Stumbling backward, my towel came loosefrom around my chest, and I tripped on it. Falling to my ass, I scooted backward until I’d managed to wedge myself in the corner between the toilet and the wall.
And then…I screamed.
twenty-four
. . .
FINN
I was gettingout of the shower when I heard the scream.
Reagan.
Hastily, I threw on clothes, my worry over her damn near suffocating as I once again raced down the gravel path between our houses. She could’ve still been sleeping, awoken by another nightmare. But I was mobilized by the idea that she was in danger.
“Reagan?” I shouted when I burst into the house. I hadn’t thought to grab my gun this time, so I reverted into combat mode, mentally drawing up all my years of hand-to-hand training should I need it.
My bodywasa weapon, and I’d use it against anyone who attempted to harm my girl.
No sound greeted me except faint sobbing coming from the back of the house.
I moved swiftly down the hallway, my head on a swivel, waiting for an ambush, but the coast to the master remained clear. The sheets on the bed were a twisted, tangled mess; Reagan likely hadn’t slept well.
And she was nowhere to be found.
“Reagan?” I called again.
“I-in here.” Her voice was so, so small, coming from the bathroom.
I stepped inside, not seeing her at first. Then I caught a flash of blonde in the corner, and I rushed across the room, dropping to my knees before her.
I barely registered that she was naked, her body curled into a tight ball.
My hands shook as I reached for her, but I held back from making contact. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”
Reagan shook her head, still crying too hard to speak. Instead, she lifted a shaky finger and pointed toward the vanity.
Standing, I moved back across the room, first looking at the counter, the sink, the floor around, searching for whatever had freaked her out so badly.
“The m-m-mirror,” she managed to gasp around her sobs.
My eyes flicked up.
Horror and rage fought for purchase in my chest, my anger ultimately winning.
I was going to fuckingdestroywhoever was doing this to her.
Grateful I’d at least remembered to shove my phone in my pocket on the way out my door, I pulled it out and called my brother.
“Awfully early for a social call,” Lane said in lieu of greeting.
“Get out here now.”
“Where?”
“My house. The guest house.”
I could barely grit the words out from between my clenched teeth. I was trying my fucking best to keep my temper in check, not wanting to distress Reagan any further, but keep it together was difficult.
