The ground is a mixture of autumn-stained leaves, scattered like confetti across the entire property. The only blessing is it’s wet, the previous flutter of snow melting away so they don’t crunch beneath my feet; that would be a sure as hell way of attracting attention when I do this.
My pulse thuds in my ears. Even though no one’s home, anything could be waiting for me.
The wooden steps groan beneath my feet as I reach the porch, causing my face to screw up.
It’s not loud enough that the sound travels, but if this guy happens to enjoy utter silence, he’ll hear me before he sees me.
The rest of the surface is stable enough that my steps go unnoticed, and I peer inside the glass window, the place looking almost untouched.
I drag a lungful of the damp air in, my gloved hand wrapping around the door handle to test it, managing to easily push it open.
Okay, this guy seriously has no consideration for his own safety.
That was far too easy.
Just before my feet cross the threshold, I hover, glancing down at my wrecked sneakers.
I might not be a professional killer, but I am observant.
Quickly removing my sneakers, I slip inside whilst holding them by my side.
“You better hope your trotters don’t leave behind a stench.”
I roll my eyes, turning around to throw a middle finger at the back camera. Regina’s laugh is my evidence she’s got her hawk eyes on me, and I immediately spot the camera cable tied against a tree trunk. When I turn back around, my gaze slowly traces every single inch of the ground floor.
Despite there being no large masses of mess, someone’s living here.
A jacket is hung up on the wall, cutlery lying out near the studio kitchen, and a laptop is centred on the coffee table.
My feet lead me further into the living area. The place can’t hold any more than two adults, and thankfully there shouldn’t be a load of hiding places for John.
I glance up to the balcony of the upper floor. The bedroom seems to dominate the space, the connecting door ajar, showing a peek of a shower.
It feels eerie, but that could just be my nerves.
I walk past the front door, the wood groaning beneath my feet, and a familiar smell hits me from the jacket as I brush past it, forcing me to stumble on my next step.
My fingers pinch my nose, as if that will stop my brain from malfunctioning during a highly dangerous situation.
This has happened to me a couple of times now, smelling the familiar notes of aftershavehewore.
Can’t allow the whiff of a scent to catapult me back on my progress.
Stay focused.
Stay focused.
Stay focused.
The words chant like a mantra in my head, nose still pinched as I inch towards the closed door, along with fighting the nostalgia.
Regina’s voice screeches through the earpiece, almost causing my heart to give out.
“Abort. Fucking abort!”
God dammit.
My feet thud against the wooden floor towards the exit, and the glass door almost shatters with the force I slam it with, slipping in the wet as my socks send me sliding on my ass.
