"What if they don't?"
"They will." I hoped I sounded certain, for Mia's sake.
She stared straight ahead. "I'm tired. I just want to go inside."
I reached over to squeeze her hand before we stepped out into the rain, then we hurried to the front door. Our shoes splashed through shallow puddles on the uneven driveway.
I fumbled in my purse for my keys. Then I saw it.
I seized Mia's arm. "Wait."
The front door was ajar.
Chapter Twelve
I stared at our little house. That feeling struck me again—a sense of violation, of wrongness. The feeling of not being alone in a place where you believed you were very much alone.
Mia had gone rigid. "Did you forget to lock the door?"
"No, of course not." I rubbed my exhausted, heavy-lidded eyes with the back of my arm. How much had I slept last night? Two hours? Three? Even less the night before. "At least, I don't think so."
We were both thinking of Marcus, of that terrible night that had scarred us both.
The front door had been ajar then, just like now.
The memory surged through my brain, relentless and unbidden. The cake box in my hand. Mia in her canary-yellow dress with the white flowers laughing at some dad joke Marcus had told as we walked up the path to our home. A celebration for straight A's.
The key had never touched the lock. The front door was cracked open. Cold air spilled out.
Marcus's shoulder brushed mine as he stepped ahead. His voice came out low and rough. "Stay back."
But we hadn't. Of course, we hadn't.
We slipped in behind him, our shoes squeaking on the hardwood. The house was too quiet. The TV was off, no cartoon noise,just the hum of the fridge. Our dog was at the groomer's. No one was supposed to be there.
The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. Every shadow looked like a crouched creature waiting to spring at us.
"Hello?" Marcus called. No answer.
We moved deeper into the house. The cake box grew heavy in my hands, its cardboard edges biting into my fingers.
Then I saw it. A blur of movement at the end of the bedroom hallway. A large dark figure bolted sideways into the kitchen. Headed for the back slider.
Marcus charged. "Stop! Hey!"
My body moved before my brain could catch up. I grabbed Mia's arm and yanked her with me, shoving her down behind the kitchen island. Her yellow dress fanned out on the cold linoleum.
"Don't move!” My heart hammered in my throat. Adrenaline surged through me, making me slow, clumsy, stupid.
I fumbled for my phone but couldn't find the right pocket. My fingers felt thick, unwieldy. The cake box slid from my other hand. It hit the floor with a wet thud.
I peeked around the corner of the island. Marcus and the intruder were locked in a vicious battle. A chair skidded, then fell onto its side. Someone grunted. Shoes scraped across the floor.
The gun appeared. Black metal in the intruder's hand, materializing out of nowhere.
A thin, broken sound tore from my throat. "Marcus?—!"
A single shot rang out. A crack that split the world.
