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a resounding clatter. She sucked in a breath and glanced toward the door. Only shadows. And silence.
    She got down on all fours and breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers brushed the hard plastic of her cell phone. After getting to her feet, she tiptoed across the frigid floor to the bathroom. Holding her breath, she paused in the doorway, straining to hear.
    Another creak pierced the dead of night. Footsteps in the kitchen? She doubted Gram would venture downstairs at this hour. Panic seized her heart. No, Gram definitely wouldn’t be wandering around the kitchen. She had helped her grandmother climb the stairs to her second-floor bedroom before retiring and it wasn’t likely she’d wandered downstairs in the dark.
    Heart racing, Danielle stepped back into the bathroom. She pulled the pocket door closed, cringing as the wheels scraped in their track. She slid the flimsy lock into place and raced to the adjoining door. She pulled on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The door was stuck in the pocket, hung up on something in the track. Her mouth dry, she crossed her sister’s darkened room, tripping on a pair of discarded shoes. Instinctively, she folded in pain, biting back a yelp. When did her sister get this messy? She limped to the bedroom door, closed it and pressed the lock, knowing full well a bobby pin or one swift kick could bust it open. But she prayed it would buy her some time. Well, praying wasn’t exactly the right word.
    Grabbing her jeans from the side of the tub where she had discarded them in her exhaustion, she rifled through the pockets for Patrick’s business card. She never expected to be dialing the number. Certainly not hours after he had given it to her. But now she was grateful to have his cell-phone number in hand. She punched in the digits with shaky fingers.
    He answered on the second ring. “Kingsley.” His voice was husky with sleep. Suddenly doubt crept into her mind. A buzzing filled her ears, punctuated by a drip from the sink. Maybe the sounds had been nothing more than an old house settling in the night, the tree branches scraping against the siding.
    “Kingsley,” he repeated, his voice urgent this time.
    “Patrick,” she whispered, her voice sounding loud to her ears, echoing in the quiet confines of the bathroom, “I think someone’s in the house.”
    “Who is this?”
    “Danielle. Danielle Carson.” Her heart dropped. Why had she expected him to recognize her voice?
    The house stood silent. Another drip fell from the faucet. Heat flared in her cheeks. Had she overreacted to a thump in the night? Had she subconsciously sought a reason to call Patrick? No, that wasn’t like her. A mental image of her cowering in the dark, a cell phone pressed to her ear, fear edging her voice floated into her mind. Humiliation stiffened her backbone.
    “Maybe I overreacted—” The sound of breaking glass cut her short.
    Dread, like needles of ice shot through her veins. “Someone’s in the house. I just woke up. I don’t know…” Fear made her ramble. “I need you.” She hated the breathless quality of her voice.
    “Listen to me. Are you someplace safe?”
    “Locked in the upstairs bathroom.”
    “Stay put, I’ll be right there.” The line clicked.
    Danielle lowered herself onto the ledge of the bathtub and splayed her fingers against the cool porcelain. Hurry, hurry, hurry , she repeated over and over in her head. She had never felt more alone in her life.
    A new jolt of fear made her jump to her feet. Gram . She crept toward the door, fingers on the handle, frozen with indecision. Her grandmother slept in the bedroom across the hall. She couldn’t leave her there unprotected. With trembling fingers, she flipped the lock on the bathroom door and pulled it open. The subtle rumble of the pocket door in its track made her pause. A cold draft whispered across her neck, sending a chill down her spine.
    What if the intruder found her?
    Standing on the threshold of the