The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,65

chosen that location? What had happened to Rose? And what about the Duval family finances, the rumors of the parents splitting up? What about all the bad karma Chandra claimed to have felt about the family?

At nine thirty she went down to the bedroom, took off her sling and clothes, and did the best she could at showering. Her arm was feeling better and the warm water cascading over her helped in washing off any dirt and sweat from the day. She managed to shampoo, though she did drop the plastic bottle once and swore under her breath, but still, the spray felt good, as if she were exorcising the demons that had plagued her, washing away her guilt and pain. Only a few days ago, she was exuberant about the prospect of being a mother and Sylvie Morrisette was still alive, the Duval girls’ fate a mystery.

As the room filled with steam, she scrubbed hard against her skin, rinsed the conditioner from her hair and closed her eyes. She needed to find a way to fix things with Reed. Of course she would still work on the Duval story, but she had to work things out with her husband.

And he needs to work things out with you.

“Right,” she said aloud as she twisted off the spray.

Reaching for her towel on the hook near the shower, she heard the dog bark.

Maybe Reed was home!

Then the bark changed to a deep, guttural growl.

A low warning.

She stopped short.

What the hell?

The hairs on the back of her neck rose in trepidation.

Dropping the towel, she snagged her robe, her shoulder protesting. But she threw the housecoat on.

More growling, then a hard, sharp bark.

Oh, God.

Footsteps.

Human footsteps.

Running.

Fast. Frantically.

What?

Who?

Not Reed.

Dear God. An intruder was in the house!

Her heart went into overdrive.

Who was it?

Why were they inside?

For no good reason.

Did they have a weapon?

Her phone! She needed her phone . . . anxiously, silently praying, Nikki patted the pockets of her robe as if by some chance it could be there while through the mist of the bathroom her gaze scraped the counter, but of course, it wasn’t there. Nope. She’d left it on the charger downstairs.

Crap!

A kaleidoscope of jagged images spun through her mind, of all the times she had been at a killer’s mercy, the sheer terror of fighting for her life. Her fingers clenched in the terry cloth. For a second she remained frozen and dripping onto the bathroom tiles.

Then the adrenaline kicked in.

Pull it together, Gillette!

Cinching her robe tight, she crept to the door, reached for the doorknob and twisted, realizing she hadn’t locked it. She stepped into her bedroom, crossed the hardwood on bare, damp feet.

The footsteps were fleeing, sounding farther away as whoever it was raced down the steps in frantic, rapid succession. The dog hadn’t given up. Mikado was barking out of control, his toenails, too, clicking frantically against the steps.

“Who’s there?” Nikki demanded, slipping through the bedroom to crack the door to check the near-dark hallway.

Nothing.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her ears strained as she heard the scuffling downstairs.

She steeled herself. Tried to think.

Her phone was downstairs.

But Reed’s gun was locked in a safe in the bedroom closet.

Only steps away!

It would just take a few seconds to retrieve it as whoever was in the house could be armed. Heart thudding, she turned toward the closet.

“Yeowww!” A pained scream echoed through the house, and then the intruder snarled in a harsh whisper. “You bit me? You fuckin’ bit me?”

More growling and barking.

“Back the fuck off! Shit! Let go of me! I’ll kill you, you goddamned mutt!” a gravelly whispered voice warned.

“No!” Nikki screamed, dashing into the hall.

Too late!

Thud!

Mikado let out an anguished howl.

“Mikado!” she cried, her heart wrenching. No, no, no!

She heard the back door open.

Nikki flew down the stairs as the door slammed.

She slid around the corner, racing into the kitchen.

Mikado was scrambling to his feet.

“Oh, baby, are you okay?” She was on her knees, trying to cradle her pup, but Mikado was having none of it. Incensed, he lunged toward the door, snarling and snapping and whining, ready to go after the prowler and tear him to pieces.

“Stop!” she ordered as he scratched furiously at the door. “No! Mikado! Not happening.” Her pulse was still in the stratosphere as she twisted the dead bolt to lock the door. The guy could come back. Get a weapon and return. Why the hell was he in here in the first place? What was he after? “You are not going out