Locked and latched. From the inside.
My stomach churned.
Standing—or more to the point, still half crouching—I listened to the house’s silence.
It was just that. Silent.
Not a sound.
Mouth dry, eyes burning, I scanned the room. Nothing was out of place. Well, apart from Lucas, that was. Even the Glock Doctor Winchester had insisted I keep was still on the table where I’d placed it.
Shit.
Straightening, I slowly made my way to the kitchen. Slower still, I withdrew the biggest knife in the knife block on the counter.
I couldn’t shoot my foot off with a knife.
Grip tight enough on the hilt my knuckles ached, I climbed the stairs.
Every molecule in my body thrummed and sparked and quivered with fear. As much as I wanted to run, I needed to find Lucas first. I couldn’t leave him. He was defenseless. Vulnerable.
The first bedroom was empty.
So was the second.
Which left the master suite.
I paused at the closed door, pressed my ear to its surface.
Not a sound from the other side.
Adjusting my grip on the knife, I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and turned it. Slowly. Slowly.
I pushed open the door, knife ready.
And froze at the sound that greeted me.
A low nasally buzzing sound.
Snoring.
I blinked. What the—
Pushing the door wide, I stepped into the room. Lucas lay stretched out on the middle of the bed, on his stomach, legs splayed, cheek mushed against the mattress, eyes closed.
Snoring.
I gaped at him.
“Are you serious?” I muttered.
The adrenaline that had been flooding my system left me in a rush. The trembles kicked in, hard and fast and violent.
I stared at my naked neighbor. Listened to his soft snores. And threw up my hands, knife and all. “Fuck this. I’m having a shower.”
I stomped past the bed, past Lucas, into the master suite’s opulent bathroom.
The shakes and trembles made stripping tricky, but I finally shucked off my clothes, turned on the water and stepped under the warm stream.