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There was just me, a locked door, and the memory of Sterling pinning me gently to a tree with a voice that could unravel civilizations.

I slid down the door until I hit the carpet, my pulse ricocheting through my insides. “I don’t do men,” I whispered to the empty room, as if saying it out loud would re-solidify the rule I’d carved into myself. “I do not do men.”

Unfortunately, the universe did not clap politely and hand me a certificate for not doing men. Instead, my brain replayed every sinful, magnetic, infuriating thing Sterling had said, starting with the moment he’d popped out of the woods and I’d pepper-sprayed him.

You’re going to break that promise for me.

I was dying just thinking of that line.

“No, I’m not,” I hissed at my own treacherous skeleton. “That promise is welded shut. Industrially reinforced. It’s safety-rated.”

My heart did another soft, humiliating flutter, though, the kind I was unfortunately experiencing quite a lot since I’d come to this town.

I couldn’t stop the memories of the day from flooding my head. The heat of his mouth on me, the way his tongue had found every place I didn’t know how to guard…the wild, shattering moment when I came so hard my vision went white.

For a second, I’d honestly thought I might pass out.

And then afterward…he’d sounded so confident in himself when he’d told me how things were going to be.

If only I could be that confident in him. Or in myself.

I sighed and let my head fall back against the door, trying to gather myself, but my gaze drifted toward the window…and froze.

It was unlatched.

Just barely open by an inch, but enough for the curtain to breathe in the cool air.

I knew I’d locked it this morning. I’d even paused to admire the latch because it looked like a tiny wrought-iron mustache. It had clicked into place. I remembered the sound.

And now it was open.

My stomach tightened as I straightened, my gaze tracing the room for some rational explanation. It couldn’t be housekeeping. I’d left the Do Not Disturb sign out, and the bedspread was still unmade from when I climbed out of the bed this morning.

Once that excuse fell apart, the rest of the room came into focus.

The top drawer of the dresser was open a sliver. Normally, I would just think I’d left it that way, but I hadn’t gotten around to using the dresser yet. So there would be no reason for it to be open like that.

A chill crept up my spine.

On the nightstand, the deodorizer spray bottle Hattie had given me after the corpse-scent disaster lay on its side, as if it had been knocked over. I tried to tell myself it could’ve been me, but I was having trouble convincing myself.

I scrambled up from the floor, frantically scanning the room for anything else that looked off. My gaze caught on the far corner, where one of Hattie’s local attractions brochures that I’d left neatly on the table last night was now on the floor, half tucked under the chair, looking as if it had been nudged or stepped on or pushed out of place.

My stomach dropped.

I stood frozen, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat. Then my gaze flicked to the bathroom door, where it was cracked just enough to show darkness inside.

A fresh wave of panic washed over me. Had I left it like that? What if someone was in there right now?

Every instinct screamed at me not to move, not to look, not to find out.

But the not knowing clawed harder than the fear.

“Okay, Sienna,” I whispered to myself in a trembling voice. “You have to check. It’s not like this place has a security guard. Just…walk. One foot, then the other. You’ve survived worse. It’s probably nothing.”

Please let it be nothing.

My legs felt disconnected from my body as I forced myself forward, each step an argument with my own terror. The closer I got, the darker the crack in the door seemed, like it was breathing.