.”

“And your friend’s death doesn’t qualify?”

She wasn’t going to be baited. “Look, you can’t come in here, Cade. Unless you think there’s a danger to the kids. Got it? We’re divorced.”

“I know.”

She glanced around the room with the new knowledge that he’d been in here. Maybe looking at her phone and computer and God knew what else. Taking the phone with her, she made her way along the short hallway to the kids’ rooms and the stairs. Had he gone up to her bedroom? The room under the eaves they’d once shared.

She was more in control now, her voice low and cold and steady. “This is my space, Cade. Mine and the kids’. One I carved out when you . . . when you left, so you can’t just walk in here uninvited.” She pushed her hair from her eyes with her free hand.

Her comment was met with silence and she closed her eyes for a second. Counted backward, mentally ticking off her heartbeats as she controlled herself.

“I was just worried,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “That’s all. I know this is a tough day for you, and then on top of it, Mercedes writes that story, the first of a series about Luke, and Violet Sperry dies. Both were friends of yours.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Look . . . I don’t want to fight.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Well, I was pissed,” she admitted. “We agreed to have boundaries.”

“I was concerned, Rach, that’s all. But I guess I shouldn’t have been. You can obviously handle this and whatever else comes your way.” With that, he hung up, the disconnect a distinct click in her ear.

You’re an idiot, that horrid voice reminded her. He’s the kids’ father; he was concerned, that’s all. You don’t have to always act like a damned shrew.

“Wounded party,” she said aloud, arguing.

Fine. Then victim.

“No!”

So we’re back to crazy person whose temper controls her tongue?

“Oh, shut up!” she said aloud and stormed back to the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator, eyed the bottle of wine, and slammed the door shut. She still had a couple of hours before she picked up the kids, and then later, she was off to Lila’s for the damned meeting.

Lila.

“Ex-Stepmommy Dearest and ex-BFF all rolled into one.” She shook her head. “Awesome.”

Pull yourself together; let it all go. For God’s sake: Violet’s dead. Possibly murdered! Remember: It was Violet’s testim