A pulse picked up speed in his temple. Quickly, he reached for his pistol in the glove box and slipped out of the car. He scanned her yard, then street as he jogged up her front steps.
Nothing looked out of place outside.
Quietly, he gave the door a little shove, aiming the Glock in front of him.
Nothing.
He lowered his gaze to the floor—and saw blood on the floorboards.
His muscles locked, his gaze immediately lifting again. “Clara?”
Silence. And it was so fucking loud.
He moved into the living room, then the kitchen, always keeping his back firmly against the wall and his weapon raised. Empty spice jars lay scattered on the counter, their contents spread everywhere.
What the hell happened here?
A siren wailed in the distance.
He turned and made his way into the bedroom. “Clara? Are you here?”
He stepped toward the bed, about to look beneath it, when he heard her.
“Holden?”
He swung toward the bathroom and took three quick steps forward. “Yeah, honey, it’s me. Can you open the door?” A few seconds of silence passed. When nothing happened, he took another step forward and gentled his voice. “Clara…you’re safe.”
One more beat, then the click of the bathroom lock sounded. The door opened, and Clara stood there, blood on the side of her head, her neck a deep red.
“Clara—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before she fell into him, her body shaking.
He wrapped one arm around her tightly and holstered his pistol as the air whooshed from his chest. For a moment there, when he’d seen the blood and the empty house, he’d wondered if he’d been too late.
He closed his eyes, thanking every fucking god out there.
“What happened?” he finally asked.
“I—”
“Clara?”
They both looked up at the sound of Jesse’s voice.
Jesse found them in the bedroom. “Holden?” He looked from Holden to Clara to the cut on her temple and cursed. “What happened?”
She swallowed. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got time.”
Holden curved an arm around Clara’s waist and led her out to the couch. He studied the wound on her temple. “Maybe we should go to the hospital to have that looked at.”
She frowned and touched the wound, as if she was surprised it was there, before shaking her head. “No. I’m okay. I just need a bandage.”
“Clara—”
“I’ll get one of my guys to look at it,” Jesse said, still far too calm. He glanced at Holden. “Did Clara text you?”
