He scanned the exterior of Belle’s new house, assessing the modest but colorful door flanked by shutters. The rusted screen door flapped a bit in the breeze. He didn’t see any light from the inside coming through the windows. Was she still awake or had she gone to sleep, blissful that she hadn’t had to talk to them all day?
He’d played through about a hundred scenarios in his head, ranging from Belle running into his arms to the one where she found her inner warrior princess and went medieval on their asses.
Now that he was standing outside her darkened house, he really worried. He wasn’t sure how the hell he would handle it if she told them to go to hell.
“Why are the lights out?” Kellan stepped up to a little carriage-style fixture affixed to the exterior that should have illuminated the area.
“The house hasn’t been lived in for months,” Tate explained. “She’ll be lucky if the power is still on.”
Standing here in front of the place, a chill swept through him, much colder than anything the fall breeze had swept in. Just a couple of yards away, the street was lit, looking bright and elegant, but here, a deep gloom clung.
He glanced around the back of the house, looking for any sign of life. Total darkness. There was a thin alley between Belle’s house on one side and a neighbor’s fence on the other. Just enough for a man to lay in wait. Belle wouldn’t see anyone creeping through her yard. No one from the street would see a thing either.
If they couldn’t persuade her to come back to Chicago with them in the morning, they would so be getting some lights to brighten up the alley and exterior tomorrow. And whether it lacked charm or not, he’d make sure the perimeter had a sturdy fence.
“I don’t like it,” Tate said. “It’s too dangerous. This is just two blocks from that woman’s murder yesterday, the one we heard about on the radio.”
The death of Karen Ehlers had made a huge news splash across New Orleans. It had been all over the radio as they’d driven into town. The fifty-nine-year-old socialite had been discovered in her New Orleans mansion, strangled by unknown intruders.
She’d been one of the toasts of the city, known for her philanthropy and love of her home town. Turned out that she’d also been known for something else.
“Belle’s not a hooker,” Eric reminded him.
“She won’t be turning tricks for strange men so that will reduce her odds of being strangled significantly,” Tate added. “That’s true.”
The big guy hadn’t factored him in. Eric was still really mad. And yeah, he hadn’t done the best job of letting Belle know that he would treasure her virginity. Not as bad as Kell, but even so…she shouldn’t have run off.
“But technically, Karen Ehlers wasn’t a hooker. She was a madam.” Tate was always so fucking precise. “Should we knock on the door or something, even if it’s not the front? You two constantly tell me I can’t just hang out around her house and look like a pervert stalker or the cops will arrest me.”
Kellan was still fiddling with the light fixture. It came on suddenly. The old, dusty bulb bathed the door in a hazy, yellow glow. “The bulb was out of the socket. That’s odd.”
At least they could somewhat see now.
An odd banging sounded from somewhere around the house. Eric’s instincts went on high alert. He dashed around the side of the building and looked down the alley. The illumination from the street didn’t penetrate this far back. In fact, it was eerily dark. If anything, the neighbor’s interior lights behind him blinded him just enough to make seeing anything almost impossible.
Still, he could swear he saw a shape moving in that alley in the distance.
He was just about to run after the asshole when he heard a scream from inside the rundown house that made his whole body freeze in terror.
Belle.
They had to get to her.
* * * *
Belle woke from her dream, certain that she was no longer alone in the house. Her hands shook. Her heart drummed in her chest. Pure fear threatened to choke her.
Move! Don’t just lay here.
As quietly as she could, she kicked the covers away and swung her feet, moving slowly so the wooden floors wouldn’t creak. Belle shivered with every step, but forced herself to keep moving. When had the room gotten so cold? She wrapped her arms around herself and she could practically see her breath, as though the air around her was freezing. She’d turned the ancient heater on a few hours ago. Had it stopped working?
In the short time she’d been in this house, Belle had quickly realized that she had plumbing, electrical, and flooring problems. Now she could add the HVAC unit to that long, expensive list. That was before she tackled updating the décor.
Something loud banged downstairs, startling her. She shrieked. Her hands shook in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Fear iced her veins. Someone was in the house.
Where the hell had she put her cell phone? Sir was suddenly right at her heels, yipping up at her. Did he think it was play time?
“Keep quiet,” she hissed under her breath as she remembered she’d left her new cell phone on the charger downstairs since that seemed to be one of the few electrical sockets currently functioning. She’d decided to find the fuse box in the morning and see if she could trip the breakers and get some of the upstairs sockets operational. She’d been too tired to deal with it before going to bed.
The moment her head had hit the pillow, she’d fallen into a deep, thick slumber where she’d had horrible nightmares of dead women swinging from the rafters of her house. Different girls in different eras, but all hanged in the same room from the same beam. Creepy. She’d let Gates’s warning get into her head. Even now, Belle tried to shake away the vestiges of the dreams. They had seemed so real to her.