“Let’s party.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun had played peek-a-boo behind the clouds most of the day, and the temperature had dropped several degrees by the time Serena pulled into her parking space. Those same clouds steadily got darker and darker, and with a twinge of a headache beginning behind her eyes, she felt pretty confident it would rain before nightfall.
Staring through the windshield, she studied her home. She loved her townhouse with its two-story charm. In a fortunate turn of events, she’d been able to snag an end unit, when the couple buying it decided to cancel the contract, and she’d snatched it up at a good price. Her fake identification had held up under scrutiny, and the sale had sailed through without a hitch. Though she did wonder if she was making a huge mistake, because chances were good she’d end up on the run again, and leave it all behind. Still, she adored her little corner of Shiloh Springs, carving out a nest where she felt safe laying her head at night.
A combination of wood and brick, it had a modern yet homey appearance which attracted her from the moment she’d seen it. The only drawback, as far as she was concerned at moments like this, was its lack of a garage. Hopefully she’d get everything inside before it started raining, because she was like a cat, and hated to get wet. More than once when she’d been running, hiding from her family and from the feds, she’d spent nights huddled under overhangs with the rain pouring down, cold, soggy and alone. A feeling she hoped she’d never deal with again. She felt strangely simpatico with stray animals, because she’d lived enough on the streets to be miserable, and she’d never forgotten the feeling.
Hitting the trunk key on her fob, she quickly unloaded all the grocery bags, along with her garment bag from the dry cleaners, and headed toward the front door. An eerie feeling permeated the air, and Serena froze, furtively looking around, scanning right and left before shaking her head.
You’ve got to stop this. Nobody knows where you are. You’re safe for now.
Unlocking the door, she flicked on the light in the entryway and headed toward the kitchen. Placing the grocery bags on the island, she tossed her purse and keys there too, and she took a steadying breath. Ever since the stupid photo showed up in the magazine, she’d found herself constantly looking over her shoulder, flinching at the slightest sound. As hard as she tried to remind herself she was safe, some sixth sense insisted her uncle would find her. Thinking about having to flee again, leave behind everything and everyone in Shiloh Springs, made her breath catch in her chest.
Digging through the grocery sacks, she put away the perishables, especially the pint of chocolate raspberry chip ice cream she intended to savor after dinner. It had been a rough few days and she deserved to reward herself with her favorite treat. She made quick work of putting away the rest of her food, and headed for the living room. Kicking off her heels, she smiled at the coolness of the wooden floor beneath her toes. Was there a better feeling in the world than coming home and kicking off your shoes at the end of the day?
Plopping down on the sofa, she lifted her feet to place them on the coffee table and froze for several excruciatingly long seconds, before lowering them slowly back to the floor. Something wasn’t right. The small tray she left on the coffee table to hold the remotes wasn’t where she left it. Before it was in the center of the table, yet now it was off to the left by several inches. She replayed in her mind when she’d left her place earlier. Had she somehow moved it, or maybe hit the table in passing? The small potted African violet wasn’t in its usual place, either.
Rising from the sofa, she moved around the living room, studying every angle, every item. The differences were subtle, but they were there. Little things out of place. She’d be the first to admit she was a tad OCD about where things belonged. Things needed to be symmetric, and everything had its proper place, and now they weren’t where she’d left them. Nothing big or obvious, but definitely not how she’d left her place earlier, she was positive.
Taking tentative steps down the hall, she glanced into the guest room. Yep, it was the same in there. Though the room was sparsely decorated, because she rarely used it, little things were off-kilter or out of place from where they belonged. Her hands felt clammy, and she wiped them along her slacks before clenching them into fists. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew, and she fought the bile rising in the back of her throat.
Finally, she made her way to her bedroom and swung open the door. At first glance, everything looked exactly like she’d left it earlier. The bed was made with its dark turquoise bedspread. Accent pillows of turquoise and burnt orange and white decorated the top, precisely the way she’d placed them. The nightstands on either side of the bed held silver-based lamps with white shades, each centered in place. Nothing out of place there, either.
Finally, her gaze landed on the dresser, and she swallowed back her scream. The top drawer on the right wasn’t closed all the way, and the strap from one of her bras was caught on the
