Police.
My hand flies to my pocket. No phone. Damn it. It’s still in the guest room.
Okay, Sutton. Think. If they come in here, do you a) hide and hope for the best or b) find a weapon?
I glance down at the oversized candy cane in my hand.
Option B it is.
I tighten my grip, inch closer to the door, and wait. The footsteps move past the closet. Now or never.
I burst out, raise the candy cane, and yell, “How did you get in here?”
The person spins around. I close my eyes and swing like I’m in the damn World Series.
Thud.
Then silence.
Peeking through one eye, I see the figure crumpled on the floor.
“Wow,” I whisper, staring at the candy cane in my hand. “Can’t believe that actually worked.”
My chest heaves. I step closer, pressing a shaky hand over my heart. They’re still breathing, thank God. Using the candy cane like a stick, I nudge the hood back.
And freeze.
I expected a sketchy dude or a plain-Jane burglar. Instead, I’m staring at a woman, an angel, actually.
Her curls frame her face in soft, glossy waves, short like a pixie cut that belongs on a magazine cover. Her skin is warm cocoa, smooth and glowing even in the dim foyer light. Long lashes sweep across her cheeks, and her lips, full, soft, entirely unfair, part just slightly as she breathes.
She doesn’t look like someone who’d rob a house.
Okay… maybe I’m being judgmental.
But she looks more like someone who belongs on a Christmas card, not a wanted poster.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I realize I still need to grab my phone. I can’t risk losing this job, not two days before Christmas. I need this money.
Still clutching the candy cane in my hand, I head back to the guestroom. My phone’s sitting on the bed, black screen staring back at me.
“One percent battery?” I groan. “Dang it. I forgot to plug it in after ordering all that food.”
Speaking of food… my ice cream’s probably soup by now.
Heading back toward the hallway, I pause.
“What the…” I whisper, glancing around. The hallway’s empty. The air feels heavier somehow.
Where did she go?
I take one step, then another.
Click.
The sound’s faint, but it freezes me in place.
Before I can turn around, something cold presses against the back of my head.
