He brushed her hair away from her face. “It’s okay. It’s the police. I’m going to get that.”
Her gaze darted toward the front door. “How do you know it’s them?”
“I heard them search the other side. Plus, I’ll probably recognize them. I know most of the cops in this precinct. Stay right here, okay?”
She didn’t look ready to let him go, but finally, she released him. She shifted to the corner of the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her. Only then did he notice that all she was wearing was an oversize T-shirt and boy-short panties. He glanced at the door and then back to her. “Down the hall, in my bedroom, there’s a basket of clean laundry next to the bed. You can borrow some shorts if you want.”
She glanced down as if just noticing her state of undress for herself, and she hurriedly put her feet to the floor, clearly self-conscious. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”
He gave her a second to head toward the bedroom, and then he went to the door. He checked the peephole, recognizing the face on the other side.
Of course. Fucking hell.
He took a fortifying breath and pulled open the door, schooling his face into one of mild impassivity. Officer Christina Morton was standing there, not a blond hair out of place in her tight braid, and her partner, Ben Brody, was by her side. Christina scanned Hill quickly with the cool detachment of an officer checking for injuries. If anyone had been watching, they never would’ve suspected he and Christina had been engaged once upon a time. That he used to unfurl that braid with rough fingers when they’d fall into bed. That she used to see him as irresistible.
“You all right, Dawson?” she asked, tone like a surgical knife—pointed, precise.
He wanted to reply, In the grand scheme of things? No, not even a little bit. But no way would he ever let Christina know he was living anything but his best life.
“Yeah. Everyone’s fine. Neighbor ran over here, said her back door was open and she knows she locked it. She thought someone was inside,” he said, matching Christina’s businesslike tone. “I would’ve gone over and checked it out, but she was pretty upset and didn’t feel safe being left alone.”
“Understandable,” Brody said in that genial way Brody said everything. If he were cast in a police drama, he’d always land the role of Good Cop.
Hill cocked his head toward Andi’s side of the house. “Did y’all find anything over there?”
“No, the place is clear. Didn’t see any damage or anything,” Ben reported. “Can we come in?”
Hill took a step back and opened the door wide to let them inside. Christina’s gaze scanned the room, no doubt critiquing Hill’s sparse decorating style, which mostly involved buying nothing extra because it would only be extra shit to clean. When they’d lived together, she’d always been in charge of how their place looked, and she’d never met a farm-inspired tchotchke she didn’t like. He’d lived in a place full of cows and chickens staring at him from every available surface. It’d nearly made him a vegetarian. Her gaze moved back to him. “Where’s the neighbor?”
“I—”
But before Hill could get the words out, Brody’s head turned as he caught sight of Andi coming out of Hill’s bedroom. He gave her a warm smile. “Hello, ma’am, you okay?”
Hill turned. Andi’s eyes were still swollen, but she’d dried her face, and she was now wearing a pair of his athletic shorts cinched up tight. Andi hugged her elbows and nodded. “I’m freaked out but all right.”
“Why don’t you sit down and tell us what happened?” Christina said in her calming cop voice.
They all settled into the living room, Andi taking the spot next to Hill on the couch, and Christina and Ben taking the chairs opposite. Andi tucked her hands between her knees, and he suspected she was trying to hide the fact that she was still trembling. Without thinking, he reached out and gave her knee a squeeze. “It’s okay.”
Christina cleared her throat, and he quickly moved his hand away.
Andi licked her lips. “Um, I was in my living room working—editing a podcast. I’d been doing that for at least an hour. I had headphones on, and when I took them off, I thought I heard something.”
“What did you hear?” Brody asked, his notebook out.
Andi frowned, a little wrinkle appearing between her brows as she looked down, obviously replaying the incident in her head. “A thump at first. Not super loud but enough to get my attention. Then creaking. I thought my screen door had come unlatched and was blowing in the wind. My phone was in the kitchen, so I grabbed my pepper spray and went to the back of the house. I figured I was overreacting, but when I peeked in, I saw that my back door was wide open. I ran out the front of the house and banged on Hill’s door since I didn’t have my phone, and I know he stays up late.”
Christina glanced Hill’s way, then back to Andi. “Did you see anyone in your kitchen?”
Andi shook her head and then met Christina’s gaze. “No, but I could feel someone there, if that makes sense.”
Christina’s brows rose. “Feel someone there?”
Andi rubbed her palms on her knees. “I don’t know. I know that seems weird, but that feeling of someone else being there. A presence. Maybe I smelled an unfamiliar scent or felt the air shift. Something my subconscious picked up. It was a…sense of not being alone.”
“A presence?” Christina asked, her mouth lifting at one corner. “Maybe this old place is haunted.”
Andi pressed her lips together, obviously not appreciating Chris’s little joke. “I doubt a ghost can unlock a door.”
Hill noticed that Andi the horror writer didn’t outright deny the possibility of ghosts being real, but he was happy to see that little spark of feistiness back. An irritated Andi was better than a terrified one.
“Okay,” Christina said, letting her smirk drop. “Are you sure the back door was locked?”
“Absolutely,” Andi said without hesitation. “I never leave any doors or windows unlocked. I’m really careful about that.”
“Never?” Christina asked, skepticism in her voice. “It’s easy to forget sometimes.”
“She’s a horror writer and researches true crime,” Hill said, cutting Chris off. “She knows to lock her doors.”
Christina’s attention slid to him, giving him a discerning look. “So you two know each other well?”
He held the eye contact, playing poker. “Well enough.”
“Hill’s right,” Andi said, not catching the tension in the exchange. “Some people may forget to lock their doors. I don’t. My friends would tell you that I don’t err on the side of caution. I err on the side of paranoid. That door was locked. It’s my habit to check them at night, especially when I know I’m going to be under headphones.”