He was watching her. Standing beside her bed, his dark eyes staring
at her, his hand outstretched.
Shadows hugged the walls, the curtain billowing out from the window, and the whisper of a familiar scent filling the room. His cologne. The one she had given him for Christmas last year. The one he'd hated.
Buffy struggled to reach for his hand but her arm was too heavy. Frustration welled inside her. She focused her energy on lifting her hand, but as she did, he took a step backward. His frame stood silhouetted in the moonlight, the dark look of concern on his face so somber, a whimper bubbled in her throat.
What was wrong?
It was Angel, wasn't it?
He opened his mouth as if to speak, his eyebrows pinched the way they did when he was trying to concentrate or when he was brooding over something. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. She tried to reach for him again, but he slipped farther away, almost floating now, the distance sucking him in some kind of surreal vacuum...what was he trying to tell her?
"Don't go," she whispered. "Please don't leave me."
His lips moved again, slowly as if it was painful and she traced the movements, studying the words. "Be careful, Buffy. Don't trust anyone."
Buffy jerked upright, her heart pounding. Throwing back the covers, she searched the darkness, a gasp escaping her when she was the curtain fluttering from the open window.
Someone had been in her bedroom.
The window had been shut when she'd gone to bed.
~ ~ ~
He hunkered low in the car, hiding in the shadows of the night his only light the glow the cell as he pressed it one ear while watching Buffy Summers O'Connor's house.
"How did the funeral go?"
He snorted. "It was a funeral. How the hell do you think it went?"
His partner chuckled. "Do you think she suspects anything?"
"No, leastways she's not asking any questions." With a gloved hand, he wiped the fog from the tinted window. A light flickered on in Buffy's bedroom. She was awaked now. Probably sitting up in bed, that blonde hair tousled around her face and shoulders, her nightshirt clinging to her lean body.
"Good, keep it that way."
He jerked his thoughts back on track. Back to the scene at the graveyard. "But-"
"But what?"
"That guy Courtland, he talked to her for a few minutes after the service."
A long silence followed. "What did they talk about?"
"Nothing really. Just chit-chat, but he kept looking at her, sort of creepy, if you know what I mean."
"Like a man watching a lay, probably. She is good-looking."
Worry knotted his stomach. Buffy Summers O'Connor was a sharp nurse, intuitive, sensitive to her patients' needs. Smart. Maybe too smart. He shrugged off the worry. "Yeah, I guess that was it." He remembered the way Buffy's long blonde hair had looked spread across her pillow. Imagined the silky strands wound around the black leather of his glove. Damn right she was good-looking.
Unfortunately her good looks wouldn't matter if she started asking questions.
~ ~ ~
Buffy's heart pounded as she switched on the light and grabbed the cordless phone. She had to search the apartment.
Sliding from bed, she reached for the umbrella on the dresser, planning to use it as a weapon if necessary. Praying she wouldn't need it, she inched through the room, pausing every few feet to listen for an intruder, but silence hung in the air, deadly calm and frightening.
Her finger tightened around the umbrella base as she rushed to close the window. On guarded feet, she tiptoed to the doorway and peered into the hallway. Nothing but shadowy blank walls. She took a tentative step, then crept down the hall and checked the small den. Darkness bathed the area, cloaking it in heavy shadows.
The floor lamp looked ominous, the sofa, the chair; every small crevice a possible hiding place. Taking a deep breath, she flicked on the light, and braced herself. Thankfully her apartment was laid out as one open room so she could see both the kitchen and den at once. Her gaze searched the parameters. Nothing. She sucked in a deep breath and tiptoed around the corner, then checked underneath the breakfast counter. Again nothing.
Thank God. Adrenaline surged through her as she ran to the door and checked the locks, the windows, the closet. But everything remained intact. No spooky demons or monsters hiding inside or beneath anything.
Her breathing still unsteady, she crept back to the bedroom and stared at the room. The deep maroon walls looked almost bloodlike, the shadow of the trees limbs ominous. She had once thought the room to be a cozy sanctuary for her and Angel.
Now it seemed frightening. She glanced outside for the dark sedan, rubbing her hands up an down her tan arms. The car was gone. Still, someone had been inside her house.
Should she call the cops? And tell them what? That she thought someone had been in her house because her window was open?
Or had she just imagined that someone had been there? Had she been dreaming of Angel? But what about the faint scent of a man's cologne lingering in the room? Was she imagining that, too?
Stumbling back to bed, she reminded herself how safe she had felt when she and Angel had moved in.
