After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 49

Thud!

The noise came from her living room.

She dropped the bottle. “Who’s there?” she called out immediately, then closed the refrigerator door, the kitchen once again cloaked in darkness.

No response.

But she felt a presence.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.

Her throat was dry and hot.

Stealthily she let her fingers crawl across the counter top until she found the block holding her knives. Her heart was in her throat as she withdrew a long blade and then noiselessly moved from the kitchen to the archway leading to the living area.

The apartment was still.

Without the air from the air conditioner, all Cassie could hear was the crazy knocking of her heart accompanied by her own shallow breathing. But someone was inside, she knew it.

Her fingers clamped around the knife’s hilt so tightly that they began to ache. She gazed over the counter, into the darkened living room and thought she spied movement, a darker shadow in the surrounding umbra.

She hardly dared breathe.

Where was her cell phone?

She needed to call 9-1-1.

She flashed on the cell hooked to her charger it on the night stand in her bedroom.

Too far. She’d have to pass by the living area again and now the intruder knew she was onto him.

Panic rose. Who was inside? What did he want? Why was he here?

Think, Cassie, think!

Get out. Get out, now!

If she could just get around the corner of the kitchen, to the front hall where she could hit the switch and race out the door . . . Oh, God, were those eyes staring back at her, reflecting the barest of light filtering in from the living room window? She didn’t wait to find out.

Adrenaline firing her blood, she tore around the refrigerator, her feet landing on the tile of the small entry. Clutching the butcher knife in one hand, she flipped on the lights in the foyer with the other, and opened the door.

The unlocked door. She knew she’d thrown the bolt before heading to bed. Oh, God, oh, God, oh God!

The ceiling fixtures flashed on. Bright light nearly blinded her. Holding the knife in front of her with both hands, she fell back a step onto the porch but saw no one in the apartment. No malicious figure appeared. No killer with murderous intent showed himself. For a second she thought she’d imagined it all, that her nightmare had confused her.

So here she was, standing on her porch, butcher knife in hand feeling like a complete idiot and—

She saw the eyes, peering out of the open closet door. Unblinking. Near the floor. Glaring.

Her heart stopped as she tried to imagine what it was.

An animal?

“SSSSssss,” the black creature hissed, back arching, teeth showing.

The cat?

Quick as a lightning bolt, the black fur ball shot by her.

She almost laughed. How ludicrous that she was standing on her front porch in her night shirt, a huge knife clutched in her hands, when all her fears had been about a stupid cat.

Oh, for the love of St. Peter. Really? An animal of less than twenty pounds had instilled the fear of God in her? Caused her to arm herself? Sent her into panic mode and probably shaved a year off her life?

You are crazy, Cassie!

Sagging against the doorjamb, noticing the sky lightening to the east, she was berating herself for being such a fool when she remembered that she’d locked her apartment. When she’d gone out earlier in the day, and then before she’d turned in for the night. She recalled throwing the dead bolt.

So how had the neighbor’s cat ended up inside?

Gooseflesh rose on her arms.

A new fear slithered through her as she examined the door and found no forced entry. But the cat had gotten in somehow . . .

It probably snuck in behind you when you weren’t looking, then it hid in a dark corner until the sound of the tree branch woke you up and—

Who was she kidding? The cat had not sneaked unnoticed into the apartment and the door had been locked.

She started to pull the door shut when she heard a car’s engine start about a block away from the house.

Coincidence?

Or had someone been watching?

Her throat turned to sand as the car passed on the street in front of the main house, headlights illuminating the drive for a second as it passed.

Had someone been inside her home?

Had the cat followed whoever it was inside?

If so, how did they get in?

Her mind was racing, trying to figure it out, trying to stay rational, when all of her instincts were to panic. Inside the apartment again, she threw the deadbolt then placed a chair under the door knob and checked all the windows. Shut tight and latched. There was no back door, just the one entrance to her unit. So how . . . ?