Chapter 7
seven
. . .
SUTTON
ONE MONTH LATER
Somewhere in my house, glass shattered.
I sat upright in bed, my Kindle slipping to the side and landing face down, taking what little light there’d been in the room with it.
Oftentimes, I read before bed, shutting off the lights and the TV in case I fell asleep, e-reader in hand.
Checking the digital clock on my nightstand, I noted it was nearly midnight.
“Boots?” I whispered.
A soft meow came from beneath the bed in response, which did nothing to quell my nerves.
If my cat was in here with me…someone else was in my house.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
I hoped I’d be spared this torment, but it seemed I was tonight’s lucky victim, the latest in a string of similar break-ins taking place around Dusk Valley.
As far as I knew, though, no one had ever been home. Maybe they took the darkness as a sign I wasn’t here.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, my limbs tingling like pure energy had been injected into my system.
I had two options: fight or flight.
I’d never been big on running from a problem. As a first responder, it was my job to run into danger when everyone else ran away.
This situation was different, though. No one was injured—yet. But if I stuck around, I might end up being the one needing medical assistance. I could confront the intruder, hope to scare them away, but I wasn’t that reckless.
No, the best course of action was to get out.
As quietly but quickly as I could, I slid out of bed and crept to the door, ensuring it was locked, grateful for the carpet and floors that didn’t creak.
Then I headed for my small closet, pulling out sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt, and a hoodie to match the pants.
I grabbed some thick socks out of my dresser, slipping them on before stuffing my feet into an old pair of running shoes thankfully abandoned in the back of my closet.
I paused to listen, the sound of more of my possessions being broken greeting me through the closed door.
Abruptly, it all stopped, and a chill raced down my spine as a single word greeted me. Cold, low, and ominous.
“Sutton…”
Oh, god. They knew I was here. Whoever this was knew me.
In more of a hurry now, I went to my nightstand, digging into the drawer for my spare car key, which I kept stashed there for exactly this kind of emergency. Then I swiped up my phone and clicked on the flashlight. I dropped to all fours and peered under the bed. Boots’ bright eyes stared back.
“C’mon, buddy,” I cajoled in a whisper-hiss. “We’re going on a little adventure.”
Boots didn’t move.
Damn stubborn cat.
Keeping the flashlight trained on him with one hand, I reached in with the other and snagged his narrow collar before he could bolt. Closing my fist around his tags to prevent them from tinkling and giving us away, I dragged him out—a Herculean feat once he dug his claws into the carpet.
I tucked him into my hoodie against my chest, holding him with one arm as I stuffed my phone in my pocket and moved to the only window in my bedroom.
Thank god I live in a one-story house.
And thank god I just had these windows replaced.
The sash rose soundlessly when I unlocked and lifted it.
A beat later, as footsteps creaked the floor right outside my bedroom, I had the screen removed and pushed outside.
My doorknob jiggled as I climbed onto the sill and awkwardly dropped to the ground only four feet below, Boots still cradled against me.
The sound of a well-placed kick busting down my bedroom door echoed into the quiet of my neighborhood as I took off for the driveway.
When I reached it, I discovered all four tires had been slashed, and my fear increased tenfold.
Grateful I’d had the foresight to bundle up, I took off into the woods that lined my backyard.
I’d lived in this house for years and had long ago carved a path through the towering maples and pines.
From memory alone, I located it and crept along it, certain I didn’t have a tail before picking up my pace into a run.
My journey was awkward and exhausting thanks to Boots curled against me, the only sounds that of the carpet of leaves crunching beneath my feet and my heavy breathing.
Eventually, when I was certain I’d put enough distance between me and my house, I slowed to a walk.
Fear continued to course through my veins, making my legs wobble, but I powered ahead, heading for the place I knew I’d be safest, refusing to examine too closely why his was the first place I thought to go.
Still, my head was constantly on a swivel, my progress halting with the smallest of unidentifiable sounds. Who knew what lurked in these woods? Would I also have to fight off a bear or wolf tonight? Unlikely, but my mind doom spiraled, and I wished I’d thought to grab my pepper spray.
