thought. But I can hear everything. Shrieks of pain. Cries for help. The creak of the back door. Footsteps pounding through the living room and into the front yard. And then, finally, an eternity later, the wail of a siren.
COLLEEN
Rousing from my broken slumber slowly, achingly, I instinctively search for the warmth of Michael’s body. Reaching out, I claw at nothing but cold sheets, and grip them in my fists.
A peck on the cheek before he got out of bed would’ve been nice. Or, seeing that I’d kicked off the covers, it would’ve been thoughtful if he’d replaced them at my chin. He could’ve whispered a few choice words in my ear to inspire an amazing dream. Any one of those loving things would’ve started my day off right. We could forget about dinner at the Martins’ and how we went to sleep angry last night. We could start fresh.
Instead, I wake exhausted and searching for him.
Rolling over with a groan, I check the time on my cell.
Eight-fifteen.
A text alert darts across the screen. It’s from Michael, thirty minutes ago:
Morning luv. Going into work late today so we can spend some time together. Went for a walk in the grove to kill time until you wake up. Back in about an hr. xo
Excitement bubbles through me at the prospect of spending time together this morning. Michael must be bothered by how we went to bed angry. I’m sure he too wants to put last night behind us and move forward. But why would he venture into the grove? The police probably still have the search perimeter up. The last thing he needs is to be entangled in their investigation.
What are the chances someone would find a corpse across the street the day after I move in to Ravenwood? I’d say it’s perfect timing, but nothing is perfect about this. This time with Michael was supposed to be quiet and relaxing. Bonding time. Now it could be ruined.
Slipping into my new favorite cashmere robe, I pad down the hall, swiping my finger over my phone. Yawning, using the banister to steady myself, I reread Michael’s text.
Back in about an hr.
For no reason at all, my gaze flickers to the east wing. It’d be wrong to try the doors, to check one more time if they’re unlocked, wouldn’t it? It’d definitely be a violation of Michael’s privacy. Especially since he explicitly told me not to go in there. I can’t help but be curious, though. It’s kind of weird to block off a large part of one’s home, to leave it unlived-in, isn’t it?
Even though I know I shouldn’t be, I’m drawn to those rooms.
I only want to see what he keeps in there. One peek, and then I’ll forget all about that dark hall. Racing back to the master bedroom, I head toward the nightstand where I’d set my purse after coming home last night. I dig through the pockets, find Joanna’s keys—my keys—and clutch them as I dart back into the forbidden wing.
Listening, getting a read on activity in the house, I hear something sizzling downstairs in the kitchen. Dean’s hard at work cooking God-knows-what. Probably something Joanna gobbled up with a smile. Behind me, down the hall I’d just come from, there’s a rush of water. The clank of something banging around in the dryer. The sound of a woman humming. Samara is busy with laundry.
There’s not going to be a better time.
Nothing wrong with exploring my new house, I think, though deep down I know better.
Walking barefoot over the tile, I’m hyper-aware of the sound of my footsteps, which echoes my heartbeat. Thump-thump-thump as I rush over the bridge linking the safety of the west wing to the mystery of the east. Thump-thump-thump as I turn the handle on the closest door. The first key doesn’t work. It must unlock most of the other doors in the house, as Samara had said. I