Alone in the dark parlor, my eyes dart to the bathroom door located off the hallway to my left. I consider making a break for it — I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I have to pee worse than the time I got trapped in a hotel elevator for five straight hours and nearly used my purse as a urinal in front of several unwitting strangers — but before I have a chance, Mr. Macho strides back into the room, holstering his gun.
“All clear.”
My brows lift. “Obviously. They left as soon as they tied me up. If you’d given me a chance, I could’ve told you that. Would’ve saved you a walking tour of my house.”
He stares at me blankly, saying nothing.
I prattle on. “I mean, not that I’m an expert or anything… but I’m pretty positive bad guys generally don’t hang around after breaking and entering.” My head tilts. “Breaking and entering followed by abducting and duct taping, if we’re being specific.”
I expect him to laugh. Chuckle, even.
He doesn’t.
“Jeeze, tough crowd,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
He sighs, as though I’m profoundly annoying. “Ms. Hunt, I need you to tell me exactly what happened that led to your…” He pauses. “Abducting and duct taping, as it were.”
“Well, buster, first I needyouto tellmeexactly what led toyouclimbing throughmywindow and rescuing me.” I cross my arms over my chest and level him with a look. I wish I could make out his features clearly, but it’s still so dark in here. “I mean… Who the heck are you? How did you know I was here? Furthermore, how do I know you aren’t some psycho working with Righty and Lefty? Huh?”
“Righty and Lefty?” he mutters quizzically.
“Yep. I’d give you a pithy nickname too, but frankly I’ve run out of directions. Oh! I suppose you could be North or South… though I’m pretty sure the Kardashian clan has laid claimed to all of those.East? West?I can never remember. Pop culture isn’t my forte.”
His dark brows furrow. “Did you hit your head?”
“No!” Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize I may, in fact, be rambling. I blame it on the sleep deprivation. That, or an impending anxiety attack. It’s hard to say for certain. “Look, bucko, all I know is, one minute I’m walking up my front steps with a bag of groceries, the next I’m grabbed by two giant thugs and dragged into my own house kicking and screaming. Don’t believe me? Check the front walk. I’m sure it’s a shrine to my Farmers Market haul still scattered across the front stoop.” I shake my head. “Honestly, what a waste of perfectly good burrata cheese.”
“Ms. Hunt—”
“And do you know how long it takes to find sixperfectly ripeavocados? Those babies have an optimal shelf life of about thirty-six seconds before they turn to rotten brown mush!” I scowl. “There goes the neighborhood! Along with my plans for avocado toast.”
“Ms. Hunt—”
“If you ask me, they could’ve at least picked up my groceries after kidnapping me. Set them on the counter or something, like gentlemen. Butnooo. Apparently that would be far too much to ask.”
“How… inconsiderate,” he says haltingly, looking at me like I’m nuts.
Which, let’s face it, I totally am.
“Tell me about it!” I’m breathing hard now, my tone rising with anger and something else. It might be shock, but I decide not to examine it too closely. “I mean, kidnapping is one thing. Butavocado abandonment? That’s a capital offense!”
“Hunt—”
“You can call me Shelby. You know, since you’ve just saved my life and all.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I guess it’s true what they say — there’s no honor amongst thieves.Especiallywhen it comes to produce. Chivalry really is dead… as are the hydrangeas I bought at an obscene markup. Because the Farmers Market is cute and all, butboy oh boydo they price gouge like nobody’s busin—”
“Hey.”
I blink. Hard.
The nonsensical words I’ve been spouting evaporate on my tongue because, quite suddenly, he’sthere. On the floor crouching before me. His big hands cup my face, so gently it steals my breath, and his eyes lock on mine. They’re so dark, I’m instantly transfixed — sucked into his orbit like an untethered planet falling into a black hole. I don’t even try to look away; his gravity is too strong to escape.
“You’re all right,” he says lowly, his strong fingers flexing against my cheeks. “You’re safe, now. Just breathe.”
My mouth opens, but there are no words. Just a slow-dawning horror filling the vacuum left behind as my panic ebbs away.
I was kidnapped,I realize, feeling strangely numb.Manhandled and mistreated. In my own home. In the place where I sleep. In the place I’m supposed to be safest.
I feel tears pricking at my eyes. It takes all my remaining strength not to let them fall.