By the time I reached my destination after ages of stops and starts, constantly pulling up the GPS on my phone to make sure I was going in the right direction, I was sweating through my multiple layers of clothing, and over an hour had passed.
Breaking free from the tree line, I stilled, realizing what a giant mistake I’d made in coming here.
My paramedic partner lived right around the corner from me, for crying out loud. Why hadn’t I just gone there?
But I wasn’t about to turn around and go back, not when I’d come all this way, so I steeled my spine and walked around to the front of the house.
Motion-detecting flood lights on the attached garage illuminated my approach, and I shielded my eyes against the sudden brightness.
Those damn lights must also have been attached to a sensor, because before I could really get my bearings, the front door opened, and the owner appeared.
Wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a threadbare Dusk Valley athletics tee, likely a remnant of his high school football days, he appeared barefoot in the doorway of his house.
The shirt conformed to everything. Straining against his biceps, clinging to juicy pecs, suctioning to every hill and valley of his abs.
Beneath his sleeves, his strong, muscle-corded arms were covered in tattoos—way more than he’d had when we were dumb college kids.
I wondered how many more he had. Back then, he’d just been getting started, with only half of his right arm covered from shoulder to elbow.
Now, they crawled down over the back of his hands and knuckles and up his neck.
Did they spread across his back too? Down his torso and legs?
I hated myself for how badly I wanted to find out.
No, not hated. More like…surprised with myself? It had been a long damn time since I’d experienced this level of instant lust for someone. Leave it to Lane Lawless to bring it out in me.
At first glance, Lane was menacing. Big, broad, broody. I supposed that was part of what made him a good cop; no one wanted to mess with him. The rest was, of course, dictated by the deep-seated goodness inside of him, the soft, teddy bear center protected by the tough exterior.
No thirty-six-year-old man had the right to be as sexy as he was. He was physically perfect, and his physique hadn’t suffered much in the time he’d been forced to rest after his gunshot.
I wasn’t afraid of him, but I was terrified of the pistol he had pointed with one arm in my direction.
“If you take another step, I swear I’ll shoot.”
I raised my free hand. “Lane, it’s me.”
He jerked at the sound of my voice, but his arm dropped instantly.
“Sutton? What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What happened?”
“Can we talk inside?” I asked. “It’s freezing and I’m not too fond of being exposed right now.”
Even with his gun aimed at me, the back of my neck prickled, like the real threat was behind me, unseen in the darkness.
“Right, of course. Come on.”
He waited for me to climb the steps, eyeing my fluffy grey Maine Coon a bit warily.
“Who is this?”
“Boots,” I said, stepping through the door into his house, shivering deliciously as the warm air enveloped me. “He’s a sweetheart, I promise.”
“If you say so,” Lane said, coming in behind me and shutting the door. He stepped around me and led the way deeper into the house, bringing me into his living room.
I’d never been to his house before, never been in a living space that belonged to the man before me instead of the boy he’d been back then.
Then again, Lane was no longer the beautiful boy he used to be when we were kids, or the good-looking young man I’d first fallen in love with at nineteen.
This version of Lane was rugged and hardened, sex on legs wrapped in ink I wanted under my mouth and fingertips. The kind of sin I’d happily go to hell for committing.
I gave myself a mental head slap.
Not the time, Sutton.
His home, at least this part of it, was what I’d expect from him, though: nothing short of masculine. Warm beige walls, dark hardwood floors, large, soft suede couch and armchairs in a deep brown, topped with throw pillows in more earthy tones.
Lane perched on the edge of the sofa, groaning as he sank into it. I sat on a nearby chair.
“What happened?” he asked again, then grinned. “Assuming this isn’t a social call.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Lane. I’m here for a late-night booty call.” My tone was acidic.
“Okay, okay, sorry. That was rude. What’s going on?”
“I know Johns has been handling things at the department while you’re recuperating, but how looped in are you?”
“We have weekly status calls,” he said.
“So you’re aware of this night stalker asshole that’s been breaking into houses in town?”
His jaw clenched, likely because he knew where I was going with this. “Yes,” he gritted out.
“I was tonight’s victim.”
He leaned forward quickly, arm shooting out as though to reach for me, but he pulled back and settled his elbows on his knees. “Are you okay?”