Now she felt anything but safe.
TBC...
Shadows hugged the walls, the curtain billowing out from the window, and the whisper of a familiar scent filling the room. His cologne. The one she had given him for Christmas last year. The one he'd hated.
Buffy struggled to reach for his hand but her arm was too heavy. Frustration welled inside her. She focused her energy on lifting her hand, but as she did, he took a step backward. His frame stood silhouetted in the moonlight, the dark look of concern on his face so somber, a whimper bubbled in her throat.
What was wrong?
It was Angel, wasn't it?
He opened his mouth as if to speak, his eyebrows pinched the way they did when he was trying to concentrate or when he was brooding over something. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. She tried to reach for him again, but he slipped farther away, almost floating now, the distance sucking him in some kind of surreal vacuum...what was he trying to tell her?
"Don't go," she whispered. "Please don't leave me."
His lips moved again, slowly as if it was painful and she traced the movements, studying the words. "Be careful, Buffy. Don't trust anyone."
Buffy jerked upright, her heart pounding. Throwing back the covers, she searched the darkness, a gasp escaping her when she was the curtain fluttering from the open window.
Someone had been in her bedroom.
The window had been shut when she'd gone to bed.
~ ~ ~
He hunkered low in the car, hiding in the shadows of the night his only light the glow the cell as he pressed it one ear while watching Buffy Summers O'Connor's house.
"How did the funeral go?"
He snorted. "It was a funeral. How the hell do you think it went?"
His partner chuckled. "Do you think she suspects anything?"
"No, leastways she's not asking any questions." With a gloved hand, he wiped the fog from the tinted window. A light flickered on in Buffy's bedroom. She was awaked now. Probably sitting up in bed, that blonde hair tousled around her face and shoulders, her nightshirt clinging to her lean body.
"Good, keep it that way."
He jerked his thoughts back on track. Back to the scene at the graveyard. "But-"
"But what?"
"That guy Courtland, he talked to her for a few minutes after the service."
A long silence followed. "What did they talk about?"
"Nothing really. Just chit-chat, but he kept looking at her, sort of creepy, if you know what I mean."
"Like a man watching a lay, probably. She is good-looking."
Worry knotted his stomach. Buffy Summers O'Connor was a sharp nurse, intuitive, sensitive to her patients' needs. Smart. Maybe too smart. He shrugged off the worry. "Yeah, I guess that was it." He remembered the way Buffy's long blonde hair had looked spread across her pillow. Imagined the silky strands wound around the black leather of his glove. Damn right she was good-looking.
Unfortunately her good looks wouldn't matter if she started asking questions.
~ ~ ~
Buffy's heart pounded as she switched on the light and grabbed the cordless phone. She had to search the apartment.
Sliding from bed, she reached for the umbrella on the dresser, planning to use it as a weapon if necessary. Praying she wouldn't need it, she inched through the room, pausing every few feet to listen for an intruder, but silence hung in the air, deadly calm and frightening.
Her finger tightened around the umbrella base as she rushed to close the window. On guarded feet, she tiptoed to the doorway and peered into the hallway. Nothing but shadowy blank walls. She took a tentative step, then crept down the hall and checked the small den. Darkness bathed the area, cloaking it in heavy shadows.
The floor lamp looked ominous, the sofa, the chair; every small crevice a possible hiding place. Taking a deep breath, she flicked on the light, and braced herself. Thankfully her apartment was laid out as one open room so she could see both the kitchen and den at once. Her gaze searched the parameters. Nothing. She sucked in a deep breath and tiptoed around the corner, then checked underneath the breakfast counter. Again nothing.
Thank God. Adrenaline surged through her as she ran to the door and checked the locks, the windows, the closet. But everything remained intact. No spooky demons or monsters hiding inside or beneath anything.
Her breathing still unsteady, she crept back to the bedroom and stared at the room. The deep maroon walls looked almost bloodlike, the shadow of the trees limbs ominous. She had once thought the room to be a cozy sanctuary for her and Angel.
Now it seemed frightening. She glanced outside for the dark sedan, rubbing her hands up an down her tan arms. The car was gone. Still, someone had been inside her house.
Should she call the cops? And tell them what? That she thought someone had been in her house because her window was open?
Or had she just imagined that someone had been there? Had she been dreaming of Angel? But what about the faint scent of a man's cologne lingering in the room? Was she imagining that, too?
Stumbling back to bed, she reminded herself how safe she had felt when she and Angel had moved in.
Now she felt anything but safe.
TBC...