No. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Deserting her yoga session, she left the bedroom and stepped through the living room and into the kitchen. Empty.
Strange. He’d been in here when she’d gone to the bedroom.
She headed down the hall, passing the first two bedrooms and stopping at the end one. She knocked.
Twenty seconds passed, and no answer. She knocked again, this time a bit harder, and the door creaked open.
Should she stick her head in? What if he was changing? But if he was changing, he would have heard her knock, right?
She stepped inside. “Antwan?”
Her gaze shifted to the closed bathroom door, the distant sound of the shower echoing throughout the room.
She checked her watch. Ten. It felt a bit late for a shower. But then, he and Jesse had been chopping wood before Jesse took Aspen home.
She was about to turn and leave when something poking out of his luggage caught her attention. Frowning, she moved toward it, her steps slow. She lifted the black shirt. It had been shoved under the other clothes, with just the edge sticking out. But it wasn’t the shirt itself she was focused on.
She ran her finger over the small tear in the shoulder.
Callie had heard the material of her attacker’s clothing tear at the shoulder last night.
She dropped it like it had burned her.
No. God, why did that thought even enter her head? This was Antwan, one of Lock’s best friends. And besides, he’d been at the bar last night.
But itwasstrange.
Nibbling her bottom lip, she spared a quick glance at the closed bathroom door before rummaging through the bag. She’d clearly lost her damn mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
She paused when she found the small compartment in the side of the suitcase. It was so small, she almost missed it.
She slipped her hand inside and pulled out a phone. Not Antwan’s phone. Or at least, not the one he usually used. That was a Samsung, and this one was an iPhone.
She glanced up at the closed bathroom door a second time. The shower was still running, but that didn’t stop the shaking in her fingers. Her heart started to beat faster as she opened the phone, surprised to find she didn’t need a code or password.
A voice in her head screamed to put it down and get out. Not just out of this room but out of the house.
But another part of her needed to know why Antwan had a different phone hidden in his bag.
She looked at the messages first. There were none. Next, she looked at the contacts. Again, they were empty. Who had a phone with an empty contact list and no text exchanges?
She clicked into the photos—and her heart stopped.
It was her.
Allof the photos were of her. Some of her crossing the road. Some of her in her studio, taken through the window, both teaching and doing her own sessions.
Nausea swamped her belly, and she almost dropped the cell when she saw the one of her in bed, sleeping. But not in Lock’s house. Inherhouse.
He’d watched her sleep. How?
Then she remembered…the broken back door.
Jesus.
Bile crawled up her throat, threatening to break free.
