Page 35 of The Night Shift

My eyes snap open.

The keypad. The front door opens. Footsteps. Everything inside me shatters.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Moving as noiselessly and swiftly as one can, I jump off the bed and slink into the bathroom. I step inside the bathtub and hide behind the dark blue opaque shower curtain.

Two minutes later, the bathroom door swings open and Holly steps inside, mindlessly humming a tune I don’t recognize.

I’m a fucking idiot! Why didn’t I track her location before deciding to lounge in her fucking bedroom? In my defence, I really thought it’d take her longer to bury the body. I should have never underestimated her. If I get caught, it’s going to be so goddamn embarrassing. She’s going to think I’m some kindof amateur. I don’t dare move. Not a single muscle. I just stand there with my back against the tiled wall and draw in little sips of air. She turns on the sink and starts washing her face, lathering for what feels like hours before rinsing.

And then a terrifying thought hits me: What if she wants to take a shower?

Fuck. My.Life.

Of course, she’s going to want to take a shower! She just got home after a gruesome night shift, a murder, and the disposal of some dipshit’s body.Of fucking course, she’s going to want to take a shower, you arsehole!

What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of this? Maybe I can sweet talk my way out of this. I’m good at that. If I play my cards right, we might even end up taking a shower together. No, that seems a bit far-fetched. Focus!

My thoughts cut short when the sink turns off, and without yanking the curtain aside, she slides in her hand and turns on the shower.

Water. All over my fucking clothes.

No, this is great. Absolutely fucking splendid.

She grabs a plastic bag from underneath the sink and starts slipping out of her jeans. Then her top. I’m unable to help myself. I gently slide the curtain aside — just a little. Just enough for me to see her better. To watch. She’s wearing a matching set. A lace purple bra and underwear. I like it. I get a full view of her ass when she bends down to stuff the clothes inside a plastic bag. My cock hardens. Fuck, this woman is dangerous. So fucking dangerous. I want her so bad. The more I look at her, the more the sight satisfies me. Watching Holly is like eating or drinking. Breathing. It’s second nature to me. I can’t live without it. I have to get out of here. I hear a noise.

I don’t move an inch as Holly pokes her head out the bathroom door. “Hello?” she calls out. “Who’s there?”

She takes her scalpel and phone, and steps outside, walking down the hallway and into the kitchen. A few more seconds pass, and I hear her pour herself a glass of water. My heart is pounding. Is she drinking from the same glass? Is her mouth touching the same spot as mine was? The possibility makes me smile.For fuck’s sake, focus!

I have to get out.Now. How? Her phone! She took her phone with her. I grab mine from my back pocket and call her. It rings once. Twice. Three times —

“Hello?”

God, how I’ve missed that voice. “Holly?” I whisper. “Is that you?”

There’s a brief pause before she replies, “No, it’s the Queen of England. What the fuck kind of a question is that?Youcalledme.”

I try not to laugh, but it’s all in vain.Sassy Hollyis hilarious. “Just checking, love.”

“What do you want?”

Very carefully, I step out of the bathtub, one foot at a time. “What are you wearing?” I wait by the bathroom door, hoping —prayingshe doesn’t return.

“Your great grandmother’s wedding thong,” she says.

“Hot.”

“Whatdo you want, Carter?”

“What do you mean, what do I want? Can’t I just call a fellow colleague for some late-night chit-chat?” My clothes are dripping wet. There’s water all over the bathroom floor. She’s going to know someone was here.

“It’s four in the morning.”

I check the time. “Three fifty-two, actually. What are you doing up so late?”