Page 58 of Paranoid

Was that a figure crouching or the arborvitae moving in the breeze? Every muscle in her body tensed. Did it straighten, hidden in the shadows as it was? Oh, God. For a millisecond she was certain she saw the silhouette of a man and Luke’s image flashed through her brain; Luke as he might have been had he lived . . .

“No!” she said aloud.

Get a grip.

There’s no one out there. No. One. What happened twenty years ago is over.

But the hairs on the back of her neck lifted and her skin prickled and her heart began to pound. The image wavered, then disappeared—a shadow, a puff of smoke, nothing more.

It isn’t Luke. It isn’t Luke’s ghost. It’s your own damned mind conjuring images that don’t exist!

She bit her lip and saw no movement, heard nothing but the deep rumble in Reno’s throat.

Snapping the blinds closed, she said, “It’s okay,” to the dog, who hadn’t let down his guard. Reno whined a bit and still stared at the window. But it could have been anything that had caught the dog’s attention: a squirrel, or the neighbor’s cat, even a skunk or raccoon.

Or nothing at all.

“We’re fine,” she said and walked into the bathroom, where she leaned over the basin and splashed cold water on her face.

“There’s nothing out there,” she said, lifting her head to stare at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. “Nothing!” Her imagination was just running wild. That was all. “Pull it all together.” But the pale image staring back at her, water running down its cheeks and chin, looked scared as hell. “You can’t do this,” she warned the woman in the mirror. “You’re a mother. A single mother who needs a job. You cannot fall apart.”

She gripped the edges of the sink and, closing her eyes, concentrated on her breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

When she felt calmer, her rational mind taking over, she returned to the bedroom and opened the blinds again.

The yard was empty.

The dog now nuzzling his bed in the corner before curling into it.

Everything was back to normal.

But the man outside, the ghost . . .

“Oh, for the love of God, Luke is not a ghost!” she muttered, angry at herself. This was insane. She was just stressed about the kids, about not having a job, about the anniversary of Luke’s death, about the articles in the paper, about trying to get along with her ex, about every damned thing.

Get a frickin’ grip!

She let out a breath as she walked into the office, nervously peered through the front window to see the street was empty. “Good.” Taking a deep breath, she let her gaze travel to her computer, open to Xander Vale’s Facebook page. The big man-child was still staring at her. “Stay away from my daughter,” she said and then heard herself. Dear God, when had she become her own mother?

Wow. She wiped the remaining drops of wine with a clean tissue, wadded it, then tossed it in the trash. Then she closed down her search of Vale, making sure it was erased from her browsing history.

Just in case.

The dog began to make a racket again as she walked back into the bedroom, where Reno was on his back legs, trying to peer through the blinds. “Enough! Reno, down!” she ordered as her phone began to chime and vibrate on her nightstand.

Immediately, she thought something had happened with the kids. Who else would be trying to reach her, as it was nearly midnight?

She glanced down at the screen and noted it wasn’t Cade’s number that flashed on the display. In fact, it wasn’t any number she recognized.

The text was a simple message, three little words. Yet they had the power to send a chill down her spine.