Someone needed to write a book of ménage advice.
Eric laughed out loud. “I think we’ll have to deal with that problem when we come to it, buddy.”
Eric could laugh all he wanted, but this seemed like a real conundrum.
And then a high-pitched scream cut through the house. Tate’s heart damn near stopped. He leapt to his feet. “Belle.”
Eric and Kell jumped up, too. They were running for the stairs before the sound died, and Tate prayed he could make it to her in time.
Chapter Eleven
Belle lay a trembling hand over her mouth, then reached for her nightstand to turn on the lamp and crawled from bed. When a golden glow illuminated the room, she scanned it, panting wildly. But she saw no sign of the person she’d sworn had just whispered in her ear.
After an exhausting day painting—that reminded her she’d grown unused to physical labor—the comfortable bed had lured her. The quiet had enveloped her, lulling somewhere between awareness and sleep. Just before she’d dropped into the dark chasm of slumber, she thought she’d heard the menacing hiss of a warning.
Get out before he gets you, too.
Then an ear-splitting cry had jarred her awake.
Panting, Belle let her skittish stare bounce around the room. No one visible, but the idea of a stranger in her bedroom made her nauseous. Fear shook her. Had someone been here earlier? Her door was still shut, as was her window. How would anyone have gotten in? Where? It looked somewhere between unlikely and impossible. But she would absolutely swear that someone had stood over her in the dark and whispered the warning.
Maybe it had been a dream? It was possible that between Mr. Gates’s warning that the house was haunted and total exhaustion, her imagination had kicked into overdrive.
Belle turned back to glance at the bed. Sir yawned, looking at her with a slightly enquiring gaze, mostly as if asking when she’d turn the damn light off again so they could sleep. But the dog wasn’t barking. She let out a pent-up breath. If Sir wasn’t yipping his little head off, then they were alone in the room. Heck, he sometimes barked even when no one was there. She needed to calm down and stop letting her weirdly vivid dreams get the best of her.
Belle decided to stop freaking out and let it go, but even as she began climbing back in bed, Belle found herself mentally replaying the dream. Had the scream she’d heard been a part of her nightmare…or something real? She couldn’t remember.
Then as she turned to her nightstand, telling herself to kill the light and get some sleep, an unexpected sight snagged her attention. Written on the wall above her grandmother’s antique vanity in a pigment that looked unnervingly red were the words get out while you can.
Belle opened her mouth to cry out again just as the door flew open. Tate ran in, his eyes wild. Clearly, the scream she’d heard had been real. Had it been hers?
Immediately, he strode to her, his big hands encasing her shoulders as he looked her over, worry written on his face. “What happened?”
Eric charged in right behind him, looking every bit as ready to defend her. “Is someone in the house?”
Kellan stopped in the doorway, gripping her grandmother’s cane in one hand and his cell phone in the other. “Do I need to call 911?”
Heart pounding violently, she pointed to the opposite wall. As she read the warning once more, she sidled as close to Tate as she could, taking the comfort and protection his big body offered.
Kellan stormed over to the wall and studied the writing there. “What the fuck?”
“I was almost asleep. Someone whispered similar words in my ear. At least I thought I heard that. I don’t know. Maybe it was a dream, but…”
Tate wrapped his arms around her and brought her closer against him. Eric opened the doors to the adjoining closet and en suite bathroom. Both empty.
“Stay with her,” Kellan told the other two. He didn’t wait for them to answer. He immediately dialed his phone and paced to the landing. “I need the police, please. There’s been an intruder in my girlfriend’s home.”
As she heard him walking down the stairs and answering questions in clipped replies, Eric approached, speaking in a tone meant to calm everyone. “Tate, why don’t you take Belle downstairs and get her a cup of tea while we wait for the police?”
Tate nodded, taking her hand and linking their fingers. Eric tore his gaze from the warning on the wall before the two men shared a long, tense stare.
“What is it?” Belle asked, scooping Sir against her with her free hand. Something was going on, and they knew more than they were telling her.
Tate shook his head and urged her toward the door. “It’s nothing, baby. We’re going to let the cops take a look at this. Let’s get you downstairs. I’m sure they’ll have questions for you.”
She dug her heels in. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Eric’s eyes closed briefly, but when he opened them he nodded, as though he’d reached a decision. “I’m pretty sure that’s blood, Belle. The brownish cast to it makes me think it’s dried though, so I don’t think the person who did it is still here. But I want to check the rest of the house. We need to get you out of this room and let the cops do their job.”