A woman in a white nightgown stood inches away, a crimson stain across her abdomen, her bedraggled black hair caked with grime, her bare feet muddy. But it was her eyes—sunken black pools of darkness—that terrified me most.
I slammed the door, my hands shaking violently as I secured the deadbolt, then stumbled back several steps, tripping over myself and landing hard.
“What the fuck?” I screeched, my throat tight with fear.
“Mama?”
I screamed again, my head snapping toward Henry’s voice.
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Henry asked from where he stood in the hallway, his bottom lip trembling. “What happened?”
I glanced at the door, half expecting the woman on the other side to burst in, then scrambled to my feet and rushed toward Henry. I scooped him up and hurried to the credenza, grabbing my phone.
“It’s okay, baby,” I managed, my voice thin. I used my free hand to try to make the call, but the phone slipped from my fingers and landed with a thud on the floor.
With a little strangled sob, I sank down with Henry and snatched up the phone, hitting the number I’d added just that morning. As it rang, Henry studied me with wide eyes and then wrapped his arms around me and gave me a tight hug.
“It’s okay, Mama,” he whispered. “David says he’s sorry. He won’t lock you out again.”
My breath caught in my chest, and I leaned away from Henry. Now it was my turn to studyhim. He offered me a sweet smile, his face one of pure innocence, then kissed my cheek and hugged me again.
What theactualfuckwas going on?
“Hello? Ms. Dupont? Zellie?”
Hearing my name snapped me out of my shock. “There’s someone up here,” I blurted, knowing I sounded hysterical and not giving a damn. “There’s someone in the hallway!”
Whit Proffitt wasn’t what I expected.
When he showed up at my door, Chase in tow, I was taken aback by how different they were. The men seemed to be roughly the same age, but unlike the suave golden boy with the easy grin, Whit’s hair was as dark as his somber expression as he peered down at me, taking in every inch of me with disconcerting scrutiny, a frown furrowing his brow. Something flickered briefly behind his dark eyes—surprise, maybe?—but he recovered quickly.
“Are you hurt?” he asked by way of greeting.
The depth of his concern brought a flush of heat to my skin. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m okay. Just freaked out.”
“Stay here,” he ordered. Then to Chase, “You start in the basement.”
As Whit made his way down the hall, I noticed that unlike his cousin, who ambled with the unconcerned confidence of someone who’d never worried about being noticed, Whit moved as quietly and as gracefully as the shadows. There was nothing lacking in his confidence. It was more like he didn’twantto be seen.
He was how I’d often imagined the Byronic hero in a novel by one of the Brontë sisters, a Mr. Rochester or a Heathcliff—but hopefully without the toxic manipulation or destructive rage. It was a good thing he was my landlord; otherwise, he would’ve been exactly my type (not that I’d really even dated enough tohavea type, but still…).
While Whit left to search the floor below, I leaned against the frame of my apartment door, hyperalert and nervously nibbling the skin at the edge of my thumb as I waited. Several minutes later, he returned, his arms raised at his sides in a shrug that seemed a little bit apology, a little bit concern.
“I’m not seeing evidence anyone was here,” he said. “I checked out the other apartment down the hall and the other floors, but no one’s here that shouldn’t be.”
“Someonewashere,” I assured him in a harsh whisper. “I didn’t imagine it. She was right outside my freaking door!”
Chase had sauntered up during the exchange, his thumbs casually hooked in his pockets, completely unconcerned by what I claimed. “I’m sure my cousin isn’t saying you imagined it,” he replied. “Just saying that maybe you misunderstood what you saw. This is an old house. Odd noises, shadows everywhere and all that.”
I pushed off the doorframe with a huff, suddenly feeling gaslighted. “Right.”
Chase grabbed my elbow as I turned to go inside the apartment, but when I sent an alarmed look to where he held my arm, he immediately let go. “Sorry,” he said, raising both hands and glancing at his cousin before taking a step back. “Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that it’s been a long day for you and your little guy.”
“Sure,” I replied, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. “Thanks.”
“Ms. Dupont—Zellie,” Whit said, his voice going deeper when he said my name. “I’ll personally check all the exterior doors and make sure they’re locked. No one should be able to get into the building without a door code, but we’ll check our security cameras outside, make sure someone didn’t sneak in somehow.”
I nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
